I will be spending my entire summer at the Phillips Place Pinkberry. Come join me because I have a stack of BOGO coupons!
I just got back from seeing the Hangover 2 again. Yes, twice in one day. I better get my name in the credits for the Hangover 3.
I must have a hard on for Zach Galifiankis if I’m seeing his movie twice in one day and staying up way past my bedtime to see the re-run of his SNL appearance.
1.5 hours sitting in the Honda dealership waiting area to get my oil changed. I thought that I’d have the place all to myself seeing as how everyone should be at the beach this Memorial Day weekend. Not so much.
To reward myself for my patience, I forked over $7.50 on a ticket to see The Hangover 2. Just as but-gusting as the first one! Zach Galifiankis plays Allen, ”a stay at home son” (I dated one of those!), who drinks Fanta from a bag while trying to piece together clues with Ed Helms and Bradley Cooper and a drug-running monkey on what happened on the eve of Ed Helms’ wedding. The movie was rated R, but that didn’t stop one couple from bringing their small child to the 12:15 showing. Talk about a buzzkill. I purposely go see rated R movies and drink at bars because those are places I know children will not be.
$11 on eye cream at Nordstrom Rack because I have reached that age where eye cream needs to be introduced into my make up regime. I seem to have developed frown lines from my disapproving glances at the parenting skills of strangers.
Reading can feed the soul. After I checked out “Exit through the gift shop”, a documentary about Banksy, I noticed a sign across the street offering free Rita’s Italian ice to one and all. Don’t mind if I do. Once home, I noticed an email in my Match.com inbox from an Italian. I should invite him to Rita’s. My treat.
I rode along with my c0-worker on an apres-lunch Target run. Not having my wallet for spur of the moment adventures, she was kind enough to treat me to an ICEE. I helped myself to all 4 flavors, pink, red, green, and blue. Yes, colors are flavors. My afternoon treat didn’t look so good, but it was oh so tasty.
Co-worker: Do you need anything else while we’re here?
Me: Just a man, but I don’t think they sell those here.
C0-worker: No, I don’t think so either.
It’s gotten to the point at work where I am hesitant to open my work e-mails. It’s a season of change for some folks here who are seeking opportunities elsewhere. The first long-time employee was given a send off with a lunch buffet and a $300 Nordstrom gift card. Today, the second walked home with a brand new Coach purse, Coach wallet and Coach coin purse. I am half-tempted to quit my job soley for the sake of updating my wardrobe.
You can go weeks without food. You can go days without water. What’s the going rate for love? Sex? Touch?
I will be 29 next month and it will be another year in a job I am overqualified for. The makeup of the company I work for is compromised of underqualified individuals. This is not my opinion, this is fact. A start-up venture requires warm bodies and they’ll hire anything with a pulse right out of the gate. Are you interested in managing a library even though you have no managerial experience and no MLS? Congratulations, you’re hired!
Meanwhile, I am stuck in a job with no promise of advancement unless I get an MLS. I’m not so sure I want to be a librarian. I would be okay with the fact that I am in a hamster wheel position if I had other things in my life at full speeed. Like a boyfriend. I haven’t had one of those since 2009. The calendar says it’s 2011. Geez. I used to think that I would be okay with the fact that my ex-boyfriend would come over to my apartment each week to watch TV if I knew that love sat on the couch between us. Love never walked through the door.
As I watched a gaggle of future lawyers reach for their juris doctorates last week, I thought about what I had achieved in the past three years. My dear friend reminded me that I became a homeowner in the past three years. I totally bought the horse, or the cart. I can’t remember how it goes exactly. All I know is that I bought a container for my dreams. My 2.3 kids and husband have yet to show up on my doorstep. I am Frances Mayes in “Under the Tuscan Sun” where she laments the fact that her Italian villa sits empty after she “bought a house for a life she doesn’t have”.
I’m afraid in my desperate attempt to accelerate my dreams, I’m going to fall into a relationship of proximity. You weren’t exactly what I was looking for, but you are here and I’m lonely and desperate to catch up with the rest of my friends. I don’t care if your e-mails refer to urinal cakes, Match.com subscriber, I would like for you to make me feel less weird about being 29 and single stuck in a dead-end job.
That’s enough introspection for one blog post. In true mid-life crisis mode I have to go shack up with someone half my age.
The only time I will ever discuss NASCAR and its associates is to purely poke fun. The issue in this post is anything but. Showing off in a yellow Lexus sports car, race car driver Kyle Busch was clocked at 128 mph in a 45 mph zone on a stretch of road near schools and churches. Being who he is, he’s not currently doing laps in a jail cell. This news annoys me to no end, especially thinking about the hefty tickets I’ve been handed for going ten over the speed limit. And to think about the poor dead squirrels caught in the grill of his Lexus sportscar.
Just because your day job is to drive fast doesn’t mean you should/can do it outside of work. And I’m pretty sure if strippers took off their clothes in public they would be cited for indecent exposure and carted off to jail. And I’m also pretty sure they wouldn’t tell the cops that it was okay for them to parade around naked as a jaybird because they remove their clothes for a living. You don’t see me at the library on my days off. Never mind, bad example.