This is the closest I’ve come to work in five days. The last time I took a break from work for more than part of a day… I think was my honeymoon. My honeymoon was also the last time I read a whole book in a day. Which since yesterday? I did. I missed the ocean, though. I showed Mom and Bosie pictures from the honeymoon and started getting nostalgic. Then yesterday morning when I opened up the bottle of sunscreen (because it was very sunny and windy out and I was going to be running for more than an hour), the smell of Maui hit me with the warm breeze and the SPF and a little, sad tear fell from my eye. I got an email from Faye — who got married pretty close to when we did and we all ended up coincidentally at the same hotel in Maui — asking if we were all accidentally meeting up again this year, because it sounds like such a lovely-rich-people-thing to do, accidentally vacation together every year. And perhaps we’ll call it “on holiday.”

I did other fantastic things on my non-work days, these days I never seem to take. I spent time with my mom and sister, cooking and shopping and running into friends. We had company for our meal, which always makes it more memorable [Michelle, how did I never write that full story? You and the Turducken? I’ve got to write that one out someday].

And tonight, just a couple of hours ago, I took a bath. This isn’t supposed to be a celebratory event, but for me it is. Because once I was in the bath, I remembered the last time I took a bath. The eve of The Shingles.

The last time I soaked in that tub it was because someone told me I had pancreatic cancer, so I thought I should get a nice relaxing bath in before I died. And then the next day I had the rash that turned out to be The Shingles. At the time I got the rash, before I got The Diagnosis, I thought the rash was caused by the Lush bath bomb I was using. But today I realized The Shingles was caused by The Stress of Trying To Escape A Staff Meeting For A Job Interview And Then Quitting A Job I Like Because I Landed The Job I Can’t Pass Up And Please Don’t Hate Me All My New Awesome Friends.

So. I took a bath today. And I went to Lush today to prepare for the bath I got to take today. Where this conversation happened:

[scripty]
salesgirl one
Do you want ribbons on these bags?

pamie
No, they just get in my way.

salesgirl two
Oh, the Auntie Pamela. That’s good stuff.

salesgirl one
Don’t put a ribbon on that. She doesn’t want it.

salesgirl two
She doesn’t want it? Why? [sniffing it] Who wouldn’t want Pamela? Pamela smells so good.

salesgirl one
No, she doesn’t want the ribbon.

salesgirl two
She doesn’t want a ribbon on Pamela?

salesgirl one
Right. She wants Pamela, just not the ribbon.

salesgirl two
I was gonna say, who wouldn’t want Pamela?

pamie
Okay, I have to stop you two. You’re both saying parts of my name back and forth, and it’s freaking me out.

salesgirl one
Huh?

pamie
[handing over credit card]
My name is Pamela Ribon.

salesgirl two
Shut. Up!

salesgirl one
No way!

salesgirl two
Oh, my god!

salesgirl one
That is so freaky. Oh, my god. Like, that’s really your name? Pamela Ribbon?

pamie
[showing card]
Yeah.

salesgirl one
[reading]
Oh. Do you say it like, “RiBON”?

salesgirl two
Now, why the hell would she say it that way? How stupid is that? “My name’s Pamela Ribon.” “Hi. I’m Pamela Ribon, nice to meet you.”

salesgirl one
[giving apologetic eyebrow raise]
It had one “b.”

pamie
Lots of people pronounce it like you just did.

salesgirl two
I put a ribbon on your pamela, because you of all people have to.

pamie
I totally agree.
[/scripty]

What else did I do with my weekend? I cleaned a lot of TiVo (Ray used to say it’s the only thing I like to clean), I put some songs on my iPod, ate sushi, saw Walk The Line (which I loved, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that I know next to nothing about Johnny Cash or June Carter Cash, so it was less of a biopic for me, and I’ve always like Joaquin Phoenix since Jinx sent Max into space), watched bad movies with good Scotch and even better friends, cooked a pumpkin bread pudding that was the hit of the weekend, talked a pretty lady down from her thirty-year old ledge, did some laundry, bought some clothes, went running more than once (enough to get a blister), paid bills, got an oil change, watched a Netflix movie, and let my mom clean my kitchen because she has to clean something while she’s here or she feels like she did nothing. Plus we saw Drew Barrymore eating lunch, which means they got their celebrity sighting while they were here, and that means their trip wasn’t a total bust. So productive when I’m not prolific.

So, I’ve only used this computer over the past five days to write email, create this entry, look up showtimes, rip CD’s, and find stripper shoes to send AB so she can stuff her thirty-year old ass into them so her husband still finds her sexy. Heh. Ooh, AB’s gonna be pissed I gave that link without telling you the whole story. Just know that I’m going to own a pair of six-inch, blinking, clear heels, and she’s going to buy a leather purse shaped like a bat, and we’ve decided that makes us not skanky, but totally super-awesome feminists.

And tomorrow it’s back to work. But for once, I’m not exhausted on a Sunday night.

[Welcome home, Dan!]