Confessions of a VanillaCokeaholic
In the back of my SUV there lives 2 cases of Vanilla Coke. In the unfortunate event that I find myself upturned in a remote ditch, not a soul for miles, I will have my precious vanilla liquid to see me through until help arrives. I also have the Sunday paper (3 weeks old) to entertain me. And the contents of my glove compartment which holds the odds and ends of car maintenance, a warranty maybe and oil change receipts.
While running errands during my lunch break today I noticed a sign that read, ‘Lady’s Day $5 off oil change’. After shuddering at how ladies was spelled, I thought how car maintenance shops are a great way for guys to meet the ladies. While waiting in a dingy waiting room with archived issues of ‘Car and Driver’, ladies could be impressed by those gentlemen preying upon bored women with nothing to do for 20-25 minutes. And just think of all the salacious pick-up lines to ensue. “How about you letting me check under your hood sometime?” or ”I can be your dipstick, baby”. A guy has a lot to work with anytime he’s trolling for chicks on his own turf.
Pet Peeve
Yesterday as I was in line to deposit my meager paycheck, I idled in line behind a couple and their dog. They were not in their car. Standing in line at the drive up ATM is comparable to sauntering up to the drive through window at McDonald’s to order your Big Mac and fries and Diet Coke. I didn’t bother to extend an ounce of compassion their way, not thinking that they didn’t have a car as it got repossessed in these unfortunate economic times and the only mode of transportation provided them was their dog, which was suffice it to say, large enough to ride. Instead I stared daggers at them through my Oscar de la Renta sunglasses and drummed my fingers in annoyance on my steering wheel and was half-attempted to bring to their attention that there was an ATM for pedestrians just outside the bank entrance. But what about their precious dog? they might reply. I’m sure they could break free from their codependent relationship for five minutes while one of them goes inside to tend to their joint bank account.
I take thee not
While walking the misty streets of uptown, my lunch companion and I were in front of a couple of gal pals, one of whom was explaining to the other, and those of us lucky enough to be within earshot, her designs to take herself off her means of birth control now that she had bagged herself a 28 year old boyfriend. And I’m thinking to myself about the age of boyfriends she had before this unsuspecting boyfriend. The next thought that entered my brain was one of confusion. What if this 28 year old male is not ready for fatherhood? What if he has designs of his own that include dumping her and getting with someone whose biological clock is not ticking so loudly passersby can hear? And if he was on board with Operation: Baby, what if he would like to get married first? It was after the subject of my eavesdropping talked about ”practicing” getting pregnant that I suggested to my lunch date that we walk the opposite side of the street. Poor guy, he has no idea what’s coming his way. Poor guy, if you are reading this, run.
Today’s average wedding is upwards of $25,000-27,000. I would much rather buy a new car. I’m sure to get a lot more mileage out of it. It’s not like I’m a cynic or averse to wedded bliss. I come from a home of two happily married parents of thirty years. Just because I am 26, going on 17, I am not ready to wed. And just because my boyfriend is 29 doesn’t mean that he’s ready to enlist in diaper duty. At least I don’t think so. I haven’t asked. But goodness knows, he’ll know before my friends do when the stick turns pink.
A Valentine’s Day cautionary tale
Aside from the obligatory store bought Valentine’s Day cards sent around to everyone in the class, I’ve never had a Valentine. And I can pinpoint my dismal track record with boys back to a Valentine’s Day party in the second grade. His name was Adam and he had the brightest blue eyes and the brightest blonde hair. And I was smitten. I remember writing a salacious entry in a bear themed diary about how we were so in love and since we were old enough we could run away together on a boat. He liked me too and saw an opportunity to take our relationship to the next level during a Valentine’s Day party with punch and cookies that my mom agreed to help out with. He stretched out his hand towards me and asked if he could hold my hand. I vehemently shook my head and said no, thinking how embarassed I would be to be seen by my mom holding hands with the cutest boy in class. And that was the end of our relationship.
I’d like to build a time machine so I can be permitted a do-over and hold Adam’s hand over our tiny desks and look deep into his blue eyes. But alas, I am doomed to carry on a lovelife void of any Valentine’s. No flowers, no ubiquitous box of chocolates for me, no candlelit dinners. All because I was too shy to hold some little boy’s hand.
No regrets this Valentine’s Day. This year, I will happily embrace any moves blue-eyed boys want to put on me.
And Adam, wherever you are, I would like to hold your hand, on the condition that you received your cootie shot.
Night at the movies
Even though I wasn’t scheduled for my monthly visitor, I felt my period would show up at 7:20 last Friday due to all the estrogen flowing through the packed movie theatre. Only one poor man was in attendance to see ‘He’s just not that into you’ and it was because his wife dragged him, luring him there with the promise of a post-film treat.
It’s a month for chick flicks, what with Hallmark holiday being in February and all, and poor significant others are rounded up to suffer through hours upon hours of sappy movies featuring happily ever after endings. And to add insult to injury, they go broke to see something they didn’t want to see in the first place. $10 for a movie ticket? Almost half the price of admission for a small bag of buttery, salty popcorn? And don’t forget Sour Patch Kids and Cokes. Ah, but the price of making your mate happy: priceless.
25 Things
Taking a note from Facebook, I thought I’d compile 25 random things, but not pass them along to 25 friends.
1) I read 150 books in one year.
2) I have the messiest car in existence. It’s so bad I’m going to have to create fictitious children so I can cast the blame on them for my SUV perpetually being in disarray and threaten to take away their imaginary allowance.
3) I definitely have one ear larger than the other and if I stare too long into the mirror, it bothers me.
4) I always flip open blank greeting cards. Always.
5) I have to wear socks to bed even if it’s 120 degrees.
6) I met Rocco deluca of Rocco deluca and the Burden on his tour bus where we played hang man and drank beer. I won.
7) I met Caroline Kennedy while wearing silly hats with my best friend. All who were missing were the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat.
8 ) I met famed author Augusten Burroughs at a book signing and the foundation of friendship with the woman standing in line next to me was serendipitiously set.
9) I recently bought all 3 cases of vanilla Coke the grocery store had on the shelf, fearing the people of Coke would cease making my favorite beverage.
10) I’m addicted to lipgloss. I’m putting some on now as I type this admission.
11) I often think that I’m the only person in the world who thinks the way I do.
12) I believe that things can and will get better.
13) My friends are the best people in the world.
14) I have the most comfortable bed composed of memory foam and dozens of pillows and a mom-made quilt.
15) I love dreaming.
16) I get more than the suggested average of sleep each night thanks to #14 and #15.
17) I despise math but appreciate my fingers since I still count on them.
18 ) My biggest fear in life is that I won’t live long enough to have the best day of my life, whatever that may be.
19) These things bore me to tears: politics, hardware stores and filibusters (which some of my co-workers have mini versions of every day).
20) If I had a dog, she would be a black lab and sport a hot pink and green collar and I would call her Mascara.
21) I can’t watch any commercials involving Sarah McLachlan and neglected animals.
22) I cry like a baby every time I watch the end of ‘The Notebook’.
23) My second biggest fear is that one day the contents of my journals will read like fiction.
24) One day, I’ll tell Mr.Boyfriend how I really feel.
25) But for now, I’m all out of randomness.
Bright blue balloon
The only bright spot on this more than dismal day was when a student handed me a bright blue balloon. I wished with all my might that I could be that bright blue balloon rise to the sky and float away, far from the grasp of a dead-end job that feels more like a prison sentence than an income. And I know I should be thankful I even have a job to complain about as everyday I read about one corporation or another slashing jobs in the thousands. It’s just that I’m not learning anything new, I’m not growing. I feel stuck. How much longer will this economy be in dire straits? How many more bailouts on the bailout before I can submit my resume elsewhere? In the meantime, for kicks and giggles I suck the helium out and talk to my co-workers like a cartoon character.
My Irish eyebrows are smilin’
I have been subjected to a lot of boring events as of late, mostly whenever my boyfriend hijacks the remote. I take these opportunities to read or pay bills or attend to refining my eyebrows. My virgin eyebrows went uncared for until I had a summer job waitressing at a Florida diner after my sophomore year… of college when one elderly couple asked if I was Irish because of my thick eyebrows. I made haste to the nail salon the very next day to downsize my eyebrows. Ever since, I have paid particular attention to them, what with monthly waxing or threading, if I happen to find myself in an urban area, and daily plucking with tweezers. It’s not like I have anything against the people of Ireland, but I am of English and German descent, with a dash of Cherokee, and I should celebrate my heritage and not have my eyebrows lead poorly-sighted people to believe that I am anything else. It’s bad enough to think that my eyebrows enter a room before I do. I know that the petite Asian women at the nail salons talk about me when I come in for my monthly waxing. And I feel they are talking amongst themselves about me and my gigantic eyebrows. At the end of my time there, the nice women have shaped my brows and my complex.
