Saturday afternoon I stopped at Target for a couple of random things. When I got back to my car, I saw an almost-full pack of McDonald's french fries sitting right under the driver's side door. The fries themselves weren't even touching the ground. So I thought...for a few seconds...about eating a couple of them.
Sue me, I was hungry! I wasn't eating dinner for at least another hour!!
I didn't do it. But obviously I'm still thinking about those fries.
...please, please, please stop asking me how I'm feeling every time you see me or email me. It's enough with that already. It makes me feel like I should be feeling bad or something. I don't feel bad! I get some of the usual aches and pains associated with being 21 weeks pregnant. Also stop asking me if I feel the baby all the time. I don't. I feel it every day, but not every single second of the day. That also makes me worried that there is something wrong with me. I worry enough as it is.
We definitely got more than the reported 2 inches of snow yesterday. It snowed from about 8 in the morning to about 9 last night. Brian went out and shoveled around 6:30, and cleaned my car off for me, too. (aw)
So this morning, I go out and my damn car's covered in snow! Fine. So I turn the car on and let the defroster go at full blast. Then I get out of the car and open the rear door on the driver's side to get out my ice scraper/snow getter-offer thingy. And lo and behold, it's not there!! What the...
Admittedly, my car isn't immaculate. There is shit all over the backseat. But still, I always keep the snow getter-offer in the same spot on the floor right under my seat. It wasn't freaking there. I went through everything in the back of the car and it was just gone. I even looked in my trunk. No dice.
I can only assume that when I got my car fixed earlier this year after it was rear ended that the people who fixed it stole my snow getter-offer. I'm pissed. I really liked that thing, and it wasn't cheap.
So what did I do to clean the snow off my car (that was about 3 inches thick, might I add)? I took my yoga mat, which hasn't seen a yoga studio in well over a year, and brushed all the snow off with it. It wasn't the best, but it worked and I got to the subway station in no time.
Which leads me to my next story. I sit down on the subway and open 'Eat, Pray, Love' which is just fantastic, by the way. Aaahhh.
And then this freak with a ski cap on and a coat that says 'Ferrari' across the back sits down next to me. His knuckles were as hairy as my head. I am pointedly reading my book. The train hasn't even started yet. And he asks, "Are you getting off at Charles Center?" To which I reply, "No," and go back to reading my book.
And then he has the nerve to ask a follow-up question. "Well, where are you getting off?" Well I never! I looked down at his hairy knuckles and up at his face and said, "Shot Tower." And he said, "Okay, that works."
Um, what? As if he was giving me permission to get off at that stop. I just rolled my eyes and went back to reading.
I know why he asked me, too. He asked me because most people get off at Charles Center, and that way he won't have to get up to let me out of my seat (I had a window seat) BEFORE Charles Center, because clearly that's where he was going. I get off at Shot Tower, the stop after Charles Center.
I almost told that hairy bastard to go drive his Ferrari.
It's always a surprise when I pee a little as I sneeze. Even though I'm prepared for it, the pee pee is still a shock.
We had our big ultrasound yesterday! It was pretty exciting. I am 19 weeks 4 days (well, yesterday I was 19 weeks 3 days), and I am measuring at 20 weeks. That has been pretty consistent throughout the pregnancy - I've been measuring four days ahead for each ultrasound. The tech said the doctors likely wouldn't change my due date from April 18th to April 16th, so we're just going to go with a due range. How's that?
We could have found out the sex yesterday, but we want to be surprised. We did get to see the brain, four chambers of the heart, kidneys and bladder. The baby was resting (I don't normally start feeling it till much later in the day - our appointment was at 8:30 in the morning), and it refused to roll over so that we can see its spine. So, we have to go back soon for that. Oh well, another chance to see the baby!
What was pretty funny was that the baby's hand was underneath its chin, its mouth was a little bit open and its legs were crossed at the ankle. It relaxes the same way that I do. The mouth open thing is a big thing on my mother's side of the family. So at least I know the child is mine. I was a little skeptical for awhile...
Some people are saying that I don't look pregnant, that I'm not showing, blah blah blah. I guess they mean it as a compliment, but I totally feel like I'm showing. I'm exclusively in maternity pants for crissakes.
And now they are comparing me to another person I know who is pregnant. She is two weeks behind me and her belly popped a couple of days ago, seemlingly overnight. And one of the people I know said, "But you haven't popped yet and you're ahead of her."
Okay first of all comments like that are just ignorant. Everyone's body is different. Plus, if you haven't noticed that my belly has popped, it might just be because I don't wear formfitting clothes and you just can't tell as much with me.
I don't know why this bothers me so much, but I guess it just sort of makes me feel like I'm less of a pregnant woman because my body is carrying things differently. I really wish people would keep their opinions to themselves.
Every year on Thanksgiving my dad makes a pumpkin pie. And every year he saves the leftover raw crust and raw pumpkin filling for my sister and I to split and eat. It's a tradition. Don't mess with it.
So my sister and I were just emailing back and forth and I was telling her that Brian and I are going to Atlantic City tomorrow for his birthday and would be back in time for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. She replied that I wouldn't be able to eat the pumpkin stuff. I told her that she'd better not touch my half and that I'd eat it when I got to dinner. And then I remembered that there is raw egg in the pumpkin mixture and I can't eat it because I'm pregnant.
Hmph. I guess I'll have to eat two pieces of pie on Thursday to make up for it.
Ever since I've gotten pregnant, I've been having dreams that I am smoking. For the first little while, in the dreams I was smoking in front of coworkers so that they wouldn't suspect that I was pregnant. I kept telling myself that a few cigarettes a day weren't really any harm to the baby. I always woke up relieved that I hadn't actually been smoking.
Then last night I had a dream that I was getting stoned with a random group of people. People that I know in real life, mind you, but people who don't necessarily know each other or belong together. In this dream I kept telling myself that pot doesn't hurt babies.
I don't really have a point to this blog entry, but I think it's interesting that I have these recurring smoking dreams.
Brian and I were talking tonight and I was half watching TV as our conversation unfolded. To be honest, I was more than half watching the television. It was more like three-quarters.
We were talking about being successful and Brian said that he really hopes our kids become successful in whatever they do. It was a really sweet moment.
Unfortunately for him, at the very same time, a commercial for South Park came on. And in it, Stan's father was making a gigantic doody that was making him rise out of the toilet. And I said, "Ooooh, doody!!!" And I laughed and laughed.
Brian said, "Well, whatever I was saying doesn't matter now."
We're meeting a friend at Red Robin tonight for dinner and they have really really super good onion rings. I can't stop thinking about them. And then I feel guilty for eating them. Because of the baby and all. I did eat a salad for lunch, though.
On a related note, I can't think of any good snacks to bring to work with me. I keep a random apple here and there, but I just get STARVING sometimes and need a little something else. Those 100 calorie packs are for the birds, though.
Does anyone ever get those boogies that stick to the sides of your nostrils? The kind that when you move your nose around, they scratch its insides? I woke up with a nose full of them this morning. My college friend coined the term, but it's such a good, descriptive one that I have to use it too. Hurt boogies.
So pregnant women can tend to have more sinus issues. That is so the case for me. I don't normally have terrible allergies this time of year, but I'm starting to sympathize with all the people I know who do. But, since it's all for a good cause, I'm not going to complain. Too much.
So yesterday I had just driven out of my neighborhood to get to the metro station. I stopped at the first stoplight by my house, and what I saw made me literally jump. I saw a Honda Civic, same year and color as mine, with a license plate that was just two number off from my own. In my head I thought, who is driving my car? Then I jumped when I realized that it was ME driving my car, but that someone else ahead of me had the exact same car with a VERY similar license plate. I felt like I was transported to another time and place.
Okay, I'm exaggerating just a little bit about that, but isn't that a really weird coincidence? I also think the person driving the car lives in my neighborhood. FREAKY. Just in time for Halloween.
Which, by the way, should be kick-ass. My new office makes it mandatory to dress up for Halloween, so I'm going as Mrs. Mia Wallace. I will post pictures after the holiday.
I am proud of myself. I remembered four people's birthdays this week. That's a lot of birthdays to know in one week! I'd like to give a special shout out to my girl Amy who is celebrating her 31st today.
So apparently MTV is bringing back Menudo in a 'big' way. From what I'm gathering, they're putting together a special 'Making the Band' type of situation just to form a new group of Menudo boys.
Okay, I never got Menudo. Sure, they were in all of the Tiger Beat issues that I collected as a young pup, but I never really got their appeal. I didn't ever think any of them were remotely attractive in the same way I thought, say, Rob Lowe and John Stamos were. I never heard any of their songs on my radio stations. And they kept changing! Once one of those boys turned a certain age, they were booted from the group. I never understood that. If you make music together, you make music together. You don't kick someone out of your group because they reach puberty.
So, please tell me if any of you listened to Menudo, loved Menudo, can explain Menudo to me...because I DON'T GET IT.
Saturday I went up to New York City with my mother-in-law (MIL) and my two sisters-in-law (SIL) for my MIL's 60th birthday. My father-in-law (FIL) sent us up there on the bus. He originally told us that he was going to book a show for us to see, but that never happened. So the three daughters-in-law (DIL) had to come up with a plan.
The plan was a good one. We started by going down to Ground Zero, at MIL's request. It was a laugh a minute down there. After about ten minutes we'd had enough, and we made our way to Chinatown for some serious knockoff shopping. As MIL would cleverly say, we "shopped till we dropped."
We each got purses in the shady back rooms of the stalls; some of us left with more purses than others. I got three. And a pair of knockoff Tiffany earrings. Sweet!
After that we were starving, but we had reservations for tea at 2 p.m. Unfortunately for us, it was only about noon. So off we went in search for food, and ended up taking a cab to the area where we were having tea - Gramercy Park. We found a sushi place and decided that was a good bet since we could just get some rolls to tide us over. Good plan. Two minutes after we left the sushi joint, we had to be at tea. The tea place, Lady Mendl's, was so cute! I would definitely recommend it.
We left tea and headed toward Union Sqaure. As we passed a bistro , I thought I saw a celebrity sitting on the end of the bench where people were waiting for their tables. It was Tom Everett Scott!! Nice. He's hot.
The rest of the day was spent putzing around downtown. Let's fast forward to the bus ride home. We're watching the horribly depressing movie (all charter bus rides to and from New York include a movie on the ride home) "Away From Her," which is about Alzheimer's. MIL's phone rings. It's FIL. He asks her how her day was, and then proceeds to tell her that an 80-year-old woman lost control of her car in the parking lot where we were keeping our cars for the day...she plowed into my one SIL's car twice, then hit my mother-in-law's car, and then hit another car (not mine). My MIL's car had to be towed away!! Long story short, FIL had MIL's mother's car waiting for her so she could drive home.
Next thing, MIL calls her parents to thank them for letting her use their car. Her father answers and says, "Oh so you heard," to which MIL replies, "Yeah, my car." He then tells her that her mother is in the hospital...she had been having chest pains! Don't worry - she's got a hernia and it was acting up, but she's still in the hospital for more tests.
So, MIL was all in a tizzy by the time we got back to our cars. I hightailed it back to my own car and got out of there right quick. All's well that ends well, and we all had a rockin' good time. Maybe next time we go to New York in OCTOBER the weather won't be 90 freaking degrees!
I don't know what made me think of this, but my mind goes in weird directions pretty often, so I'm not surprised.
When I was in kindergarden, my teacher, Miss Belk, had this activity where she'd offer individual students the opportunity to ask her the meaning of a word, and then from the definition, that student would create a painting to personify it. It was kind of a cute idea, and most of my classmates asked about words like 'dog' and 'cat'. Probably not because they needed to know what the word 'dog' or 'cat' meant, but because they knew how to paint a really good dog or cat and wanted to have some beautiful art to take home for Mommy and Daddy to fawn over.
So one day it was my turn to ask Miss Belk about the meaning of a word. I thought really long and hard about it. Probably a full three minutes. Then I asked her to explain the definition of 'committee.' I will never forget how surprised Miss Belk looked when I told her that. As a five-year-old, I don't know where I had heard that word, or why I was interested in that word in particular. But I do remember her explaining it to me, and afterwards, I painted a large picture of a bunch of people's heads.
So for Rosh Hashanah, we went to one place one night and another place the second night. You pretty much always know what you're getting for Rosh Hashanah dinner and it usually involves turkey and stringbeans in one form or another.
And gefilte fish and chopped liver. And matzoh ball soup. Yum-o.
I'm going to be diplomatic here.
The first night, we had matzoh ball soup in which the balls weren't so big, but they were full of flavor and light and fluffly.
The second night, we had more matzoh ball soup at our second location. The balls were bigger, but more dense and dry inside. And lacking that matzoh ball flavor I have come to love.
I was disappointed. But at least there was Carvel ice cream cake for dessert the second night.
So I attended my first all-staff meeting at my new company. The one from last month was canceled. I can't believe I've been here two months already.
I was so nervous because I hate being singled out in front of big groups of people and I just knew my boss was going to say something about me being new. Thankfully a guy just started today, so I knew I wouldn't be the only one.
So the new guy's boss got a chance to introduce him first, and the president of the company said that he wouldn't make the guy do an interpretive dance in front of everyone since it was only his first day.
Cue my boss, who then introduces me, and says that I've been here long enough to actually do an interpretive dance. I was so embarrassed.
On the advice of my sister-in-law T, I went to this new spot by my house, The Gourmet Girls. This little gem is tucked away in an industrial park and might go unnoticed save for the billions of signs in the area pointing toward it. Those Gourmet Girls really know how to advertise.
And I mean to tell you, their food is fabulous. T has been there a few times, since my nephew's day care is across the street. She said she has never had a bad thing from there. And being that T is an incredible cook and well-read in all things food, I tended to believe her.
So off I went on Saturday. It seems like their prepared foods case changes daily, as the dishes T described to me weren't there. I grabbed some ziti, chicken fingers, and one of the aforementioned spinach and feta cakes.
The chicken fingers were for my husband, so I didn't get to try any of them but he said they were good. The ziti, in a homemade tomato sauce with meat, was fantastic.
But that spinach and feta cake...I can't stop thinking about it. About the size of a good-size crab cake, the spinach and feta cake was filled with, you guessed it, spinach and feta. And some onion for flavor. And pepper. I heated that bad boy up and inhaled the thing.
I only hope next time I go back they're there.
As an aside, the shop has reasonably priced food and a huge menu of sandwiches, two of which T has tried and proclaimed awesome. So there you go. I've given my props for the day. Whew.
Yeah, yeah. I haven't been updating my blog. Blah blah.
The truth is that I think about it all the time and yet I feel like I have nothing interesting to say.
Even though I'm very interesting. Or so I think.
My new job is going well. I feel like I actually know what I'm doing. You know how sometimes you start a job and you have to fake it a lot of the time until you actually get the hang of things? Not the case here. It's a good feeling!
I'm going to leave you with this for now, but I promise to be better about updating. It's hard to do when I get home from work since it's pretty late. I vow to you, my readers, that I will update during the day from now on.
I'm giving a shout-out to my sister, who is going on her honeymoon this weekend!! She's taking a cruise, leaving from Baltimore, up north. It sounds fabulous and I'm sure she and Dave will have a great time. Word.
So trash day in our neighborhood is Tuesday. We go through phases where we forget to put the trashcans on the curb, and we have to wait a whole week. This usually sucks because we tend to fill the cans pretty quickly and sometimes we have to sit on the damn lids to make them stay shut.
But we also go through phases where we're very conscientious about taking the trash to the curb, so we only have to put one of our three cans up there. Keep in mind our driveway is long and steep, and this is quite the chore.
For some reason, the moment we moved into the house - well I should say the moment Brian moved in and I slowly moved my shit in - the garbagemen have had a thing against us. We can't figure it out. There have been times where they haven't taken all of our trash, and there have been times when they will throw our cans in opposite directions so we have to run through the bushes to gather them all. I even had to go so far as to call the trash supervisor in the county to ask why the guys wouldn't take our recycling - he didn't have a clue and ended up coming around and taking it himself.
This past Tuesday was no exception. I heard the guys' truck pretty early that morning, and didn't think anything of it. I left the house as usual to get in my car and go to work. Doo doo doo, drive up the driveway, la la la.
I'm driving, driving, driving backwards up my steep driveway...when all of a sudden I have to slam on my brakes. There, at the top of the hill, smack dab in the middle of my driving path, is the lone trashcan we set atop the curb for pickup. Sure, the trash was all gone, but dammit, why did they put it in the middle of the driveway? Is this a joke they play on some poor family on every street they drive down? And we only had one can up there! We felt like we were doing them a favor by giving them less work to do at our house.
As I drove down my street, after getting out of the car to throw the can out of my way, I noticed that all the other houses' trashcans were set neatly next to the driveways. Ours was the only one that seemed to be defiantly placed in the center of the driveway. I cannot, cannot, cannot figure out what we did to offend these guys.
I'm thinking we need to get them some beer this year for the holidays. Because there' s nothing like a little drinking and trash truck driving.
I absolutely love listening to the Top 40 countdown on Sunday mornings. I don't care if I seem too old to still be doing that. Listening to Casey Kasem - and now cheesehead Ryan Seacrest - count down the top 40 biggest hits from coast to coast every Sunday morning is like THE ultimate vanilla pudding for my soul.
So I was innocently listening to the countdown yesterday morning while getting ready to leave my house. One of those stupid Axe commercials came on. Now, I have never smelled anyone who has worn the stuff, but if you believe the commercials, the scent will make any woman within 100 miles want to rub their vagina all over the man who has sprayed the deodorant (is that what it is?) on.
That's cool, I guess. If you're out in the dating scene, it probably can't hurt, right?
So the commercial is talking about how Axe will make men want to grunt or something, and women want to get shocked. Uh, come again? Shocked? Last time I checked, a woman who got shocked had a finger stuck up her butt during a certain something something. I normally don't talk like this because I am a lady, but I've heard it referred to as 'two in the pink and one in the stink.'
If that offends anyone, that's your problem.
I couldn't believe my ears. This was on Sunday morning radio. I have half a mind to write to these Axe promotors and give them a piece of my mind. Because that is just brilliant fucking marketing.
I'm not big on goodbyes. I like my friend Shana's rule. If you're at a big party or a wedding or something and you have to leave before the end, don't say goodbye, just leave. As in, don't disrupt everyone and make them stop doing what they're doing, just make a quick exit. I don't know - I like it.
So now that my time here at my job is winding down, I feel sad to be saying goodbye to everyone. I know, I complained about having no friends here, but when you work with people for so long, you become used to them. Oh, what am I saying, there are people here I'm going to miss. But saying goodbye - ugh. I hate it.
And where do you draw the line? For instance, I see the same guys who work in the cafeteria every day. Do I tell them I'm leaving? I mean, it makes me sad to think about. It's just another person I have to say goodbye to and as I said before, I'm just not big on goodbyes.
We live in the woods. And it is just a fact that if you live in the woods, you will have bugs and critters around that you probably never knew existed if you lived in, say, a 3rd floor walkup. Then you'd have roaches.
So I'm used to finding spiders on the windows and seeing tons of deer and fox in my backyard. I wasn't even too surprised when my husband yelled in from the garage one day that I had to be quiet so that he could corner the mole he found in there. You have not lived until you've seen a mole in your house. They've got those creepy-looking white glove hands. I felt like maybe I should dress it up in a little top hat and tux and do a rendition of "Hello My Baby" with it.
But I will never get used to what I found in my bathtub this morning as I turned on the water to take a shower. See, I didn't have my glasses on, so it was a little blurry at first. I thought maybe a little hairball had formed, as hairballs often do in my shower. But no. I only wish it was a hairball.
Instead, it was a disgusting, giant, hairy monster thousand-leg bugs. Those assholes need their own island where they can scare the living shit out of one another and leave the rest of us alone. Holy crap!! I turned the water all the way to hot and started splashing that sucker so that he would move toward the drain. No such luck - at least not at first.
I contemplated skipping my shower today. But then I remembered that I didn't shower yesterday (NO, I'm not that much of a dirtball - I showered the night before last).
It took a good five minutes of me splashing and him scurrying toward the edge of the tub to finally drown him. And then I still wasn't sure he was dead. I think he was swimming actually. Somehow, though, he finally made his way to the drain, but my drain has tiny holes to let the water down. This fat-ass motherfucking shithead wasn't going to fit. Ugh. I watched his body swirl around and around in the water, hoping that the force of it would break him into tiny pieces so that he'd just slide down the drain, one leg at a time. That didn't happen. But shit, I really needed to get a move on! After all, today was also a shaving day.
But finally, when I was sure he was good and dead, I gathered about ten paper towels and my courage, picked him up and threw him away.
No wonder I'm exhausted and it's only 10 a.m. I hate being traumatized first thing in the morning.
I went to the pool twice in one weekend, which might be some kind of record for me. I have to thank my friend Mike at work (not that he reads this - and yes, I made a friend at work during MY LAST TWO WEEKS HERE) for giving me the pool pass that his sister wasn't using. It's a long story.
Okay, here it is. I was woe-is-me-ing about the fact that I have no pool to go to during the summers. Mike responded that his mother has tons of pool passes and he'd ask if I could have one. Her pool is pretty close to my house. Mike disappears from my cube, only to return 10 minutes later with great news. Apparently his mother and sister aren't speaking, so his mom gave me her daughter's pass. Woot! I mean, sorry for your troubles...
I also have to give a shout-out to Mandi, who introduced me to the scene that is the Merritt Athletic Club Federal Hill. Also, thank you Mandi for recommending the cherries at Wegman's. They are indeed fabulous.
I know this is a random blog, but I really have to discuss how much I love Seth Rogan. You know, the male lead in the new comedic hit 'Knocked Up.' I have loved Seth Rogan since 'Freaks and Geeks' all those years ago. While everyone else was sweating the tall doofy guy (Jason Segal) that Linda Cardellini's character had a thing with, I was sweating Seth Rogan. I don't know - there's just something about him.
It's sort of like my obsession with Topher Grace. While everyone was falling all over themselves over Ashton Kutcher when 'That 70s Show' came out, I had a huge crush on skinny, gangly Topher Grace. And now look at him. Still skinny, but super hot. Tell me you don't agree, and I'll kick your ass.
The previous two paragraphs just prove that I have no 'type,' at least physically. And that I am ahead of my time.
I've got a whole blog planned about how relaxed I am feeling lately. Unfortunately, I have to book it to a meeting. Wait, why do I even care anymore? I'm such a dork.
I was just on the phone with my dad. I'm sitting in my cube, which is not made for private conversations. Not that I was having a real private conversation, you understand, but I'm just pointing out that anyone can listen in to what I'm saying.
So I said to my dad, "When I talked to Mommy..."
I don't need to finish the sentence.
The point is that I referred to my mother as "Mommy" loud enough for my coworkers to hear. And I am so sure they did.
The title is a reference to the classic Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell romp 'Overboard.'
But I really did just eat a bug! Well, sort of.
I went home at lunchtime and as I walked out the door to go back to my car and head off to work, my mouth was open. Yes, I frequently hang out with my mouth half-open. It's a family trait.
Anyway, I breathed in and immediately felt something weird go down my throat. I started gagging a little, but nothing came back up. So then I started swallowing a whole bunch to see if it would just go down. Then I got scared. What if whatever I swallowed was poisonous? Was I going to die at work later? Great. My worry didn't matter, though, because the little whatever-it-was stayed firmly in the back of my throat, making it tickle.
So on my way I went, and as I was driving up the road, I started coughing. Then I started making hock-a-loogie sounds. And then I felt a little something come up! I spit it into my hand. Ew! In the middle of my palm lay a little drowned nameless bug, its legs all shriveled up in the liquid. I threw him out the window and drove back to work, a little disconcerted about what I'd just done.
I've heard that over the course of a lifetime, a person will swallow 8 spiders. I guess this counts as one. Hopefully I've already swallowed 7 in my sleep.
I went to WholeFoods yesterday for a fun shopping experience. Every once in awhile I realize that I care about what I'm putting into my body, and going to WholeFoods makes me think that I'm doing my body good. (Shout out to Slim Goodbody there.) I'm also going to shout out to my friend Shana here, because we had a life-changing experience at Whole Foods one cold February Saturday this year. It was a whole thing.
Anyway, I happened upon a product called rice yogurt in the dairy section. I was immediately intrigued. You see, back in my London days (how snotty do I sound?) we would get this rice pudding/yogurt type thing at our local Safeway. It was seriously fabulous, not too fattening, and tasted like heaven in a small cup. I wish I could remember the name of it.
So I bought a strawberry-flavored rice yogurt for a whopping $1.39. Normally I like to buy whatever's on sale at the Giant, and that typically runs me about .50 a yogurt. I thought the hefty price would be worth it, though, if the product could bring back some good London memories.
Uh, no. I opened that shit up just now for my afternoon snack. First off, it was brown. (Remember, this is supposed to taste like strawberries. Brown might be the right color if the strawberries were, say, from 1950.) Second off, it was a texture that I will try to describe, but can't do justice. It was gelatinous, but still mixable. So when mixed, it looked like what would happen if you could somehow bring yourself to mix up a large quantity of chicken fat with a plastic spoon. It didn't become smooth, as normal yogurt will. Instead, it was like lumpy gravy. Sweet lumpy gravy. And the taste? A little bitter and very grainy in my mouth.
Thanks, rice yogurt. Thanks, Whole Foods. At least I didn't consume those 190 extra calories, so I guess I did do my body good in that respect.
I went home at lunch time. I decided that I hated the pants I had on. I changed pants and came back to work. No one noticed.
If I had friends at work, they would have noticed that I'm wearing a completely different pair of pants than what I had on earlier in the day. Because I have no friends at work, I'll just go about my business in my new threads.
I swear, I don't smell, I'm friendly and I get along well with others. The office dynamic here is quite unlike any other I've experienced. Because of that, I learned to keep to myself. In my cube. With my finger puppets and Raisin Bran.
Last night I did something that is so totally out of character for me that I can't even believe I did it. I played ultimate frisbee with my husband at his pick-up game.
You have to understand, I am not a sporty girl. Sure, I go to the gym on a regular basis. But I have never been into playing sports so much, aside from the occasional basketball game in gym class. I realized last night after the game that I had never in my life played a real team sport. Isn't that weird? Never played softball, never really played on a high school team (does one quarter of cheerleading count? how about my weeklong stint in lacrosse?). This was my first experience playing with a team. Just thought that was interesting.
It was fun. Everyone was friendly and didn't seem to mind that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. At all. Whatsoever.
But today I am in PAIN. The top sides of my calves hurt and it is a bitch to walk.
I went to the mall at lunch to get away from the office. I actually hadn't been there in quite awhile. I impressed myself immensely when I went into Bath and Body Works during their semi-annual sale and came out with nothing. Yeah, I picked up various bottles in fun flavors like Wild Honeysuckle and Water Lily Blossom. I even walked around with some products in my hand, as if I were going to buy them. In the end I convinced myself that I didn't need any of them. Especially since my linen closet is chock-full of purchases I made at the last Bath and Body Works semi-annual sale in January. Where do the six months go, I ask you??
I was hungry, so I ventured up to the food court. I studied the menus at most of the places (except for the Jananese joint, which I'd already gone to earlier in the week - oh wait, maybe I HAVE been to the mall recently - disregard the second sentence of this post) and ended up at Subway. Subway always has the longest line, which is cool, because it usually moves pretty quickly. Soon enough it was my turn.
"Yes sir?" the woman behind the counter said to me.
"Um...I'll have a six-inch turkey on wheat?"
I got called 'Sir' at Subway today. It must have been my long hair and the skirt I was wearing.
This morning, as I do every morning, I put my contacts in my eyeballs. I always do the left one first. After I finished, I left the bathroom to select my outfit for the day. I noticed that my right eye was blurry. No matter, I thought. This happens a lot. I'll just blink a few times and it'll clear right up. This morning though, no dice. Damn.
Back to the bathroom I went, where I stuck my finger in my eye in an effort to slide the contact out and clean it with some more solution. Hmm. No contact. Oh well, maybe it's stuck up under my eyelid or something, I thought. I poked myself in the eye a few more times with no success. Shit! My eye was really starting to get red!
Only then did I look down and notice that my contact was sitting on the countertop, right next to its case. What the...? This whole time my stupid contact was probably sitting there laughing at me while I jabbed my finger into my eye repeatedly. Don't worry, folks, I washed my hands before I started doing that. I am puzzled as to how I missed the contact falling out of my eye after I put it in, but that's probably just going to remain one of life's great mysteries.
Another mystery for today: I was driving behind a car with a vanity plate that read, "Punjaby". I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Is this person very proud of his/her Indian heritage, or is he/she just a really big fan of the movie 'Annie'?
I was in New York with my family on Saturday. It was a lot of fun, but probably one of the hottest days I've ever experienced up there. I wanted to take my pants off halfway through the day and just walk around bottomless. I really didn't care anymore. It was that hot.
Oh, we walked all around that city, from mid-town to Chinatown. We literally walked. After a mishap on the subway on the way downtown, my mother refused to get back on to go uptown again. So we walked a good 50 blocks to get back to our bus at the end of the day. But that was okay, because I had to burn off the corn cakes, pizza and rice pudding I ate.
While we were on our way to the subway earlier in the day (in other words, before the meltdown), we stopped at a Starbucks to use the bathroom. As with all of the Starbucks I've visited in New York, this one had only one bathroom for both sexes. Ew. And of course there was someone in there when we made our way to the back of the store.
My sister was slated to go next, and the woman who walked out of the bathroom looked at her and said, "They need to clean up in there." I interpreted that to mean that she had destroyed the bathroom herself, but didn't want my sister to think she was to blame. Dirty bitch.
So my sister goes in and looks back at us with a really scared expression on her face. But eventually she shut the door behind her. She came out in record time. I think she mumbled "Good luck" to my mother as she ran as fast as she possibly could to the front of the store and out the door.
My mother went in next. And came out really really fast. I don't think she's ever peed that fast in her life. She is not always so quick in the bathroom, my mother.
By this point, there was quite a line behind me. I was getting nervous, too. I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
OH MY G-D.
I won't go into the particulars, but suffice it to say that bodily fluids and the like were ALL OVER the toilet and its surrounding area. I squatted as far as I possibly could away from the bowl while still aiming pretty well, gagged a bunch of times, and got the fuck out of there. My mom was waiting for me right outside the door and squirted about half the bottle of her hand sanitizer in my hands.
I said to no one in particular that it was probably cleaner to pee on the street outside. One of the women in line heard that and immediately left.
So I was driving back to work from lunch, minding my own business today, when what do I see in the middle of the street on the double yellow line? A hair extension. It wasn't a small strand, either. It was a big old clump. If I didn't know better, I'd think some woman ripped her hair out at the scalp and threw it in the street. Ick.
I only point all this out because I feel sorry for the woman with a patchy hole in her head now. That shit's expensive.
I am completely disgusted by the situation going on with the guy who was diagnosed with a particularly dangerous strain of TB and the CDC's efforts to quarantine him. Whether or not the CDC communicated effectively this guy's need not to travel, he should have known better. That is an understatement. What this guy did, in my opinion, is knowlingly and recklessly endanger the lives of people because he was too selfish to postpone his plans. So the guy's wedding and honeymoon were over in Europe. He could have put those plans off, given the fact that he has a life-threatening, CONTAGIOUS illness that could endanger the lives of fellow passengers aboard the two flights he was on. Not to mention the fact that he was possibly spreading disease in more than one foreign country...isn't that frowned upon? Even if he didn't know the severity of his situation before boarding his first flight to Paris, when the CDC caught up with him by cell phone in Rome and told him they would figure out a way to get him home safely BUT TOLD HIM NOT TO BOARD HIS FLIGHT, this genius decided that being 'stuck' in Italy was too much for him and 'snuck' on board. Those are his words. Asshole.
Yes, the CDC should have done a better job of flagging this person, there is no question. But this guy is a selfish prick, even if the risk of other passengers contracting TB are pretty low. I am thoroughly disgusted. I think I already said that.
Every morning I wake up with the best of intentions. I'm going to get to work early, I'm going to take care of business, I'm going to eat a lunch packed with nutrients that is easy on the pocketbook, I'm going to go to the gym after work, I'm going to cook up some healthy grub for dinner, I'm going to hang out with my husband but I'm still going to go to bed at a reasonable hour.
Let's just say I'm lucky if I get to work on time. It goes downhill from there.
I think my biggest struggle every day, though, is the struggle I have with myself about going to the gym after work. If I've gone to the gym the day before, I am so pumped to get there again. I feel energized, I feel like I'm doing something good for myself - and I am DEFINITELY going to go.
By 3:00 I'm fighting with myself. I want to go, but then again I don't. I don't like the cardio machines, I hate running, etc, etc, etc. I know I'll feel so much better if I go, but all I want to do is go home and do nothing.
This entry is really just an extension of me fighting with myself. But I think I've won - so what does that mean? I'm going to the freaking gym.
So I've been tagged by the Ranting Radish to do one of these Meme things in which I divulge all kinds of secrets about myself. By all kinds of secrets, I mean 10 things that might seem a little quirky to the average person.
1. I watch my odometer obsessively. No, not because I'm watching to see how many miles I get to the gallon or some such dorky thing. I watch because if the miles reach a number with all the same digits, such as 888 or 2222, in my weird little superstitious mind, something good will happen. It's like I've won the jackpot in Vegas every time I catch it happening.
2. I am constantly giving people the finger when I drive. People are idiots, and they deserve to know how I feel about them, even if all they've done is take an extra second too long at the stop sign. My husband gets so mad at me because not only will I flip people off when I drive, but I do it when he's driving too.
3. I have absolutely no idea what to be when I grow up. My job aspirations change daily, and sometimes more often than that. In the past week alone, I wanted to be a pharmacist, an aromatherapist, the great American novel writer, a Saturday Night Live writer and a makeup artist. Funny, not one of those things is even remotely close to what I'm currently doing with my life.
4. I wore the same pants to work twice this week. It's only Wednesday.
5. I absolutely cannot, ever ever ever, have anything sweet for dinner. I am not one of those people who gets off on the fact that they ate ice cream as the main portion of their meal. Nor will I ever eat a PB & J and be satisfied for the night. I am more a savory girl, not sweet.
6. I am scared to be home alone at night. Especially if my husband isn't coming home and I have to sleep alone. I am convinced that a serial killer knows I'm by myself and is plotting to kill me. I never have these thoughts during the day.
7. I am not a phone person. Which really sucks because my phone number at work is posted on our Web site, and I get misdirected calls all day long from people who need a new insurance card or are looking for information on their dental benefit. Consequently, I don't answer my work phone a lot. Voicemail is my best friend.
8. I have a thing for ugly old men with big lips. I am obsessed with Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler. I do good impressions of both of them. You should ask me to demonstrate.
9. While we're on the subject of impressions, I also do a good one of Oprah and one of any contestant on Deal or No Deal. Feel free to ask about them for your next party.
10. I love the beach, love everything about it, but I get really skeeved when staying in beach hotels/motels/rented houses. I hate to walk around barefoot in them, because you just know a lot of gnarly shit went down in every single hotel/motel/rented house in every single beach town in the entire world. I love blanket statements.
11. I'll throw in an extra one for good measure. I think it's bad luck to knock on wood. I actually prefer rubbing the wood for good luck. If someone knocks on wood in my presence, I will rub it right after. Yes, I know how perverted this sounds.
I don't know too many bloggers (although I would like to) so I'm going to tag Wassygirl. Maybe she'll do it, maybe she won't. Stay tuned!!
I walked into the (empty!) bathroom at work a few minutes ago. I scouted out all the stalls to see which one was least offensive. In the very last stall - the handicapped one - I saw a strange sight.
A pair of black socks on the floor.
They weren't balled up, or in a heap as if they had fallen out of someone's bag - they looked like they were laid neatly on the ground. It just makes me wonder who on my floor is walking around sockless. And why.
But it's not the first time I've seen really odd things in the bathroom. I worked in an office in Georgetown back in the late 90s. A woman named Barb worked there too. She was really sweet, really obese and really really strange. She was a genius with numbers, though, so no matter what kind of shenanigans she would pull - you could often find Barb snoring in her cube - the powers that be let her keep her job.
It is worth noting, at least to me, that as weird as Barb was, she had a husband and a daughter, whose name is May. That made me feel better and less sorry for her. I was glad she wasn't lonely. Although said husband and daughter would wait for Barb half the day in their beat-up brown Chevy Whatever parked in front of the building. I often wondered why little May wasn't in school. She used to wander into the office and ask my coworkers for food. It broke my heart a little, but she was a sweet girl. My point is, Barb had a family, a strange family that fit her quite well.
Back to Barb and the bathroom. My first Barb/bathroom experience happened when I walked in one day to find Barb in her bra and panties, and nothing else. She was standing by the sink washing her dress. She sort of yelled and covered herself with the dress when I walked in. "Don't look at me, Heather!" she said. I didn't think to point out the fact that she was standing in the communal bathroom - it wasn't like I walked into her private bathroom where she could walk around freely with no worry of anyone catching her in undies. Instead, I think I turned on my heels and walked right back out. When I walked back into the office, my friend told me I looked like I had seen a ghost. After explaining what I had just seen, she understood why I looked the way I did.
Another time I walked into the bathroom and there was Barb, again at the sink, only this time she was washing a rather long, rectangular table with its legs folded under itself. Where she got the table, I have no idea. And why the bathroom sink, I can't even begin to guess. In fact, I don't want to know. But obviously, all these years later, I still think about it.
Finally, I was walking to the bathroom one day (wow, it seems like all I did was go to the bathroom!), and to do that you had to walk past the kitchen. Barb popped out of the kitchen, crunching away on an apple. "Hello, Heather!" she trilled in a fake British accent. She followed me straight to the bathroom, where she proceeded to take a dump while still chowing down. I told a coworker what I had just witnessed, and she just remarked how good Barb was at multitasking.
It was all so exciting with Barb around. And her exploits really make for good stories to tell, even now, even to tell to people who don't know her. I really wonder what happened to her, but I hope she's working somewhere her numbers skills are appreciated and her bathroom eccentricities are overlooked.
In the meantime, I have no more good coworker/bathroom stories to tell, so I have to resort to talking about black socks in the handicapped stall.
I was out with my sister and my friend Erin over the weekend. Admittedly, I was a bit tipsy, but the three of us saw the exact same thing that I'm about the describe. Well, they were tipsy too, but whatever.
This young woman, most likely in her early 20s, walked by us. She was wearing a halter top that was pleated. I looked for a photo to post along with this blog so I could further illustrate my point. But just know that this halter top was silk and was completely pleated. And it had bright flowers all over it, which is to say that it had a flowery print.
She had these ginormous boobs under that halter top, and there was no mistaking the fact that she had no bra on. Those puppies were flopping. It was a little unsettling to see.
But those breasts of hers were swinging back and forth in opposite directions. Like if one was swinging right, the other was swinging left. Then they'd swing in the opposite direction, coming together to meet in the middle.
Because of the pleats in her top and because of the direction in which her boobies were flying, it looked like she was an accordian. A blonde, tan, promiscuous, flowery accordian.
(I made up the part about the promiscuity. I don't actually know that for a fact.)
I saw the strangest thing as I was waiting for the elevator at my office this morning There were a handful of people waiting with me. A woman breezed in from the garage and walked over to one of the women waiting to go upstairs.
"You look gorgeous!" she said as she swished her hips (I'm not kidding).
"So do you!" the other one cried (again, there really was this much enthusiasm between the two).
And then they air kissed.
Um...never in my 4 1/2 years here have I ever seen anyone do anything remotely close to this. Usually people have to hide their disgust for one another, and usually that's pretty transparent. Good for them, I say. But you won't catch me greeting any of my coworkers this way.
In other news, I just spilled some of the milk I bought for my cereal. But there was no use crying.
Sometimes while in the shower in the morning, I have to make a quick decision. Because I give myself just enough time to wake up, check the morning papers online and get ready for work, I can either shave my legs or wear eyeshadow - but not both. That would require an extra five minutes that I just can't spare.
Sure, I could spend a little less time online in the morning. I don't necessarily have to check MySpace - but since it's banned at work, I won't be able to look all day. And I really need to read those bulletins. They're full of great tidbits such as how many times my friends have eaten cereal in the past week or which of them pees in the shower.
I'm digressing, but that's what I do. And maybe that's why I don't have time each day to have both silky-smooth legs AND beautifully made-up eyes (because I am THAT good at putting on eye makeup).
I guess the lesson here is that I really don't need to hit the snooze button 3 times - what's an extra 9 minutes of sleep getting me anyway? It's just another reminder of the depressing fact that I actually can't stay in bed all day. Better to just get up and get on with it, right?
Okay, lesson learned. I'll let you know tomorrow if I actually follow through and get up earlier.
Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, today I chose shaving.
I know I like to think my shit don't stink, but I lean a little bit closer...oh, whatever, you know the rest.
I think I need to learn not to go to the communal bathroom on my floor right after lunch. Because it's a fucking free-for-all of crapping going on in there. Sometimes I am seriously shocked at the smells. Hasn't anyone ever heard of a courtesy flush?? Do these women have no shame? I am seriously embarrassed to do my business at work - I wait till no one else is around OR I go to a seldom-occupied bathroom on another floor. And I ALWAYS do the courtesy flush. What's so hard about it?
The concept of the communal bathroom is sort of lost on me anyway. Going to the bathroom - at least in my mind- is one of the most intimate things you can do. I really really don't need for other people to hear me do it. Can't they build little walls in between the stalls so no one can hear each other? And while they're at it, can they place some air freshener up in that mofo so if your business smells less than fresh, at least you can mask it with Spring Bouquet?
And whatever, before anyone (does anyone read this thing anyway??) calls me out, I know I am anything but ladylike. But at least I have class enough to be embarrassed by my bodily functions. At least some of them. Farts don't count.
There was a guy my friends and I met sophmore year of college. His name was Chris, but the guys I hung out with named him 'Pledge'. He was sort of their mascot for awhile. These guys weren't in a fraternity, but sometimes they acted like they were, and they recruited Chris, aka Pledge, to do stuff for them just like a pledge in a fraternity would.
He was really fun and funny and totally insane. We learned that he hacked into his high school's computer system to change his friends' grades. So not only was he a little crazy, but also brilliant. He could really hold his liquor, too. I could tell a lot of stories about Pledge, but there are just too many to tell.
Pledge was around all through college. He was a huge part of our group of friends. I could always count on seeing Pledge any time of day, mainly because I think he skipped a lot of class. One night we were all hanging out at someone's apartment and Pledge said to me, "I've always had a crush on you." I told him to shut up and he passed me the bong.
Things went downhill when Pledge started dating this girl "D". She was cool at first, but eventually turned Pledge against all his friends. By the time we all graduated, we had lost touch with him. It makes me sad. She was a complete bitch and I really hope he didn't marry her. She was his only serious girlfriend in college.
I miss that goofy bastard.
If anyone out there knows a guy who was nicknamed Pledge in college but whose real name is Chris, please tell him that I'm looking for him.
I went to the cleaners on my lunch break today to pick up some clothes. I always watch the most interesting people while waiting in line. Today was no different - the guy paying for his stuff had his cleaned clothes hanging on that metal hangy thing that you hang dry cleaning on while you pay. I took stock of what he had. Suit - check Work shirts - check Black long-sleeved cotton Lionel Richie top - wha??
Once again, I was laughing by myself. This is a constant in my life. But this guy brought to the cleaners his long-sleeve t-shirt with Lionel Richie circa 1982 on the front. It seriously looked like a velvet Elvis painting, only with Lionel Richie.
I really had to contain myself and wait till I got to my car, and when I did, I could NOT STOP LAUGHING. Normally I feel bad laughing at people, but this was just too much. I am probably going to hell.
BodyPump is my favorite class at the gym. Strength training for all major muscle groups in one hour - you can't beat that. Each muscle group gets its own song, and every few weeks or so, new songs come out so that no one gets too bored.
Last night was especially fun. After a really fun squat track of a song I can't remember at this very moment (but at the time I liked), and good chest and back songs, I was pumped when I heard the first strains of 'Sexyback' for triceps. (Although when you think about it, it might have been a more appropriate song for the back exercises.) Justin Timberlake made those tricep kickbacks and pushups fly by.
Well, it got better. Because next was biceps. Imagine my excitement when I hear this - Din din din din din din din. Din din din din din din din- you know what I'm getting at, right? You don't? You can't hear the din dins in your mind??
It was, yes, Ice Ice Baby. Oh my G-d. I was beside myself . I looked around the studio at my Pump classmates, and no one looked phased at all. In fact, they looked like robots at that moment. Here I was, cracking up, but I was apparently laughing alone. It was the most fun bicep song ever ever ever.
And here's the best part (or most embarrassing part) - I knew every single word to that song.
It's been a couple of weeks since I've blogged. I actually have something to blog about, but I'll do that later. For now, I want to share how funny I am. And modest. Definitely modest.
Anyway, a coworker approached me, saying that another of our coworkers - I'll call her JJ - told him that I'd be able to give him some information that he asked JJ for. Clearly JJ was just pawning work off on me, as I had no information to give my poor associate.
So I said, "She is such a fucking pig. Just like Alec Baldwin's daughter."
Since college when one of my friends introduced me to this phrase, it's sort of been my credo. I really subscribe to this philosophy - but I'm only talking about the SOUND of farts. There is absolutely nothing funny about the smell.
I can think back to certain situations in my life where someone has farted at an inappropriate time and I will still crack up as if it just happened. In fact, I'm cracking up right now.
Someone farted in my pilates class last night. And seriously, I tried. I tried to hold it in, to be mature. But I couldn't. I laughed and laughed.
Puppets will always make me laugh. I don't know what it is about them, but I am fascinated by them, and find them hilarious. I am especially obsessed with the Muppets.
Last night I was watching that new show, 'Thank G-d You're Here,' and it was okay. I think the participants were too nervous for their own good. I mean, it just goes to show how much some actors and comedians REALLY need a script, or at least some practice. But the skit with Mo'Nique was pretty good.
The premise of the show is to put comedians in completely improvised situations. They put Mo'Nique in a situation where she was the cohost of a game show. The game show was pretty random, I guess to throw Mo'Nique off. At one point they put up a bunch of random photos for the contestants to identify of people that were supposed to be celebrities, at least in Pretendland.
Well, one of the photos was of this busted-looking sock puppet and I seriously lost it. In fact, every time I think about it, I lose it all over again. Christ, I love puppets.
On a related note, whatever happened to Sifl and Ollie?
Every 8 weeks or so, I get my hair cut. And my beloved Angel, who has been cutting my hair since high school, straightens it every time I go in for a cut. I come out of the salon with my hair bouncing, which doesn't happen when it's doing its normal wavy/curly thing. I feel chic, I feel sophisticated, I feel different.
I like the straight hair - and it's fun to feel so different - but honestly, I LOVE my wavy/curly hair.
And maybe it's because I look so different with straight hair, but damn it, when people see me after I get my hair cut, they always remark on how good I look. So does that mean that I don't normally look good? Do they like me better with my hair straight? Do I normally look a hot mess?
It's like when people compliment you for losing weight...you have to wonder if you were that fat to begin with...
Editor's Note: I just went to the printer we all share at work and one of my coworkers asked me if I was the new Sanjaya. You know, since my hair is different today....
When it's nice out, I like to walk to the mall for lunch since it's right across the street. This mall used to be something special. Saks Fifth Avenue, gourmet coffee shop, fun makeup store - it was a 14-year-old's Saturday afternoon dream. Unfortunately it's not such a hot destination anymore, and the Saks, coffee and makeup have been replaced by Spencers, McDonald's and Leather Man. It's fine if you need to pick up a birthday card or a pair of socks, but shoppers have mostly migrated to better places.
That being said, the mall is a great reprieve from the craziness of the office. It's kind of comforting to walk into the mall after being in my cube all morning. I'm not looking to get my next great outfit there, although I have to admit I spent a bit more time than I'd like to admit looking at all the poly-cotton blend garments at Forever 21.
But what I find hilarious - and maybe I'm being a judgy snot for saying this - are the women who clearly spent way too much time feathering their hair thinking they're hot shit at the mall. Two such gems were walking behind me out of Macy's today and were trash-talking someone they knew who had a Coach bag. One said that she didn't understand how someone could act so white trash yet have all that money. The other said something along the lines of, "I mean, step out of the trailor." None of it really made sense to me, especially when I turned around and saw who was saying it. Frosty-haired, sickly skinny WT who wouldn't know their Balenciaga from their Bally's Total Fitness membership. Ladies, please. Before you open your mouth to spout out nonsensical bullshit that you only think you understand, get your facts straight. White trash or no, a Coach bag is a step up from the Style & Co. I saw you carrying.
Yesterday when I got home from work, Brian was working in the front yard. There was this huge patch (15 feet by 30 feet) of weeds that he took down in the fall and we don't want things to keep growing back, so we're going to put crushed rock there. The weeds were literally taller than I am. Not that that's saying much, but still. They had leaves that were bigger than my big head.
Anyway, I didn't really want to hang out and watch Brian dig in the dirt, and he was tired anyway. So he made a fire in our fire pit out back and roasted marshmallows and drank beer. It's been awhile since I've had a drink and I was buzzed after the first bottle. It was so relaxing and I have to say that I haven't really relaxed in a good long while. Our backyard is big and woodsy enough that sometimes you forget you're in a backyard - you could just be somewhere in the woods. Last night made me grateful that we have it.
After one beer, I was hungry and the marshmallows weren't cutting it. So I went in and made dinner while still buzzed. I have to say it was some of the best food I've made in awhile. I should cook drunk more often.
After my favorite show The Hills last night, I decided to catch MTV's latest brilliant offering, The X Factor. Basically, it involves two people who used to date, their current significant others and a really nice beach resort. The exes arrive with their current loves and are promptly taken to luxury accomodations where they will spend the weekend - minus their significant others. So the exes are essentially stuck together for the whole weekend in this nice romantic setting. Sounds innocent enough, right?
Meanwhile, the significant others are put up in a shitty bungalow and are forced to spy on their boyfriend/girlfriend to see if they remain faithful. It's awesome. The exes are all awkward around each other at first, but by the second night, they've forgotten all about being awkward as they tongue each other in the hot tub. Oh, those sneaky MTV producers!!!
The significant others of the exes watch the entire display. After the weekend is over, they confront their boyfriend/girlfriend, give them two tiles with an X on one and an O on the other, and tell them to choose who they want to be with. In this particular episode, the exes end up back together.
It's pretty confusing, I know. I'd definitely watch it again, though. Too bad my favorite show The Hills season finale and reunion show is on in its time slot next week.
I feel bad even writing this, but I feel like I have to get it off my chest.
People who talk to themselves scare me. There, I said it. If that makes me a bad person, get over it.
I was walking from my car into the mall today when I noticed a shady looking guy on the sidewalk not too far from the entrace to Macy's. He was tall, sort of bent over, wearing a hat that he probably won from a radio station. It was bright yellow, so you can see why I drew that conclusion. His clothes were mismatched, and he was smoking a cigarette. Oh, and I forgot to mention he looked to be in his 40s. Because clearly the fact that he's in his 40s was the shadiest part of him.
And he was talking. In sort of a Karl Childers-from-Slingblade kind of voice. I literally jumped - and I was probably about 50 feet away from him. I thought maybe he was talking to me, and my gut reaction to walk quickly in the other direction without making eye contact kicked right in. I looked back - only to see something silver hooked to his creepy, hairy ear. And I realized he was talking on the phone.
I looked back again. The hat wasn't bright yellow, it was a beautiful golden color. He was dressed really fashionably and what I thought was a cigarette was actually a pen. And maybe he was 30. Maybe.
Here's my point. I discriminated against this poor guy because I thought he was talking to himself and therefore labeled him 'shady.' And I'm sorry for that. But the fact of the matter is, I don't care how mainstream Bluetooth becomes, you will come off looking like a freak if people think you're talking to yourself. It's not cool. Hold the cell phone in your hand, talk about your yeast infection and hold up lines at Target because you can't juggle the phone and your wallet at the same time. You know, like a normal person.
I got rear-ended last week. It sucked. Mostly it sucked because I was on my way to lunch at the time, and I was hungry! But seriously, the guy rammed right into me while I was at a dead stop. He didn't even apologize.
Since then, I learned that he did over $2,000 worth of damage to my car. That was fine, because a day after the accident, I didn't feel any pain. The day after that, I didn't feel any pain either. I thought I was in the clear. Well, the day after THAT, my neck began to hurt. And so the fun of whiplash has arrived. I thought I could tough it out. I was wrong. This shit hurts! Although it doesn't disrupt my sleep, so I'm thankful for that.
Today I couldn't hold out any longer- I called the doctor. I knew I was bad because I couldn't bend my neck forward to dry my hair. My doctor wasn't around, so I saw the practice's nurse practitioner who actually made me cry. She was mean and yelled at me for stopping to say hello to someone I knew in the waiting room. I cried while the nurse took my blood pressure and I cried as I described the situation to the nurse practitioner. I think she felt bad because she handed me tissues and tried to make me laugh. I didn't.
Long story short, I need physical therapy. I refused the pain meds, and I can ice my neck. Big fun.
Yesterday I was in the cafeteria at work, getting some breakfast. This rather flamboyant man was standing in the grill line, with his female friend. The Phil Collins song, "Invisible Touch" was blaring on the boom box the cafeteria workers play to keep themselves from wanting to poke their eyes out with the plastic forks.
So Flamboyant Guy starts snapping his fingers and says to his friend, "Hey, wasn't this your prom song?" He starts singing the song and dancing in front of her face, kind of Carlton-style. His friend just kept saying, "Shut up, shut up."
Why no one else seemed to notice this, I have no idea. But I kept having to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. There is nothing worse than being by yourself and laughing for what looks to be no reason at all. So embarrassing.
For as long as I can remember, I have had the dreaded 'Sunday night feeling'. It's anxiety for the upcoming week. It's mourning the weekend just past. And I just wish it would go away.
Sunday is a perfectly good day. But come about 7 p.m., the feeling just creeps up and no matter what I'm doing, I can't make it stop. I get so depressed about the fact that the weekend is over so quickly, and I wish I would have gotten to do more with my free time.
The thing is, Sunday night isn't so bad on paper. Brian and I usually eat dinner with his family or sometimes mine. The TV's pretty good that night. I just wish I could get rid of the feeling that I have to go through a whole week before I get to the weekend again.
Once Monday afternoon rolls around, I'm fine. But why can't I snap out of my depression for those 17 hours?