Being Productive is Overrated

I think that my productivity levels are inversely proportionate to the amount of time I have off. The past two days have been a flurry of phone calls, meeting, socializing and shopping. Yesterday I managed to drive to nearly every corner of LA, and then spent two hours and $118 at Target, purchasing various sundries and continuing my ever-lasting search for the perfect pair of travel pants.

Last night, however, ended up with an oddball mix of alcohol and foodstuffs that are now causing me to sit on the sofa staring at Leave it to Beaver, wondering what else is on but not having the energy to start flipping channels. My dinner with a friend last night involved some lovely French-Asian tapas, although I can't say I understand what is so French or Asian about beets with shaved cheese, lamb with shaved cheese or ravioli filled with salmon mousse. I'll buy the fusion aspect, but not so much on the actual nationalities. In any case, I drank two glasses of a very lovely wine. Then we followed it up at a bar with my husband and his friends, who were already well into their night. Apparently my husband was on a mission to find the gayest drinks possible, so I found myself sipping a Sex on the Beach and a Mai Tai where the citrus levels are as high as the sheer drinkability factor.

We walked home, being the responsible adults that we are, and made a pit stop at 7/11 for their all-American, non-fusion hot dogs. It was a mistake, I know, but my defenses were down. And boy oh boy are those hot dogs tasty. But as a result, today I feel like my insides have been pickled and preserved. A few more minutes on the sofa to recover, that's all I need. And maybe some banana chocolate chip bread. Or a yogurt smoothie. Mmm, yes.

Uh oh, Beaver has a new pet frog and his mom wants to get rid of it. Must see how this is going to resolve itself in 22 minutes.