Nothing beats a hot steaming shower, with some energetic calypso music blasting from the stereo speakers, as you scrub yesterday's grime away. Who could help but dance, even though it's been reported that a majority of all household accidents happen in the bathroom. It did occur to me that I was increasing my chance of risk, since I don't have those sticky things that stick to the bottom of the tub as well as to the bottom of your feet, but I was feeling risky and so I danced, lavender soap in hand. That was until the smoke alarm went off anyway! I'd forgotten to turn on the fan as well as shut the door to the bathroom. So then I had to scramble out, turn on the fan, wave my hands a few times in the direction of the alarm and shut the door hoping most, if not all of my neighbors had already started their day much earlier than I had.

I had an absolutely wonderful girl's day out yesterday with Brenda. We shopped the plaza, starting with Pier 1 (overpriced), Bed, Bath and Beyond (really overpriced), and then to my most favorite stop on any shopping venture, Barnes and Nobles (pricey, but I had a $50.00 gift certificate burning a whole in my wallet). Brenda is not an avid reader, but she knows how I am, so instead of trailing my search for the ultimate read, she opted to meet me over in the kids section, just as soon I had found whatever it was I was looking for. Which, shows you how much of a good friend she is, when she knows that I could spend entire days undisturbed in a bookstore.

However, with the makings of a migraine stirring around my temples, I made short work of finding a book I had researched on the internet (which I have already finished as of this morning) and opted to buy some music that I have been wanting. One was a replacement disk for my favorite Tori album, that has so many scratches on it, I began to wonder if Emma had been making a little music of her own. Actually, considering that I cart that CD just about everywhere I go, I'm just surprised it lasted as long as it did. Then I finally bought the new James Taylor CD "October Road", my mother has been raving about, for the last couple of months. I guess I finally figured why not and made it mine. Turns out Mom was right, but then again she usually is.

Barnes and Noble was followed by a stop for dinner at Applebee's, where I had yet another gift certificate begging to be used. Evidently, 6:30-ish is a very popular time for dinner on a Saturday night, so they gave us one of those little boxes that lights up like it's connected to a panic button, when they have an available table. Brenda looked at me, the crowded waiting room and said one word, "Bar". After all, why wait when there was a perfectly fine bar with more than enough available seating?

Of course, that brings up the matter of stools and why they have to be so unnaturally high. For a short person like myself, climbing up onto one of those stools is like reaching the peak of Mt. Everest. A comment, I felt free to make out loud, giving the cute bartender something to smirk about, as he asked us ladies what we'd like to drink. Brenda opted for a mud slide, while I, unable to decide that quickly asked for a strawberry daquiry just to take the pressure off. So then the cute bartender, (whose looks are plummeting in my opinion) asks Brenda for her license to make sure she is old enough for a liquored beverage, but then has the audacity to NOT ask me for mine! What a slap in the face! Was this in some small way a veiled insult towards my person? He had one of two options, I figured ... Either he thought I was way older than I looked or he was assuming since we were together that I, of course, had to be within the same age bracket. In which case, he's guilty regardless of his opinion, as everyone knows in a situation such as this the only right thing to do is card both women!

Brenda brought up an interesting point, wondering whether or not the bartender thought we were lesbians, since we were two apparently single women, enjoying a drink at the bar. "Doubtful or wishful thinking", I told her, "otherwise the same could be said for every woman in the place with a man not surgically attached to her hip. Besides, I'd make a horrible lesbian and I don't find you the least bit attractive ..." Luckily, the panic button on our dial a table went off, before the conversation could go any further.

Brenda and I have figured out that Applebee's must have a clause in their employment applications, because every server there seems to be an "All American" fresh faced college boy. Not that we were complaining, although I was quick to disabuse our FFCB of his notion that he was going to seat us in a booth. "I hate to be a pain," I told him, "but could we please have a table?" You would have thought I just asked him for a quickie in the bathroom, the way his jaw dropped down to his knees. Evidently, the patrons of Applebee's have never before had the audacity to question his judgement on the seating options. But I got my table and so I was happy, even though I had messed up any equilibrium the poor boy had left floating around in his head.

Then came our actual server, the one and only server who I might add, must be related to management because he did not fall into the same vein of future hunk, captain of the football team good lucks. By the end of the meal, we were affectionately calling him "Mumbles" because between the two of us, neither one of us was ever able to decipher any word that actually made it out of his mouth. I think we made him nervous, sophisticated 20 something females that we were, whose conversations encompassed more than the latest buzz from MTV.News and the who's who from the list of available good time girls in the men's bathroom.

The poor boy was certainly frazzled, because upon asking for our check, he came back with 2 styrofoam containers which we had only to assume was the leftovers of a dinner we had no intention of taking with us. Brenda in a moment of pity, was about to take the containers to ease the burden of his blunder, but I wasn't about to add food containers to the list of packaging we already were carrying. "I asked for the check, we didn't want to take anything with us." I said to Mumbles, which started a line of stuttering apologies. "Perfectly ok", I told him attempting to calm him before he hit postal, "We just need the check and we'll be all set." He practically set off at a dead run as Brenda laughed. "You know Stacey, you can be a real bitch." She said, which of course was really her way of paying me a compliment. Smiling, my answer was just as cheeky, "That's why we're friends, Bren."