divine angst

I went back to Neiman’s Last Call because they had some great Tumi bags on sale—including a really cute red messenger bag that I thought might be perfect for school.

I pulled all the stuffing out, opened all the pockets, and pranced around with it on my hip, trying it on for size. Would my computer fit? What about computer and casebooks (even cut casebooks)?

In the end, I couldn’t decide if the style factor plus ballistic nylon was enough to justify the price (over $100—even at Last Call, which is an outlet-type store for Neiman Marcus). So I walked away.

I got home and looked up the bag online, just to see if I could find it at a better price—and also figure out why I hadn’t seen it on the actual Tumi website despite looking for about half an hour earlier today.

And I discovered why I hadn’t seen it on the Tumi website: it’s a diaper bag. Yes, the tag said “Baby Messenger” but I thought that meant it was a smaller version of their regular messenger bags. Not so much. I wondered about the odd foam laptop sleeve—turns out it’s a changing pad.

Took care of the last few details for our Bahamian cruise—got a hotel for our night on land and a reservation for a shuttle to the port. I bought a dress for the wedding over the weekend—I always forget we have Neiman’s Last Call here, so it was cheap—and I’ll be making the requisite spray-tan appointments this evening.

I’m getting excited! It’s definitely time for a little vacay. Mr. Angst and I may try for some base tan goodness and go out to my cousin’s house on the lake this weekend. It’ll get our blood all warmed up for the Caribbean.

The death of the Pope and all the subsequent news coverage makes me feel more Catholic than I’m comfortable with or used to. After all, I left the Roman church for a more female-friendly Protestant denomination ten years ago. I’m actually tempted to go to one of the many memorial Masses being held this week—and I haven’t been to Mass by myself in YEARS.

I guess I’m just a weird religious hybrid—not Catholic, but tied to the Church anyway.

To help me forget my DST woes, though, someone brought donuts this morning! Hits. The. Spot. Lemme tell ya.

Damn Daylight Savings. Always wrecks with my circadian rhythms. It’s going to take me two weeks to get used to the sun coming up later.