I’ve seen this movie once already and I’ve got plans to see it again and again and buy the DVD as Christmas gifts for all my friends. What else can I say but “the heat” is on this summer!

The red band trailer is hilarious because swear words make everything funny. Just ask Thug Kitchen.

Six months after buying a house with a yard, I scoured petfinder.com, looking for that perfect dog. It was very much like online dating, combing through profiles of traits I was seeking. I wanted it to be a male because I already selected a man’s name for him. He had to be small enough to pick up if necessary. I wanted him to be a terrier, to appease the wishes of a much younger Jamie. I wanted him to be house-broken. I stumbled upon a one and a half year old Jack Russell Bassett Hound mix named “Joey”. In all three of his photos, he had one ear permanently stretched to the skies and it was then that my heart completely melted, tears welling up. I had found my dog.

It was a labor of love getting Ray. I had to email the woman who was fostering him and plead my case for why she should decide to give him to me. Time was of the essence because there was someone else interested in adopting him. On June 16th, 2010 I agreed to drive to Elkin, NC (the halfway point between me in Charlotte and the foster mom in Virginia) and sat waiting in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrell for the dog of my dreams.

He hopped out of a red pickup truck and into my heart. He came with a leash, a basketball, a puppet and a personality all his own. I guided him to the backseat of my car and played him a Ray LaMontagne CD on the way to his new home. I called him Ray. He called me Mom.

Ray is the perfect name for a dog whom everyone adores, after all, everybody loves Raymond.

I’m not handling adulthood well. I never wanted to be here. When I was a kid, there was nothing appealing about adulthood. In my feeble mind, the only incentive of adulthood was a later bedtime. What the hell were you thinking, stupid 9 year old? You love to sleep and that hasn’t changed. I suspect you’re even getting more sleep at this age than you did 20 years ago! I love my bed. It’s got memory foam, a dozen pillows and silky sheets, the higher thread count the better. My dream is to slip into 1000 thread count sheets. I once put $100 on my credit card to buy a set of 800 thread count sheets for this guy I knew. They were replacement sheets. It took only a few months for me to be replaced and I never heard from him again.

I should know better by now, about love and relationships, how to distinguish the boys from the men. But I don’t. With only 2 ex-bfs I have the personal résumé of a 10th grader. I haven’t had a relationship in four years so I’m wondering how many more until I can apply to become a nun.

I appear to look like an adult, I have a mortgage for fuck’s sake, but a grown up I am not. I just recently started to pay for my own phone. (You wouldn’t believe the updating I had to do in all the men’s room stalls around town). I don’t know anything about money management as it’s hard to manage something you never have. I’ve had the same job since I was 25. I bombed a phone interview the other day because I’m so out of practice with selling myself.

The biggest fear of mine is that every year will look exactly like the year before.

Second thought: That is going to be a pain in the ass to reshelve.

The early morning tradition of cake for breakfast extended beyond a dimly lit kitchen when my family woke early to attend the grand opening of a Food Lion. In the 4th grade, we were living in a small Florida town so it was a big deal to my parents, who continue to be enamoured by new grocery store openings. I could really care less at the time, too consumed with Lisa Frank stickers, my troll doll collection and learning about swears. I do recollect getting to eat cupcakes for breakfast before school that morning in the Food Lion parking lot. All washed down with some chocolate milk. I’m pretty sure feeding cupcakes to your kids for breakfast is grounds for an anonymous call to DSS by a concerned citizen these days.

Fast forward to my mid-20′s, I substitute cupcake eating in parking lots with making out in parking lots. I’ve made out in a lot of parking lots. I’ve even made out in the frozen food section of the Central Ave. Harris Teeter when my ex and I took a break from selecting a pint of Ben&Jerry’s. As of yesterday, those invisible markers of “Jamie made out here” have since been replaced with a bigger and better Central Ave. Harris Teeter, one that boasts a Starbucks with sweeping views of the Charlotte skyline from the second floor, a salad bar, fully stocked shelves, and 10% off all items until June 4th.

I went last night to the grand re-opening to do my parents proud. It was a miracle that I found a parking spot in the actual parking lot. It was madness and I loved it! (After Mardi Gras in New Orleans I can handle anything!) Long lines to checkout, shoppers literally stopping in the middle of the aisles, presumably rendered immobile to the high prices, serious couponers with their binders of coupons to take advantage of this week’s double coupon savings, imported shoppers who made a special trip from Huntersville just to see what it was all about.

I maneuvered up and down the aisles as a setting sun cast a warm glow on the contents of my shopping cart, cupcakes.

Is Rachel McAdams contractually obligated to be cast in every single movie about time travel? If so, I’d like to step inside a time machine that would allow me to alter that day in her agent’s office. Enough already!