I know you all remember this.
Well I have a few more additions.
"Living Lohan" (Thanks Rae. How could I leave it out?)
The "No Child Left Behind" Initiative
The Jonas Brothers. The only thing "Burnin' Up" is the bile in my throat. Way too skinny jeans, strange head bandanas and pretending to play instruments? All I can do is stare with my mouth agape until I'm pulled out of my trance by the screaming tweens. Yeah, and that shit is SOLD OUT.
LOL cats. Admittedly, I'm totally addicted and amused. But I know it's not good, not good at all. I realized it was sign of the end of days when I made one of my own out a picture of my parent's cats in the dryer. Whoa.
"High School Musical 3." THREE? Really? Why?!?!
"Million Dollar Listing." Where douche bags run free and it's amazingly hard to turn away.
How anyone can ever EVER think that Adam Levine is sexy. If sexy is a bag of bones in size 2 leather pants and a wife beater, then fine. Otherwise...NO.
That's it for now.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
A Magical Evening, Part 2 of 2
Ok so...my lady friend and I sat and watched the swing dancing "lessons" on the back deck of the ICA. I use the term "lessons" loosely because the instructors were less than precise about their direction. They were actually both a big mess. Everyone was confused and hilarity (at least to us) ensued.
There were all kinds of people partaking, some cute, and some utterly ridiculous. There were more fanny packs and tourists than I care to speak of.
It was while we were watching that I realized this was the most fun I had had in the longest time, and I couldn't stop laughing. I was wiping my eyes from the tears every few minutes. I could blame it on being extremely over tired, or on being so giddy that it was Friday, or maybe my lady friend and I were just a match made in heaven at that moment.
So while we were on the back deck, we both realized that Anthony's Pier 4 was next door and that neither of us had never been and didn't know too much about it but had heard (in general terms) that the food was good.
It all started innocently. We opened our menus to paruse the choices and I quickly realized how ridiculously over priced all of the entrees were. Sure, it included dishes like prime rib and lobster, but the prices were 50% more than they would be in any other restaurant Boston waterfront restaurant. Then I looked around and realized we were the youngest people there by about 20 years. Then I also realized that this is where people who wanted to throw away their money and eat shitty food came to dine. And I knew immediately that this whole experience would be a large waste of money.
But it would NOT be a waste of time. Oh no.
Our attitude at that moment is best described as a quote from a classic 80's movie: "Sometimes you just have to say 'What the fuck.'"
So that's what we did.
Our waiter was shaping up to be a complete moron. He didn't know what Lobster Newburgh (a regular dish on the menu, which we found what just bisque with a tail in it) was. Either it was his first day or he had a touch of the Down's. I'm not sure. But either way, we decided it would be fun to mess with his head.
And so our romatic dinner as a lesbian couple began. I, of course, was the dominant one, ordering for my lady friend and not letting her speak directly to the waiter. She would slip up occasionally, I would threaten her life in front of the wait staff and then she would pretend to cry a bit. It was all was very well played.
The looks we got from him (and the water guy) were priceless, and there are not words that exist in nature to describe them. We made it a night where we got our money's worth.
But we'll never go back to that stupid place again.
There were all kinds of people partaking, some cute, and some utterly ridiculous. There were more fanny packs and tourists than I care to speak of.
It was while we were watching that I realized this was the most fun I had had in the longest time, and I couldn't stop laughing. I was wiping my eyes from the tears every few minutes. I could blame it on being extremely over tired, or on being so giddy that it was Friday, or maybe my lady friend and I were just a match made in heaven at that moment.
So while we were on the back deck, we both realized that Anthony's Pier 4 was next door and that neither of us had never been and didn't know too much about it but had heard (in general terms) that the food was good.
It all started innocently. We opened our menus to paruse the choices and I quickly realized how ridiculously over priced all of the entrees were. Sure, it included dishes like prime rib and lobster, but the prices were 50% more than they would be in any other restaurant Boston waterfront restaurant. Then I looked around and realized we were the youngest people there by about 20 years. Then I also realized that this is where people who wanted to throw away their money and eat shitty food came to dine. And I knew immediately that this whole experience would be a large waste of money.
But it would NOT be a waste of time. Oh no.
Our attitude at that moment is best described as a quote from a classic 80's movie: "Sometimes you just have to say 'What the fuck.'"
So that's what we did.
Our waiter was shaping up to be a complete moron. He didn't know what Lobster Newburgh (a regular dish on the menu, which we found what just bisque with a tail in it) was. Either it was his first day or he had a touch of the Down's. I'm not sure. But either way, we decided it would be fun to mess with his head.
And so our romatic dinner as a lesbian couple began. I, of course, was the dominant one, ordering for my lady friend and not letting her speak directly to the waiter. She would slip up occasionally, I would threaten her life in front of the wait staff and then she would pretend to cry a bit. It was all was very well played.
The looks we got from him (and the water guy) were priceless, and there are not words that exist in nature to describe them. We made it a night where we got our money's worth.
But we'll never go back to that stupid place again.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
A Magical Evening, Part 1 of 2
A lady friend of mine (she knows who she is) accompanied me to the ICA last Friday night. It's taken me a while to collect my thoughts on the evening, as I was overwhelmed by how much fucking fun I had.
Ok so...for those of you not in the know, the ICA = Institute of Contemporary Art. I don't tell you this to insult your intelligence. I tell you this because both my lady friend and I had to look it up, yet neither of us had admitted this to each other.
I had gotten some free tickets to the ICA from a co-worker and was trying to think who would be fun to go with, who might be interested in weird shit (because, let's be honest, that's what most contemporary art is), and who I could tolerate for a few hours on a Friday night after a hellish work week (because that list of people is quickly becoming very, very short. It's me, it's not you).
On this particular evening, I got caught up at work, even though I was determined to leave at 4:30, but of course one of the owners, right before I was headed out, had to talk to me for 8 minutes about how he was unsatisfied with his most recent flight (that he had just returned from, that I had booked, because I'm basically a personal assistant now) and what I need to do differently next time. Instead of telling him to book his own fucking flight if he didn't like how I booked it, I just smiled and nodded and flew past him, as he was asking me while I was leaving before 5.
So I finally met my lady friend at the train station and we made our way over the the Seaport. We couldn't find the main entrance to the ICA because apparently even the way you get in the building has to be unexpected, unique and different. Sigh. Then we couldn't figure out what floor to go to but found one of the exhibit halls completely by accident, after almost entering some sort of strange sound studio/office where I'm pretty sure a couple of guys were fighting about cubicle culture.
So for the next hour, we acted like 12 year olds, making fun of all the ridiculous shit that someone, somewhere, has labeled as art. Some examples: a video of an underwearless black dude walking down a sidewalk; some pictures that the artist definitely took when he was high as a kite, in which he drew a "half pipe" with chalk on pavement and then took a series of pictures "skateboarding" on the chalk half pipe; and then another video of the same pothead artist spray panting...and then re-spray panting a wall. However, not all of it was ridiculous. There was a really cool exhibit that we got into which experimented with the possibilities of sound and space, but not without some requisite pussy jokes that couldn't be passed up.
The staff at that place is...something else. I got more dirty looks in that place than I've gotten in the last week combined. That's a lot of dirty looks!
We were pretty fed up with the ICA at this point, only because we thought it was pretty stupid and mildly boring. THEN...we saw it.
On the back deck of the building, over looking the water, swing dancing lessons were in full...swing.
Ok so...for those of you not in the know, the ICA = Institute of Contemporary Art. I don't tell you this to insult your intelligence. I tell you this because both my lady friend and I had to look it up, yet neither of us had admitted this to each other.
I had gotten some free tickets to the ICA from a co-worker and was trying to think who would be fun to go with, who might be interested in weird shit (because, let's be honest, that's what most contemporary art is), and who I could tolerate for a few hours on a Friday night after a hellish work week (because that list of people is quickly becoming very, very short. It's me, it's not you).
On this particular evening, I got caught up at work, even though I was determined to leave at 4:30, but of course one of the owners, right before I was headed out, had to talk to me for 8 minutes about how he was unsatisfied with his most recent flight (that he had just returned from, that I had booked, because I'm basically a personal assistant now) and what I need to do differently next time. Instead of telling him to book his own fucking flight if he didn't like how I booked it, I just smiled and nodded and flew past him, as he was asking me while I was leaving before 5.
So I finally met my lady friend at the train station and we made our way over the the Seaport. We couldn't find the main entrance to the ICA because apparently even the way you get in the building has to be unexpected, unique and different. Sigh. Then we couldn't figure out what floor to go to but found one of the exhibit halls completely by accident, after almost entering some sort of strange sound studio/office where I'm pretty sure a couple of guys were fighting about cubicle culture.
So for the next hour, we acted like 12 year olds, making fun of all the ridiculous shit that someone, somewhere, has labeled as art. Some examples: a video of an underwearless black dude walking down a sidewalk; some pictures that the artist definitely took when he was high as a kite, in which he drew a "half pipe" with chalk on pavement and then took a series of pictures "skateboarding" on the chalk half pipe; and then another video of the same pothead artist spray panting...and then re-spray panting a wall. However, not all of it was ridiculous. There was a really cool exhibit that we got into which experimented with the possibilities of sound and space, but not without some requisite pussy jokes that couldn't be passed up.
The staff at that place is...something else. I got more dirty looks in that place than I've gotten in the last week combined. That's a lot of dirty looks!
We were pretty fed up with the ICA at this point, only because we thought it was pretty stupid and mildly boring. THEN...we saw it.
On the back deck of the building, over looking the water, swing dancing lessons were in full...swing.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Gosh! It's so...glamorous!!
I realized I haven't written in a week. What is WAH-RONG with me??
I had a very magical evening last Friday night, one that deserves its own (if not two of it's own) blog entr(ies). So, stay tuned for that.
In other news, I think I've reached a new high with my hair. I know, I know. I'm writing about my hair. It's terribly superficial. Shame on me.
But anyway...my hair looks great lately. Sure it still drives me nuts and there are days, especially when it's 90 degrees outside, that I think I'm absolutely insane to have wasted going on two years of my life now growing it out. Also I have some stray grays which are...not that cute. But if I part it the right way, you can hardly see them. But I just fucking love it. I love twirling it while I fall asleep at night. I love running my fingers through it and making is shiny. I love the color of it.
I just love it!
Ok...I promise to write something more substantial soon. I PROMISE.
I had a very magical evening last Friday night, one that deserves its own (if not two of it's own) blog entr(ies). So, stay tuned for that.
In other news, I think I've reached a new high with my hair. I know, I know. I'm writing about my hair. It's terribly superficial. Shame on me.
But anyway...my hair looks great lately. Sure it still drives me nuts and there are days, especially when it's 90 degrees outside, that I think I'm absolutely insane to have wasted going on two years of my life now growing it out. Also I have some stray grays which are...not that cute. But if I part it the right way, you can hardly see them. But I just fucking love it. I love twirling it while I fall asleep at night. I love running my fingers through it and making is shiny. I love the color of it.
I just love it!
Ok...I promise to write something more substantial soon. I PROMISE.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The one when I go off about people who are way too self entitled
I happen to be around quite a few people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth...and I'm around them way too much. Professional hazard.
I hope that someone puts me out of my misery if the day ever comes when I think something is below me. We'll list manual labor, or anything that may fall under that category, as an example. I happen to work in an office that stores ridiculous quantities of paper, in all shapes, sizes and forms. Occasionally these papers will need to be brought out of the cobwebs for review, but guess what? It is VERY much below many people here to stoop to such a level. Get my OWN files from downstairs? And CARRY them UPSTAIRS? They can't be bothered. Some of these snobs can't even load a coffee cup into the dishwasher. They leave it for those of us who weren't blessed with the god given talent of drawing lines on paper. And plus, they are way too busy being assholes to everyone who "doesn't understand."
Even some of those on the last rung of the totem pole have their over-compensating sense of entitlement. That is even more mysterious to me.
I just don't get it. I went to college, then I did my time in the trenches. I did anything and everything that was asked of me and then some. I didn't bitch (too much) about having to do it, either. You work hard to be successful. Sometimes you have to drive a fork lift and wear fingerless gloves. It doesn't stop at getting a BA, an MA or even a fucking PhD. What is wrong with these people? Why do they think their shit doesn't stink? Why do they seemingly appear to think they are god's gift to the world?
Last time I checked, we weren't saving lives or curing cancer. So drop the fucking attitude.
Ugh I've had enough.
I hope that someone puts me out of my misery if the day ever comes when I think something is below me. We'll list manual labor, or anything that may fall under that category, as an example. I happen to work in an office that stores ridiculous quantities of paper, in all shapes, sizes and forms. Occasionally these papers will need to be brought out of the cobwebs for review, but guess what? It is VERY much below many people here to stoop to such a level. Get my OWN files from downstairs? And CARRY them UPSTAIRS? They can't be bothered. Some of these snobs can't even load a coffee cup into the dishwasher. They leave it for those of us who weren't blessed with the god given talent of drawing lines on paper. And plus, they are way too busy being assholes to everyone who "doesn't understand."
Even some of those on the last rung of the totem pole have their over-compensating sense of entitlement. That is even more mysterious to me.
I just don't get it. I went to college, then I did my time in the trenches. I did anything and everything that was asked of me and then some. I didn't bitch (too much) about having to do it, either. You work hard to be successful. Sometimes you have to drive a fork lift and wear fingerless gloves. It doesn't stop at getting a BA, an MA or even a fucking PhD. What is wrong with these people? Why do they think their shit doesn't stink? Why do they seemingly appear to think they are god's gift to the world?
Last time I checked, we weren't saving lives or curing cancer. So drop the fucking attitude.
Ugh I've had enough.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Scrab's Wart
Hello hello.
The groin is fine, for those of you who were wondering. It was unbearably intense pain for most of the day on Friday, but by the evening (+ three Mich Ultra's) I was feeling grand.
Work has been busy during the end of last week and beginning of this one. Busy is good. Busy is also annoying. I go back and forth.
My new friend Scrabulous ("Scrab") has been taken down from Facebook. This is TRAGIC and sad. I know some of you share my pain. Scrab and I were just starting to really feel something for each other.
In other (disgusting body) news, I have finally come to terms with the fact that I do in fact have a wart on the bottom of my foot. I've been in denial about it for a looooong time, and trying to pumice it off, dig it out, amongst other self mutilating methods. It just keeps re-surfacing.
Sigh. Yes, it's a Plantar's Wart. This means I have HPV...on my foot. This also means that it's highly contagious.
So if we've ever shared a shower, I'm super sorry. Really I am. You may have Herpes on your foot, too.
(SAD)
The groin is fine, for those of you who were wondering. It was unbearably intense pain for most of the day on Friday, but by the evening (+ three Mich Ultra's) I was feeling grand.
Work has been busy during the end of last week and beginning of this one. Busy is good. Busy is also annoying. I go back and forth.
My new friend Scrabulous ("Scrab") has been taken down from Facebook. This is TRAGIC and sad. I know some of you share my pain. Scrab and I were just starting to really feel something for each other.
In other (disgusting body) news, I have finally come to terms with the fact that I do in fact have a wart on the bottom of my foot. I've been in denial about it for a looooong time, and trying to pumice it off, dig it out, amongst other self mutilating methods. It just keeps re-surfacing.
Sigh. Yes, it's a Plantar's Wart. This means I have HPV...on my foot. This also means that it's highly contagious.
So if we've ever shared a shower, I'm super sorry. Really I am. You may have Herpes on your foot, too.
(SAD)
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Princess and the Pulled Groin
Unbelievable.
I went to the gym today (to note: actual gym with machines and weights and hot personal trainers who were playing boxing match with each other) and I over extended myself, thinking that would be a way to compensate for my long absence. I think the endorphines had a negative effect on my otherwise sharp (errr) mind.
I'm stupid.
While doing a squat into a calf stretch - a move none too complicated, straining or difficult because it's really just me trying to stretch my calf because of the fucking charlie horse I woke up to this morning - I felt a twinge in my upper thigh/crotch area.
Yeah...I pulled my groin. Cough cough.
I've never pulled my groin muscle before, I've only heard that it's really painful and uncomfortable and there isn't so much you can do for relief.
All those things are very, very true.
I feel a total asshole.
Nonetheless, I'm about to get some ice to put...on my crotch.
I went to the gym today (to note: actual gym with machines and weights and hot personal trainers who were playing boxing match with each other) and I over extended myself, thinking that would be a way to compensate for my long absence. I think the endorphines had a negative effect on my otherwise sharp (errr) mind.
I'm stupid.
While doing a squat into a calf stretch - a move none too complicated, straining or difficult because it's really just me trying to stretch my calf because of the fucking charlie horse I woke up to this morning - I felt a twinge in my upper thigh/crotch area.
Yeah...I pulled my groin. Cough cough.
I've never pulled my groin muscle before, I've only heard that it's really painful and uncomfortable and there isn't so much you can do for relief.
All those things are very, very true.
I feel a total asshole.
Nonetheless, I'm about to get some ice to put...on my crotch.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Top Ten Signs of the Apocalypse
It occurred to me while I was in the grocery store store yesterday that the world will most certainly, one day, come to end...and maybe faster than we think, if I don't try to put a stop to it.
It happened when I noticed that that Douche Bag Ty Pennington has his own fucking magazine. He's not just on the cover of a magazine, nor is he simply featured in an article in f-ing Better Homes and Gardens or some shit. No no...This is the TY PENNINGTON MAGAZINE.
I digress.
This was my first hint that the world is beginning to crumble slowly around us. Then it occurred to me that there are several other signs that pop up in my day to day life that signal the eventual end of life as we know it.
These aren't things like the melting of the polar ice caps or global warming or world hunger or terrorism or weapons of mass descruction or nuclear power. No...this shit has NOTHING on all that other stuff.
I'm sure it won't be in my lifetime but someday, at a distant point in the future, this shit is going to come crashing down around us and it will be directly traced back to Ty Pennington and his fake tanned, obnoxious, no shirt wearing ASS.
A further explanation:
The true signals of the Apocalypse include things that are so ludicrious, unnecessary and irrelevant, things that make the bile rise in your throat at their mere mention, things that actually lower your IQ, things that make you yearn for those few minutes back that you wasted even letting them cross your lips. These are the top ten people and things that are slowly breaking down the world as we know it.
If you are unfamiliar with anything in this list, I encourage to go ahead and Google it, so that you may learn how to help slow the end of days. I would put links in for everything, but that's way too much work, and I have online Scrabble to play.
Here you go:
1. Ty Pennington's Magazine (as previously mentioned) or anything that has anything to do with Ty Pennington
2. Kathy Lee Gifford's return from the crypt
3. Suzie Orman and her jackets
4. Larry King's inability to die
5. The Osmonds' inability to age or go away...forever...please
6. Oprah's fast approach to Deity status (focus on: Favorite things episodes)
7. Nancy Grace's ability to spawn
8. "I Love Money" and "America's Got Talent" (they count together as one)
9. Heidi and Spencer go to Iraq. As if they those poor people don't have enough problems.
10. Calf implants and anyone who would actually have surgury to obtain something so fucking ridiculous
Maybe next week, I'll have a whole new Top Ten. Goodness knows there is plenty of other ridiculous shit to talk about.
It happened when I noticed that that Douche Bag Ty Pennington has his own fucking magazine. He's not just on the cover of a magazine, nor is he simply featured in an article in f-ing Better Homes and Gardens or some shit. No no...This is the TY PENNINGTON MAGAZINE.
I digress.
This was my first hint that the world is beginning to crumble slowly around us. Then it occurred to me that there are several other signs that pop up in my day to day life that signal the eventual end of life as we know it.
These aren't things like the melting of the polar ice caps or global warming or world hunger or terrorism or weapons of mass descruction or nuclear power. No...this shit has NOTHING on all that other stuff.
I'm sure it won't be in my lifetime but someday, at a distant point in the future, this shit is going to come crashing down around us and it will be directly traced back to Ty Pennington and his fake tanned, obnoxious, no shirt wearing ASS.
A further explanation:
The true signals of the Apocalypse include things that are so ludicrious, unnecessary and irrelevant, things that make the bile rise in your throat at their mere mention, things that actually lower your IQ, things that make you yearn for those few minutes back that you wasted even letting them cross your lips. These are the top ten people and things that are slowly breaking down the world as we know it.
If you are unfamiliar with anything in this list, I encourage to go ahead and Google it, so that you may learn how to help slow the end of days. I would put links in for everything, but that's way too much work, and I have online Scrabble to play.
Here you go:
1. Ty Pennington's Magazine (as previously mentioned) or anything that has anything to do with Ty Pennington
2. Kathy Lee Gifford's return from the crypt
3. Suzie Orman and her jackets
4. Larry King's inability to die
5. The Osmonds' inability to age or go away...forever...please
6. Oprah's fast approach to Deity status (focus on: Favorite things episodes)
7. Nancy Grace's ability to spawn
8. "I Love Money" and "America's Got Talent" (they count together as one)
9. Heidi and Spencer go to Iraq. As if they those poor people don't have enough problems.
10. Calf implants and anyone who would actually have surgury to obtain something so fucking ridiculous
Maybe next week, I'll have a whole new Top Ten. Goodness knows there is plenty of other ridiculous shit to talk about.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Growing pains
It became painfully apparent to me today that I cannot always relate, know or understand the experiences of others. I don't always have the answers and I am not always right.
Along with that, I feel as though I'm being extremely selfish in a couple of situations. I know I need to get my head out of my ass, but I'm having trouble. It isn't easy to change these stripes. The defense mechanisms (misplaced blame, or just plain ignorance) are rappant and obvious.
But the solutions I need to suck it up and deal with these issues don't seem to be readily available in my emotional tool kit.
I would be an idiot to think I had "it" anywhere near all figured out.
Along with that, I feel as though I'm being extremely selfish in a couple of situations. I know I need to get my head out of my ass, but I'm having trouble. It isn't easy to change these stripes. The defense mechanisms (misplaced blame, or just plain ignorance) are rappant and obvious.
But the solutions I need to suck it up and deal with these issues don't seem to be readily available in my emotional tool kit.
I would be an idiot to think I had "it" anywhere near all figured out.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
First of all, it's hot as hell. I'm not sure what is happening to me. I was always a pretty sweaty person, but recently it's even worse. I'm sweating like CRAZY.
It's not like I've never been through a summer before, or am not familiar with heat, humidity, stickiness, chaffing, etc. Been there, had all that.
But this summer has been markedly different. It's hard to describe the type of hot I experience. There is no relief for it and sometimes it makes me panic. I feel like one of those women you hear about having hot flashes, but only in the comedic way that had been beaten to death. Am I having hot flashes? It can't be...
But a few other things that are bothering me are:
1. Who the fuck are the marketing people at Six Flags? First it was that freaky old bald dancing bald guy who was so obviously not old OR bald. Now we have some cracked out Asian kid with his head in a circle talking about how many flags things are worth? WHAAAAT?
2. I love the Counting Crows as much as any fan, but Adam really needs to stop fucking whining. I downloaded the new album a while ago and hadn't listened to the whole thing until recently. I must have known in the back of my head that I would be disappointed with it. It's not that it's bad, it's just that Adam has been writing the same fucking songs for 10+ years now. We GET that you are a hot mess and can't hold onto a relationships. We GET that you are depressed ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Admittedly, I had really high hopes for the album when I saw them in concert last summer. Adam had been working out (and we know that physical activity is a proven quasi-cure for chronic depression) and he put on a great show. The few songs he did from the new album were promising. I thought maybe the new album would be like "Hard Candy," which is an absolutely amazing album.
3. Guess what, Madge? There is already an album called "Hard Candy." It came out over 6 years ago by a little band you might have heard of called the Counting Crows. Fire your marketing people. I can't believe I got suckered into spending $115 to see you at the Garden. Ugh.
That's all. I'm so hot.
It's not like I've never been through a summer before, or am not familiar with heat, humidity, stickiness, chaffing, etc. Been there, had all that.
But this summer has been markedly different. It's hard to describe the type of hot I experience. There is no relief for it and sometimes it makes me panic. I feel like one of those women you hear about having hot flashes, but only in the comedic way that had been beaten to death. Am I having hot flashes? It can't be...
But a few other things that are bothering me are:
1. Who the fuck are the marketing people at Six Flags? First it was that freaky old bald dancing bald guy who was so obviously not old OR bald. Now we have some cracked out Asian kid with his head in a circle talking about how many flags things are worth? WHAAAAT?
2. I love the Counting Crows as much as any fan, but Adam really needs to stop fucking whining. I downloaded the new album a while ago and hadn't listened to the whole thing until recently. I must have known in the back of my head that I would be disappointed with it. It's not that it's bad, it's just that Adam has been writing the same fucking songs for 10+ years now. We GET that you are a hot mess and can't hold onto a relationships. We GET that you are depressed ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Admittedly, I had really high hopes for the album when I saw them in concert last summer. Adam had been working out (and we know that physical activity is a proven quasi-cure for chronic depression) and he put on a great show. The few songs he did from the new album were promising. I thought maybe the new album would be like "Hard Candy," which is an absolutely amazing album.
3. Guess what, Madge? There is already an album called "Hard Candy." It came out over 6 years ago by a little band you might have heard of called the Counting Crows. Fire your marketing people. I can't believe I got suckered into spending $115 to see you at the Garden. Ugh.
That's all. I'm so hot.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Spoiler Alert! The one where the pug kills the baby
First of all, the biggest shout out ever to Donald for giving me one of the best, most thoughtful, and-for-no-reason presents EVER.
That's right, kiddies.
Donald found, by some miracle of Buddha, Seasons 4 AND 5 of Footballer's Wives.
It is quite the momentous occasion. So momentous, in fact, that I had my cousin come over yesterday for an emergency viewing session. We got through the first two episodes of season 4 (Tanya and Amber have their babies and then one of them dies at the paws of Amber's PUG. YES A PUG KILLED A BABY.) and made arrangements for her to come over again on Thursday for a continuation. It will take us a while, but I don't feel right watching it alone, and depriving her of the joy. And plus, it's much more fun to watch them with someone who appreciates the amazing outrageousness of it as much as I do.
Disclaimer: There is no menu and therefore NO subtitles. Shannon, the trashy wife of HOT Harley (it's ok to think he's hot, he is legal), is especially difficult to understand. Buuuuuuuuut we decided to make up what she was saying and were pretty sure it was dead on accurate.
So, thanks again Donald my love. You've made this girl monumentally happy.
That's right, kiddies.
Donald found, by some miracle of Buddha, Seasons 4 AND 5 of Footballer's Wives.
It is quite the momentous occasion. So momentous, in fact, that I had my cousin come over yesterday for an emergency viewing session. We got through the first two episodes of season 4 (Tanya and Amber have their babies and then one of them dies at the paws of Amber's PUG. YES A PUG KILLED A BABY.) and made arrangements for her to come over again on Thursday for a continuation. It will take us a while, but I don't feel right watching it alone, and depriving her of the joy. And plus, it's much more fun to watch them with someone who appreciates the amazing outrageousness of it as much as I do.
Disclaimer: There is no menu and therefore NO subtitles. Shannon, the trashy wife of HOT Harley (it's ok to think he's hot, he is legal), is especially difficult to understand. Buuuuuuuuut we decided to make up what she was saying and were pretty sure it was dead on accurate.
So, thanks again Donald my love. You've made this girl monumentally happy.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Get the plunger
I love my landlords.
My kitchen sink clogged up yesterday and I panicked a bit. I couldn't do my dishes and we all know that dirty dishes cause chaos and we also all know that if I cannot properly manage the chaos, I will tweak. This applies to MANY upon many other things (loose trash, dirty clothes, dust bunnies, small specs of miscellaneous material, etc.)
Anyway, my landlords are super adorable and so nice and I feel like I've been bothering them a bit too much lately.
First was the day after they had left for Florida for 5 weeks back in March (time share) and my heat just stopped working. That took a couple days for them to patch up for a far. Good thing I had that space heater.
Then a few days ago, the cold water wasn't coming out of my washing machine. Turns out the hose was clogged. They fixed it right up.
And then the sink yesterday. They came over lickety split and it was all better!
Whenever they come to fix something, they always come together. He isn't so great with the English (they are "off the boat" Italian) so she does a bit of translating. Oddly enough, she speaks to me very slowly and loudly, like I'm elderly, or a small child.
My step mother endearingly refers to them as Lilo and Stitch which is very suitable, for various reasons.
They recently offered me my pick of the vegetables they are randomly growing on the side of the house however they have not yet told me that I can use the in ground pool.
Hrmmm. I wish they would do that. I hate to ask. I hate to be imposing.
My kitchen sink clogged up yesterday and I panicked a bit. I couldn't do my dishes and we all know that dirty dishes cause chaos and we also all know that if I cannot properly manage the chaos, I will tweak. This applies to MANY upon many other things (loose trash, dirty clothes, dust bunnies, small specs of miscellaneous material, etc.)
Anyway, my landlords are super adorable and so nice and I feel like I've been bothering them a bit too much lately.
First was the day after they had left for Florida for 5 weeks back in March (time share) and my heat just stopped working. That took a couple days for them to patch up for a far. Good thing I had that space heater.
Then a few days ago, the cold water wasn't coming out of my washing machine. Turns out the hose was clogged. They fixed it right up.
And then the sink yesterday. They came over lickety split and it was all better!
Whenever they come to fix something, they always come together. He isn't so great with the English (they are "off the boat" Italian) so she does a bit of translating. Oddly enough, she speaks to me very slowly and loudly, like I'm elderly, or a small child.
My step mother endearingly refers to them as Lilo and Stitch which is very suitable, for various reasons.
They recently offered me my pick of the vegetables they are randomly growing on the side of the house however they have not yet told me that I can use the in ground pool.
Hrmmm. I wish they would do that. I hate to ask. I hate to be imposing.
Monday, July 07, 2008
When I discover that facebook is not so great for my mental well being
I've been up on facebook for a couple weeks now and it's really been a mind fuck. I've been seeing all of these people I went to high school with that I haven't seen since then, but also connecting with some current friends that I adore. I went looking for certain people because I was bored, really more bored than curious. Another reason I need a new job. When it comes to the ghosts in my life, ignorance really is bliss. People I haven't seen since age 18 have *shocker* continued to live their own lives without me watching. They got married and are having babies and some are even exactly the same.
Anyway...I went searching for one of my ex boyfriends, one I don't think I've ever talked about here. I found him, and now we're "connected" and all that. He was my "first" in a couple of ways, all the way back in the day. He's younger than I am (shocker, I know) and is seemingly traveling around the world and living the dream in the big city. It's so strange for me to think that he is the same person that I was once so madly and deeply in love with, so many years ago. Right now, it seems like a different life and I feel so tired from having lived it. And I can see he has changed, but he really looks exactly the same as he did almost 10 years ago. It's totally creepy and unsettling and gives me heart palpitations. How can so much time have passed, and each of us be so different, but really not have changed? And, much more importantly, why can't I let certain shit GO?
I might know the answer: He was part of shaping who I am, for better or for worse, and that's something I can't forget. And maybe I was that for him. But I should be proud of it because I've learned from every thing I've experienced, ex boyfriends included. And the past is past but it's healthy to visit once in a while. I just can't get stuck there for too long.
But I'm not looking for anyone else I'd rather not find.
Update: The guy my sister gave my number to (mentioned in a previously written post) ended up being a real shallow prick. I sent him some pictures via email and he waited about 4 days to write back that I "wasn't his type." I won't lie, it made me feel like shit. But then I realized that it doesn't really matter and it could have been worse. We could have ended up on a date, sight unseen, that would have been awkward and miserable. It might have put me over the edge. It's entirely possible.
Anyway...I went searching for one of my ex boyfriends, one I don't think I've ever talked about here. I found him, and now we're "connected" and all that. He was my "first" in a couple of ways, all the way back in the day. He's younger than I am (shocker, I know) and is seemingly traveling around the world and living the dream in the big city. It's so strange for me to think that he is the same person that I was once so madly and deeply in love with, so many years ago. Right now, it seems like a different life and I feel so tired from having lived it. And I can see he has changed, but he really looks exactly the same as he did almost 10 years ago. It's totally creepy and unsettling and gives me heart palpitations. How can so much time have passed, and each of us be so different, but really not have changed? And, much more importantly, why can't I let certain shit GO?
I might know the answer: He was part of shaping who I am, for better or for worse, and that's something I can't forget. And maybe I was that for him. But I should be proud of it because I've learned from every thing I've experienced, ex boyfriends included. And the past is past but it's healthy to visit once in a while. I just can't get stuck there for too long.
But I'm not looking for anyone else I'd rather not find.
Update: The guy my sister gave my number to (mentioned in a previously written post) ended up being a real shallow prick. I sent him some pictures via email and he waited about 4 days to write back that I "wasn't his type." I won't lie, it made me feel like shit. But then I realized that it doesn't really matter and it could have been worse. We could have ended up on a date, sight unseen, that would have been awkward and miserable. It might have put me over the edge. It's entirely possible.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Hi...is your mom home?
At work yesterday, I got a mysterious voice mail from a not so eloquent woman who claims she had sent me her resume and were we still looking to fill summer positions? She left an inaudible last name, no first name, and a phone number.
There were many things wrong with this voice mail:
1. Last time I checked, it was July 1st and the summer is in full swing.
2. I don't know your name. Why would I call you back?
Normally I wouldn't return this call, but I was kind of bored and curious about who like this exists in the world.
So I call and the same woman answers. I say who I am and where I'm calling from and I'm returning a call from this number, but the person didn't leave their first name. She apologizes. So I ask her what email address she used to send her resume. Then the fun began. It went something like this:
Me: What email address did you send your resume to?
Crazy Lady (CL): Well it's not my resume. It's my son, Jeremy.
Me: Ok (inaudible insult)...what email address did your son send his resume to?
CL: Oh I have that information in the other room. Would you mind just holding on for a minute?
Me: Ok.
CL: I have so many fans going, I can't hear you very well. Could you speak up?
Me: OK!
CL: Ok to hold?
Me: Yes!
CL: Thanks so much. Be right back.
Now at this point of the conversation, I am wondering a few things.
1. Who still owns a phone with a cord?
2. Why isn't Jeremy calling me himself?
3. How OLD is this woman and how old is Jeremy?
CL: Ok I'm back. thank you so much for holding. What was the name of your company again? I'm sorry I've just been making SO many phone calls today.
This is something you don't ever EVER say to a potential employer.
Me: My name is Stephanie and I'm calling from ________. What is your last name?
CL: It's _________.
Me: I haven't received any resumes from anyone by that name. Did you find the email address he used?
CL: Well....uhm...let me see here...he's really better at these email things than I am...
Me: Can I ask why he didn't call himself?
At this point, I'm scared of the answer I will get, but I"m pretty sure it will be lame. However, I was braced for something like "Oh he's deaf and mute and you're a horrible person."
CL: He isn't very good on the phone but he's much better in person. Are you still hiring for the summer?
Me: Well, we are in July now, so we are set with summer interns. We had them set up in the spring.
CL: Oh. He started looking then but...(inaudible)
Me: Let me give you my email address. Send his resume to me and I will keep it on file for next summer. Have him check in with me early next year. Ok?
CL: Oh thank you so much. So it's too late for this summer?
Me: Yes...and I think he needs to get over the phone issue. He needs to be able to speak for himself.
CL: Now, I don't undertand that.
Me: I'm sorry?
CL: Agencies call on behalf of people all the time, what's the difference?
Me: The employment agencies are offering a service to firms and their contractors are their employees. Do you employ your son?
CL: Well no but-
Me: Send me that resume and thanks so much.
CL: Ok thank you-
*I HANG UP*
Update: I have not received a resume.
There were many things wrong with this voice mail:
1. Last time I checked, it was July 1st and the summer is in full swing.
2. I don't know your name. Why would I call you back?
Normally I wouldn't return this call, but I was kind of bored and curious about who like this exists in the world.
So I call and the same woman answers. I say who I am and where I'm calling from and I'm returning a call from this number, but the person didn't leave their first name. She apologizes. So I ask her what email address she used to send her resume. Then the fun began. It went something like this:
Me: What email address did you send your resume to?
Crazy Lady (CL): Well it's not my resume. It's my son, Jeremy.
Me: Ok (inaudible insult)...what email address did your son send his resume to?
CL: Oh I have that information in the other room. Would you mind just holding on for a minute?
Me: Ok.
CL: I have so many fans going, I can't hear you very well. Could you speak up?
Me: OK!
CL: Ok to hold?
Me: Yes!
CL: Thanks so much. Be right back.
Now at this point of the conversation, I am wondering a few things.
1. Who still owns a phone with a cord?
2. Why isn't Jeremy calling me himself?
3. How OLD is this woman and how old is Jeremy?
CL: Ok I'm back. thank you so much for holding. What was the name of your company again? I'm sorry I've just been making SO many phone calls today.
This is something you don't ever EVER say to a potential employer.
Me: My name is Stephanie and I'm calling from ________. What is your last name?
CL: It's _________.
Me: I haven't received any resumes from anyone by that name. Did you find the email address he used?
CL: Well....uhm...let me see here...he's really better at these email things than I am...
Me: Can I ask why he didn't call himself?
At this point, I'm scared of the answer I will get, but I"m pretty sure it will be lame. However, I was braced for something like "Oh he's deaf and mute and you're a horrible person."
CL: He isn't very good on the phone but he's much better in person. Are you still hiring for the summer?
Me: Well, we are in July now, so we are set with summer interns. We had them set up in the spring.
CL: Oh. He started looking then but...(inaudible)
Me: Let me give you my email address. Send his resume to me and I will keep it on file for next summer. Have him check in with me early next year. Ok?
CL: Oh thank you so much. So it's too late for this summer?
Me: Yes...and I think he needs to get over the phone issue. He needs to be able to speak for himself.
CL: Now, I don't undertand that.
Me: I'm sorry?
CL: Agencies call on behalf of people all the time, what's the difference?
Me: The employment agencies are offering a service to firms and their contractors are their employees. Do you employ your son?
CL: Well no but-
Me: Send me that resume and thanks so much.
CL: Ok thank you-
*I HANG UP*
Update: I have not received a resume.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Stand by Me
I started writing this post on Monday...
Ugh. Work today is just killing me.
I slept in half an hour late and drove to work. For whatever reason, I really thought that extra half an hour of sleep would change my life. No so much luck.
I like my outfit, if not only because it's comfortable and I don't think I'm bloated. That and my boobs are managing to restrain themselves today.
I kind of have a lot to cover, so let's begin.
1. Last week the shrink told me that we're completely recalibrating my pharmaceutical cocktail. At first I was really hesitant, because I've been on the same "new" medication for a few years now and when we've tried to change things up in the past, we've always ended up going back to old reliable. She thinks this new stuff is the wave of the clinically depressed cure future. I'll let you know.
2. I saw my ex, The Mailman (and his current girlfriend) for the first time in about a year and a half on Sunday. He used the word "beautiful" to describe me (while at the same time I was suffering from a severe case of swass) so it went pretty well. His current girlfriend is still a skank ho.
3. I turned down a date on Saturday. With a fitness instructor/social worker who thought I was a hot ticket. Why? I've turned over a new leaf. I'm seriously considering going cold turkey on dating for a while...like until my 28th birthday. I thought the idea was GREAT until...
4. Today (it's Tuesday now) I got a text message from a mysterious number telling me he had met my sister at Foxwoods and she had given him my number. He lives in the area and maybe we could get drinks sometime?
4a. There are several things wrong with this.
1. My sister and Foxwoods don't belong in the same sentence.
2. What the?
Turns out my sister WAS in fact (randomly) at Foxwoods (I did some detective work) and she did in fact give some random my phone number. I'm not mad...why bother. It's not like she does this all the time. OR ever. Apparently this guy is cute and so is his friend. I returned his text about an hour ago now and have not gotten a reply.
So now I ask: Uhm...why text some random chick and then when she texts you back, not return it? Perhaps he's in shock like "oh wow I never thought I would get a reply" or maybe he's trying to figure out what to write back to me. As you can tell, I'm already annoyed by this whole thing.
The only redeeming quality for all this is that my sister claims the following about this guy (and I quote): "His celebrity look alike is Jerry O'Connell"
For those of you not in the know, Jerr Bear has been looking SMOKIN' hot lately.
So yeah, I'll meet him...if I ever hear from him again.
Ugh. Work today is just killing me.
I slept in half an hour late and drove to work. For whatever reason, I really thought that extra half an hour of sleep would change my life. No so much luck.
I like my outfit, if not only because it's comfortable and I don't think I'm bloated. That and my boobs are managing to restrain themselves today.
I kind of have a lot to cover, so let's begin.
1. Last week the shrink told me that we're completely recalibrating my pharmaceutical cocktail. At first I was really hesitant, because I've been on the same "new" medication for a few years now and when we've tried to change things up in the past, we've always ended up going back to old reliable. She thinks this new stuff is the wave of the clinically depressed cure future. I'll let you know.
2. I saw my ex, The Mailman (and his current girlfriend) for the first time in about a year and a half on Sunday. He used the word "beautiful" to describe me (while at the same time I was suffering from a severe case of swass) so it went pretty well. His current girlfriend is still a skank ho.
3. I turned down a date on Saturday. With a fitness instructor/social worker who thought I was a hot ticket. Why? I've turned over a new leaf. I'm seriously considering going cold turkey on dating for a while...like until my 28th birthday. I thought the idea was GREAT until...
4. Today (it's Tuesday now) I got a text message from a mysterious number telling me he had met my sister at Foxwoods and she had given him my number. He lives in the area and maybe we could get drinks sometime?
4a. There are several things wrong with this.
1. My sister and Foxwoods don't belong in the same sentence.
2. What the?
Turns out my sister WAS in fact (randomly) at Foxwoods (I did some detective work) and she did in fact give some random my phone number. I'm not mad...why bother. It's not like she does this all the time. OR ever. Apparently this guy is cute and so is his friend. I returned his text about an hour ago now and have not gotten a reply.
So now I ask: Uhm...why text some random chick and then when she texts you back, not return it? Perhaps he's in shock like "oh wow I never thought I would get a reply" or maybe he's trying to figure out what to write back to me. As you can tell, I'm already annoyed by this whole thing.
The only redeeming quality for all this is that my sister claims the following about this guy (and I quote): "His celebrity look alike is Jerry O'Connell"
For those of you not in the know, Jerr Bear has been looking SMOKIN' hot lately.
So yeah, I'll meet him...if I ever hear from him again.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
If a coworker fell asleep, would hear their head hit the desk?
I get to sleep in a whole extra hour tomorrow. It's very exciting compared to the lack of anything else going on.
For whatever reason, today at work is particularly mind numbing. It's super quiet. I don't think anyone has spoken outloud in an hour, or at least not that I could hear.
It's very dark and ominous outside. It makes me want to curl up under my desk and use my flip flops as a pillow (they are cushy) and my skirt as a blanket (it has large pleats).
Meanwhile...what I do hear is a very slow and monotonous thumping. It's curious. I think it's a ghost.
The only emails I have gotten in the last hour have been spam. We have quite the spam problem here lately.
It's not as if I don't have things to do. There's filing and and a handbook to proof read. But who wants to do that shit?
I'm so bored I could cry.
For whatever reason, today at work is particularly mind numbing. It's super quiet. I don't think anyone has spoken outloud in an hour, or at least not that I could hear.
It's very dark and ominous outside. It makes me want to curl up under my desk and use my flip flops as a pillow (they are cushy) and my skirt as a blanket (it has large pleats).
Meanwhile...what I do hear is a very slow and monotonous thumping. It's curious. I think it's a ghost.
The only emails I have gotten in the last hour have been spam. We have quite the spam problem here lately.
It's not as if I don't have things to do. There's filing and and a handbook to proof read. But who wants to do that shit?
I'm so bored I could cry.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Banana Phone
Yesterday found me out near Route 84 for a dance recital.
The theme of the recital (featuring THIRTY FOUR separate dance numbers!), was "Dear Diary." Most of the dances had nothing to do with a Diary, but I really have to give credit to the woman who puts this show together every year. She's had a dance studio for over 30 years and teaches kids of all ages all kinds of dance. Every year she has to come up with a different theme. I would definitely have run out by now and just starting using themes like "Fruit Chew Flavors" or "Between the cushions of my couch."
My darling niece (she's 7! can you believe it?!?) was in two of the 34 numbers; number 7 and number 31 to be exact.
Number 7 had the best set I think I've ever seen at a dance recital: A huge cardboard banana telephone booth with various actual size plastic bananas hung inside as "phones." The number was set to a song most aptly titled "Banana Phone." I think it was one of the strangest, cutest, most bizaar things I have seen in quite some time.
I'm almost speechless, obviously.
The theme of the recital (featuring THIRTY FOUR separate dance numbers!), was "Dear Diary." Most of the dances had nothing to do with a Diary, but I really have to give credit to the woman who puts this show together every year. She's had a dance studio for over 30 years and teaches kids of all ages all kinds of dance. Every year she has to come up with a different theme. I would definitely have run out by now and just starting using themes like "Fruit Chew Flavors" or "Between the cushions of my couch."
My darling niece (she's 7! can you believe it?!?) was in two of the 34 numbers; number 7 and number 31 to be exact.
Number 7 had the best set I think I've ever seen at a dance recital: A huge cardboard banana telephone booth with various actual size plastic bananas hung inside as "phones." The number was set to a song most aptly titled "Banana Phone." I think it was one of the strangest, cutest, most bizaar things I have seen in quite some time.
I'm almost speechless, obviously.
Hmmm...perhaps you are correct, Anonymous
Now, while any blog is typically, by nature, a self indulgent thing to have, a certain anonymous someone feels I am wrapped up in myself and has identified themselves (I think) as a "friend I used to have." I couldn't tell with the shoddy punctuation. But I'm almost CERTAIN I know who you are.
I did not publish this comment because it's an unfair judgment. If this person feels as though I have neglected them in some way, they should really just speak with me directly, instead of making an anonymous comment on my blog which has NEVER professed not to be self indulgent. Look at the title, for goodness sake!
I get the feeling that the person who posted it needs some attention. Happy now?
I almost didn't address this, because you know I detest drama. But you know what? It's the last fucking thing I need and I'm standing up for myself.
I did not publish this comment because it's an unfair judgment. If this person feels as though I have neglected them in some way, they should really just speak with me directly, instead of making an anonymous comment on my blog which has NEVER professed not to be self indulgent. Look at the title, for goodness sake!
I get the feeling that the person who posted it needs some attention. Happy now?
I almost didn't address this, because you know I detest drama. But you know what? It's the last fucking thing I need and I'm standing up for myself.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Julie Andrews would be so proud
I didn't want to post so much, only because I don't want it to be some depressing, dark, damaged entry about how my life just keeps sucking.
I'll try really hard to put a positive spin on it, just for you. Or not. Let's see what we get.
Perhaps I need to learn to accept that this is IT, this is the hand that I've been dealt and, for better or worse, I need to suck it up and deal with it. After all, I have medication to manage my freak outs and a variety of wonderful friends and family who are relentless in their support (Positive Spin #1).
For those of you who I haven't chatted with in some time: I do apologize. When I get like this, I tend to shut down and not want to say much to anyone (phone, text, email, you name it). It's my coping mechanism, I suppose. I'm learning more and more about myself each day (Positive spin #2).
In summary:
1. My job has turned into a full on witch hunt of sorts and, as a result, my faith in the general goodness of human nature has significantly faltered.
2. Whether it's due to living alone, or isolating myself because "no one understands me," it turns I'm terribly lonely, but not so much willing to do anything about it.
3. Some important relationships have taken quite the hit in the past year, to the point that it feels like my whole world has been turned on its head.
Then, a more recent blow:
While I took dating off the table to focus on the new job search, the new job search hasn't been going all that well (despite my best efforts, but only sometimes), so I took a gentleman caller up on an offer for a date. Well OF COURSE it hit me all of a sudden that I really like this guy and, long story short, he is emotionally unavailable and wants to be just friends. For whatever reason, this put me way over the edge, much further than it should of...and now I'm embarrassed and ashamed.
I don't think a new "friend" is a good idea right now. I hardly talk to my existing ones for fear that they will grow sick and tired of hearing about my depressing shit. And plus, I'll always have this hope that we'll be more than friends some day. And that sucks...like when I was 19 kind of sucks. No good.
So, we're back at square one, aren't we, Friends?
But the beginning is a really good place to start, right? (that's #3)
I'll try really hard to put a positive spin on it, just for you. Or not. Let's see what we get.
Perhaps I need to learn to accept that this is IT, this is the hand that I've been dealt and, for better or worse, I need to suck it up and deal with it. After all, I have medication to manage my freak outs and a variety of wonderful friends and family who are relentless in their support (Positive Spin #1).
For those of you who I haven't chatted with in some time: I do apologize. When I get like this, I tend to shut down and not want to say much to anyone (phone, text, email, you name it). It's my coping mechanism, I suppose. I'm learning more and more about myself each day (Positive spin #2).
In summary:
1. My job has turned into a full on witch hunt of sorts and, as a result, my faith in the general goodness of human nature has significantly faltered.
2. Whether it's due to living alone, or isolating myself because "no one understands me," it turns I'm terribly lonely, but not so much willing to do anything about it.
3. Some important relationships have taken quite the hit in the past year, to the point that it feels like my whole world has been turned on its head.
Then, a more recent blow:
While I took dating off the table to focus on the new job search, the new job search hasn't been going all that well (despite my best efforts, but only sometimes), so I took a gentleman caller up on an offer for a date. Well OF COURSE it hit me all of a sudden that I really like this guy and, long story short, he is emotionally unavailable and wants to be just friends. For whatever reason, this put me way over the edge, much further than it should of...and now I'm embarrassed and ashamed.
I don't think a new "friend" is a good idea right now. I hardly talk to my existing ones for fear that they will grow sick and tired of hearing about my depressing shit. And plus, I'll always have this hope that we'll be more than friends some day. And that sucks...like when I was 19 kind of sucks. No good.
So, we're back at square one, aren't we, Friends?
But the beginning is a really good place to start, right? (that's #3)
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
I'm not sure if it's sad...or it just is what it is
I have a new guilty pleasure. It's call Footballer's Wives and it's AWESOME. For the first time ever, I have had to ask myself if I can watch BBC America with my current cable subscription and if not HOW DO I GET IT.
First of all, I would like to concurrently thank and curse my cousin for introducing me to this. Curse because 1. It's a time suck (what isn't?) when I'm supposed to be looking for a new job at every waking moment 2. It is so amazing, that when it's over (there are currently only three seasons, 8 episodes each, available on DVD via Netflix. The current season, #5, is the LAST season.), I will be so utterly depressed that there is no more. I would like to thank her, and tell her I love her, for the same two reasons.
JOAN COLLINS is in the last season. Whoa.
Meanwhile...the new summer intern at work is sitting next to me and must think I do nothing all day. Don't know why she would think that...In the last hour, I have printed out directions to my interview (see below), read all of Go Fug Yourself AND researched my new beloved addiction (see above). That's some solid work to me.
Good news: I have a phone interview on Thursday and an in person interview on Monday.
Hooray! Rejoice!
First of all, I would like to concurrently thank and curse my cousin for introducing me to this. Curse because 1. It's a time suck (what isn't?) when I'm supposed to be looking for a new job at every waking moment 2. It is so amazing, that when it's over (there are currently only three seasons, 8 episodes each, available on DVD via Netflix. The current season, #5, is the LAST season.), I will be so utterly depressed that there is no more. I would like to thank her, and tell her I love her, for the same two reasons.
JOAN COLLINS is in the last season. Whoa.
Meanwhile...the new summer intern at work is sitting next to me and must think I do nothing all day. Don't know why she would think that...In the last hour, I have printed out directions to my interview (see below), read all of Go Fug Yourself AND researched my new beloved addiction (see above). That's some solid work to me.
Good news: I have a phone interview on Thursday and an in person interview on Monday.
Hooray! Rejoice!
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