Get kelly clarkson a happy pill stat. Going grocery shopping when she’s on the store music is freaking depressing.

So there’s a minivan in front of me at the gas station, and there’s a decal on the back window of a stick figure mom and dad, and little stick figure teens and two little stick figure little kids. And a dog. And underneath? “The Smith Family.”

Only not smith. A Portuguese family name.

So there’s the last name of the family and a license plate number obviously. If I follow the car I can score a home address. That’s a lot of info to gather - why make it so easy? Between that and Google I could do a lot of mischief if not harm.

Am I the only creepy brain who thinks that’s a bad idea?

I tried to resist, but dammit, that Fergie song about big girls not crying is stuck in my head. Get out get out get out.

Dammit.

Just passed four houses in a row all for sale. That must really suck.

Long pants (haven’t had legs waxed since I was a parent of one child)

Slides (ditto manicure/pedicure - I am due for grooming)

Loose blouse (one month post partum is Greek for ‘deflated water balloon abdomen)

Lipstick (that I can handle)

Blowdried hair with mousse (ditto)

Complete terror and aversion to large groups yet going anyway? Check.

Ah yes. The bug double glance. People glane at me, down at the Bugaboo, and then back at me. I am never well dressed enough for my stroller.

Baba O’Riley is wearing hand me down Ralph Lauren baby. He is perfectly dressed.

It is 75 degrees though. I am so happy to be outside. Ahhh.

Dear Sleepy Woman in the seat next to me:

Stop falling asleep on me. It’s bothersome, uncomfortable, and kind of gross. Shall I wake you up with ringtones? I think I shall.

Jesus, lady. Wake up.