While we were away, someone stole the radio out of our car. The thief gingerly picked the door lock with a bobby pin, nudged out the radio, unplugged it (leaving no damage to the dash), and then re-locked the doors before leaving.

You know you’ve been in the city too long when you feel grateful to the person who robbed you.

In case you haven’t been watching MTV lately, or in case you just want to watch this again and again until you can perform your own routine at the gym, here’s the OK Go, “Here It Goes Again” video.

Today’s baby update email says “your belly may soon be big enough to announce to the world that you’re expecting.”

Soon? Soon?! Eat it, baby update. Strangers have been offering me seats and pointing out uneven spots on the floor for three weeks. Everyone is making twin jokes, which by the way are hilarious. Hilarious in a way that makes you cry and cry and cry.

Other things that are making me cry include:

- The Jetta commercial where the two guys crash and fly forward into the air bags. But then they’re OK! Just standing there all safe-like by the car! And honey, I just bought a Jetta. OK?
- The part in “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack where she sings “DAAAAANCE! I hope you da-a-a-a-ance.”
- The Where the Hell is Matt video (via Andrea)
- The hotel shower gel that smells like the honeysuckle in my childhood backyard.

Airport sinks should neverevereverever run out of soap. Note to self: Do not touch face for the next three hours.

The Weapons of Terror

Originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

We arrived at the airport ready to fly into New York, and there was a news crew in the lobby. This makes me nervous, I said. Bryan said news crews always broadcast from the airport. Really, I said. Sure, he said, they’re always here. Why, I asked. Because it’s a place where they can always broadcast live if they want to. I raised a single eyebrow at him. His look suggested he learned this information from an authoritative guide entitled Preferred Habitats of Local News Teams. In actuality a bunch of guys had just been arrested in London for plotting to blow up planes. Of course, we didn’t discover this until we were in the security line.

In the best of circumstances, airport security teams see me through a different lens. To them, I appear to have sharp objects taped in concealed places, and a mouth ringed with the gunpowder I’ve been eating for breakfast. Accordingly, they searched my bag and confiscated everything in it. Well, almost everything.

They took my Revlon Lipglide in Sparkling Sangria, they ignored my metal nail file. They confiscated my Origins Pinch Your Cheeks tint, but bypassed the box of matches. They pulled my Aveeno Sunblock Spray, but left my razor-sharp cuticle scissors.

With each item they took, my mental calculator added another $20-$30 to my cumulative agony. By the time they were finished, they’d yoinked about $150 worth of cosmetics. I was surprised to find that I actually wanted to cry in frustration.

I told the security guard that he was nearly doubling the cost of my ticket, and asked if there was some way to ship this stuff. You can, he said, but it’s $9 an item. Bryan finally just went back to the front counter and checked my box of toiletries. Of course, when we got to the gate, they made us check our bags anyway.

The upside is, our plane totally did not blow up en route to New York. So it was a good trip.