Our city has just gotten its very first traffic roundabout. They had a ribbon-cutting ceremony for it and everything. I don't know if communities normally have ribbon-cutting ceremonies for such things, but keep in mind this is Redneck Valley and there's not much happening. So, circles are pretty exciting here. I mean, an intersection that's a different shape?! Hoo-boy! What will they think of next?!

I will admit that I might perhaps go out of my way to drive the roundabout. You know, because it's awesome. Sometimes I choose the roundabout as an alternate route to get where I'm going, but other times it is a completely superfluous addition to my route and I go out of my way to get there. Those times I exit the circle at the same spot I entered because I actually need to go the direction from which I came. This is the most fun because in order to make the U-turn (or is it an O-turn?) I get to drive in a complete circle, saying "Wheeeeeee!" the whole way.

Also the roundabout is fun to talk about. When it first opened, someone asked me if I'd seen it yet, and I said, "No, I haven't gotten around to it yet." And then I said, "Ha! Around to it!" and started cackling with laughter. Which maybe doesn't sound that funny, but I'm easily amused. Also, you had to be there.

Now I'm waiting for someone to call my cell asking where I am while I'm driving the roundabout so that I can say I'm "roundabout the roundabout."

So yeah, I'm all about the roundabout. And bonus! It's (sorta) on the way to Target. In a roundabout way.

In my college town, there was a really nice grocery store. It wasn't a national chain, but a family-owned business with just a few stores in the state. Really nice stores. Large floral department, vibrant fresh produce, a cafe with a salad and lunch bar. And the place had a great ambiance - it felt more like a market. It was bright and clean and there were handwritten chalkboard signs all over. And the employees were so nice. Everyone shopping there was happy, I swear. Great place.

I used to go there just to walk around. That's what I would do when I was stressed. (Well, that and shop at Target, which was in the same shopping center. Very convenient.) I would stroll the grocery store aisles, surrounded by shoppers: moms with kids, young couples, elderly men running an errand for their wives, people in suits grabbing food for dinner on their way home from work. Being in the midst of all this reminded me that there was a normal life out there beyond dorm rooms and analytical essays and meal plans. It sounds lame, I guess, but it kept me sane.

Here in Redneck Valley the grocery stores pretty much suck. There is one that is better than the rest, but in no way can it compete with my college town's grocery oasis.

But last week a new grocery store opened here. It's a regional chain, and I'd heard it was nice, so I was pretty excited. Not as ecstatic as when Target came to town, but still pretty excited. I went to check it out last Thursday during my lunch break, and I was not disappointed. There's a cafe and coffee bar. With WiFi! Hardwood floors in various sections. Hardwood floors, people! They have a large organic section, and I even saw organic freaking dog food. And the seafood section was like a fresh market with stacks of fish. You know, with the heads still intact and the little beady eyes staring at you! Which, eew, but also awesome! And there are kiosks throughout the store that provide recipes and also can be used to locate items. No more wandering up and down aisles looking for random ingredients like wheat germ or coconut milk or saffron threads! Woohooo!

Friday evening I took Rob to check it out. Because what else is there to do here? And frankly, after you're married for five years, going to the grocery store on a Friday night totally counts as a date. So I was showing him all the cool stuff ("Rob, look! Hardwood floors! And organic freaking dog food! And do you see the fish heads over there staring at us?!!") when we stumbled upon the wine tasting. WINE-TASTING! At a grocery store! I might perhaps have squealed and proclaimed it our Best Date EVER.

You laugh, but honestly, with the coffee shop and the WiFi and the sushi and the wine-tasting and the olive bar, I'm declaring it THE new place to hang out. I'm totally going to start suggesting we meet our friends for a night out at the grocery store.

And I'm going to start grocery store strolling again, too. Not for stress relief anymore, but rather to soak in the fact that I'm living that fantastic normal life I used to long for.

Ever since the start of Bridget's pee problem, I have been a wee bit obsessed with her health. I've been monitoring her progress meticulously, which involves paying close attention to her peeing habits. I am now quite skilled at litter box stalking. I daresay that the past six weeks I have been witness to every trip she has made into the box while I've been home. She no longer covers the spots in the litter box when she's done, and I think it's because she knows I want to see them. Poor kitty, she probably cannot wait until the day when she can piss in private. Although she seems to enjoy the post-pee praise. "Oh, what a good kitty! That was a good pee, Bridgie!! High five from Mommy!"

My obsession with Bridget's progress is so consuming that I feel compelled to tell everyone in my life about it. Everyone. My co-workers are intimately familiar with Bridget's urinating habits. Last week my hair stylist got to hear all about the illness, treatment, subsequent setbacks, and current tentative improvement, a detailed briefing prompted by a simple, "So how have you been?" (She'll never make that mistake again.) At a wedding this weekend, multiple people inquired about Bridget's health, as I might have gone on and on about my poor kitty's problems at the bridal shower last month. When I saw the groom, the first thing he said was, "How's Bridget?" I'm not even kidding. The groom!

As you may recall, we think the trouble began when we had our metal roof painted, a project so loud that it caused the cats to hide under the bed for days and left Bridget, apparently, highly stressed and emotionally scarred, a state of mind that commonly leads to the physical condition of cystitis in cats. It has taken her nearly two months to recover, and those two months have involved so many diagnostic tests and meds and vet voodoo that I finally stopped telling Rob how much I had spent at each appointment because he'd get this stern disapproving look in his eyes and I was afraid he'd tell me that in order to afford all of this I was going to have to stop buying shoes.

Today the roof painters were scheduled to come back for a second coat. I've been very anxious about this because Bridget is finally starting to get better and the last thing I want is a recurrence. I seriously think the stress of another round of this would give me pee problems. So I'd arranged to have the day off work so that I could take Bridget to, and stay with her at, Rob's parents' house, which was the best solution I could think of for sparing Bridget the terror of another roof painting. His parents kindly agreed, having figured out long ago that when it comes to the cats I'm a total overprotective psycho and it's best to just let me do my thing.

But then last evening I got the brilliant idea that maybe the sound wouldn't be so loud in the basement, and so I made Rob get a ladder and climb up onto the roof and stomp around while I sat in the basement and tried to determine if the faint thunder-like roof rumblings I heard could be considered traumatizing. I decided they weren't, and so today when the painters arrived I scooped up all three cats and carried them to the basement. If Bridget acted frightened, I'd whisk her away to the safety of my in-laws' house. But my hunch was that she'd busy herself chasing spiders and barely even notice the noise from the roof.

She entertained herself for about half an hour, and then emerged from the depths, spider webs clinging to her whiskers, and insisted on going back upstairs. I acquiesced, because I'm a pathetic pushover. She marched up the stairs and into the living room, hesitated for a moment to listen to the sounds of the sky falling above, and then shrugged. Okay, she didn't actually shrug, but she might as well have. Because she hopped up on the sofa, curled into a circle, and fell asleep.

She's fucking fine. And totally telling me that I need to Let Go.

I realize I'm about eight years late on this, but I totally have a crush on Justin Timberlake. God, I sound so teeny-bopper saying that. But I can't help it! I do!

I didn't have an opinion one way or another until I saw him on Saturday Night Live awhile back. He was brilliant in the skits. And then he performed a song and I was hooked. There's something about the way he owns the stage when he sings that is really fucking hot. The way he moves behind the microphone, the way he leans into it during the lyrics, the sultry look he gets when he sings... let's just say the boy is definitely bringing sexy back. And I know people think that whole SexyBack title is presumptuous. But seriously, any man who can make a Cup O' Soup costume look sexy has totally earned the title.

And did you know that he's my age? He is! Unlike John Stamos (who remains my #1 celebrity crush, lest you begin to worry) Justin is actually within my decade. My year, even. I know, right? Now that he's no longer with Cameron (which, eew), I can see us holding hands walking on the beach our toes in the sand. I can see us on the countryside, sitting on the grass laying side by side. I could be his baby, let him make me his lady. And all he'd want is for me to be his love. (His love. His love.)

It could happen. I'm JUST sayIN.

Sometimes I find myself lusting after an item for no good reason. I will see it in a store but talk myself out of buying it, only to obsess about it for weeks, trying to justify in every possible way why I actually do need it. The reasons I come up with are weak at best. But then I go back to the store and buy the thing anyway. It always, always ends that way.

And so it came to be with the KitchenAid stand mixer. A few of my friends have them prominently displayed on their kitchen counters, and every time I see one I rush over to it exclaiming, "Ooh, a KitchenAid!" I caress its enamel-coated body and run my finger along the rim of the bowl. It is, to me, a thing of beauty, with curves and chrome like a classic car.

My friends say they use theirs all the time, but when pressed for specifics, all they can come up with is, "Well, you know, when I make cookies and stuff." Thing is, I don't make cookies and stuff. Of course, when Rob points this out, I say, "But, if I had a KitchenAid stand mixer I would make cookies and stuff all the time!"

However, I do make bread. And one of my friends in the bread share has a KitchenAid and she cannot stop raving about it. It was she who finally convinced me that spending a couple hundred dollars on a kitchen appliance is perfectly acceptable. Necessary, even! I mean, what am I supposed to do? Knead the bread by hand?!

Still, I had reservations about plunking down $200 for one. (And that's for the least expensive model!) Rob was completely against it, arguing that it would take up a large amount of prime kitchen counter real estate and I'd use it only rarely.

But then, the weekend after Thanksgiving, Target had their KitchenAids on sale for $159. This was the sign I'd been waiting for. $40 off! Clearly I was supposed to own a KitchenAid. Of course, by the time I got there, they'd all been sold. But I was not to be deterred. I asked about getting a rain check, and after hemming and hawing they finally printed one up for me. See? The KitchenAid was my destiny.

For the next several weeks I checked the kitchen appliance aisle at Target every other day or so, waiting for them to restock the KitchenAids. I had told myself that I'd use this time to really consider the purchase, but my illogical longing only increased tenfold. There's nothing I want more than something I can't have, something just beyond reach.

And then, one glorious day, as I walked past the coffeemakers and crockpots at Target, my eyes fell upon a row of KitchenAid boxes. "Yay!" I exclaimed. The lady at the other end of the aisle glanced up in time to see me, beaming, grab a box with both arms. I rocked it back and forth in a bear hug and then placed it lovingly in my cart.

When Rob came home, he noticed it immediately.

"Uh-oh."

"Isn't she beautiful?"

"Where are you going to put it?"

"Right where it is."

"In the middle of the island?!"

"Rob, it's the focus of the kitchen."

He rolled his eyes. Clearly he has no appreciation for functional art.

That night I made focaccia and used my brand new KitchenAid. I stared, mesmerized, as it mixed the dough flawlessly, reaching every part of the bowl without touching the sides. (How does it do that?) And then I attached the dough hook and watched in wonder as it kneaded with ease. "Look, Rob, no hands!" I exclaimed giddily. And I have to say, it was the best damn bread I ever made.

This is one of those things that's completely incongruous about me. I have a (borderline psychotic) fascination with pregnant bellies. Not the meaning behind a pregnant belly - life, future, BABY, blah blah blah - but the actual physical belly itself. I can't even explain it. A pregnant belly is just so round! And so big, so bulging, so bulbous! So out of place and yet so perfectly in place, you know? The curve is so soft and the size becomes so extreme and there is just an unexpected beauty.

The friend we were visiting in Boston is 4.5 months pregnant - the really cute pregnant stage in which the baby bump becomes the ultimate fashion accessory. (I mean, have you seen the maternity clothes at Target? WAY better than their regular stuff. And don't even get me started on A Pea in the Pod!) The entire weekend, I could not stop staring at her belly. I absolutely could not have a conversation with her without darting my eyes down at her cutie-patooty bump (and then quickly back to her face because, seriously, only freaks gawk at pregnant bellies). I now know how men feel when they're supposed to be looking us in the eyes but keep sneaking glances at our boobs. It's an irresistible urge, people! It can't be helped!

I have seriously considered subscribing to Plum magazine just for the photos. Borderline psychotic, like I said.

I've had this obsession for a long time, actually. I've always maintained that I'd love to be pregnant but not actually have a child. Yes, I realize that pregnancy is more nausea and severe discomfort than it is glowing skin and people giving you a seat on the bus. It's not that I idealize pregnancy - it's just that I find the belly so lovely.

I have this odd fantasy of being a pregnant bridesmaid at Doreen's wedding. Because my god, what is cuter than a pregnant bridesmaid?! Doreen and I have looked at maternity bridesmaid dresses and everything. We've, um, even calculated the month I would need to conceive in order to be in the cute pregnant stage at her wedding. (You can imagine how Rob reacted to my announcement over dinner that "Doreen and I have decided that you and I need to conceive next March in order for me to look super-cute at her wedding. How's March 10 sound to you?") Borderline psychotic, like I said.

But don't go marking your calendars for March 10. We're no closer to wanting kids. But I am about thisclose to buying a prosthetic pregnant belly.

Even without ever having been there, I am titillated by Dubai. I first became interested when I read The World is Flat and then a few weeks ago I read an article in Vanity Fair that sent me over the moon for the place. Ever since, I can't shut up about Dubai. I'm all, "Rob, we should totally travel to Dubai," and "Rob, we should totally, like, live in Dubai," and "Hey Rob, guess what I named my new work laptop? Yeah, Dubai." At a party last week someone mentioned the name in passing and I perked up and said, perhaps a bit too eagerly, "Did you just say Dubai?!" It seems I have a bit of a crush on the city-state.

(I sometimes think of cities as lovers: Toronto, whom I knew when I was too young to develop a real relationship, whom I remember fondly and would see again in a heartbeat. San Francisco, who seemed perfect but turned out to be a disappointing date. London, who treated me like a princess but couldn't hold my attention for long. Sexy New York, to whom I was immediately drawn and with whom I share a fierce love affair that both satiates me and leaves me panting for more. And then there's strange, intriguing Dubai, with a gleam in his eye and confidence in his gaze who, moments after introducing himself, orders me a drink and slips a hand up my skirt.)

I think what I find so alluring is Dubai's no holds barred ambition. Dubai has reinvented itself in just a few decades, successfully catapulting itself into the center of commerce, tourism, and technology in the Persian Gulf. And Dubai is quickly realizing its global aspirations. How appropriate that Dubai will soon be home to the tallest building in the world, the symbolism of which can't be missed.

Everything about Dubai seems larger than life. (Quite literally, in the case of some of their more renowned construction projects.) I can't help but respect the unflagging determination and hopefulness. And I can't help but think Dubai feels like the future.

(Ooh, and did I mention there's a camel racetrack?! Kick ass.)