I was watching Making the Tour on MTV, which showed the preparation for Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera's tour yesterday. (Why? I don't know.) I was wondering if her belly is bigger than mine:

It's very close. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand if she were up there looking all buff, I'd call her a hussy out of jealousy. On the other hand, I'm taken aback that she even has a belly. It would seem I can't be pleased. (I won't comment on her music, but I do think she has a powerful voice.) She's undoubtedly still a beautiful girl (despite that hideous dye job). My reaction just shows the tip of the iceberg of how society's standards are affected by these ideals that are forced on us by the movie, music, and fashion industries. Let's leave this topic before I get on my soap box.

Lunch with my friend was no-go. I show up at her house, and her husband answers the door, hair akimbo. He said, "Christy, right?" Uh, yeah. Sorry if I woke you. "Oh, no I was up. I apologize for my hair. Sherry's at church. Her little sister begged her to go." He called her on her cell, and she was having lunch with her sister. I could hear her from across the room saying "Oh my god!" when he told her I was there. She'd had a busy week, her cat is missing, and she told me she took a Benadryl that morning. Uh huh. She invited me to join them, but I'd been trying to fight off one of those ice pick in the eyeball headaches. I couldn't remember how old her sister was, either. I was in no mood for a child, but when am I?

She sent me an email apologizing, saying she felt like a big jerk for being so forgetful and inconsiderate. I wasn't mad, maybe a little disappointed. If my cat was missing, I probably couldn't function properly, either. And she's had this cat for over 10 years. Of course I understand.

So I went home and ate leftover pasta and watched The Pianist. It's rare when I can watch two movies on a non-holiday weekend. It was very good, too. And since I'm a nerd, I flipped the DVD and watched the bonus features. I didn't know that Roman Polanski's parents went to concentration camps, his mother never returning. I still don't get the Adrien Brody thing, though. Him or Owen Wilson. I can't look past the nose.

I'm feeling a little dejected and depressed today. I don't think there's enough B6 in the L-Tyrosine supplements I've been taking during PMS. Or maybe I need some chocolate. Or some liquor. Whichever.

I had a hard time staying awake at work today, even after a Diet Mountain Dew and a York Klondike Bar for dessert at the birthday lunch. Gee, I hope Rowdy got enough protein.