I am disgusting right now. I caught something like the flu or a cold or typhoid fever from one of the six thousand sick people I was in contact with over the past week. Thank you so much. I woke up yesterday with a fever and a headache, but to be fair the headache could have been a result of beer WHO KNOWS. I haven't been sick in a while so this is fun. Unfortunately, it's not even the kind of sick that justifies taking the day off work and lying on the couch watching Pride and Prejudice all day, which is my preferred way to heal myself. If I was throwing up or was all achey with fever or had explosive diarrhea THEN I could stay home. But no. I am just full of snot and coughing and sore throaty and I sound like a man.
I'm really starting to think it was not a good idea to drink half a pot of coffee on top of my cold medicine. Dayquil makes me kind of loopy anyway, so if you throw caffeine in the mix . . . watch out. My head feels like it's floating about five feet above my body and I feel like I'm walking around all, "Ooooooh, look at all the pretty colors . . . oh, something shiny, isn't it beautiful? What do you mean I just picked up a paper clip? It's so luminous and magical and OOH look how bendy!" It's not an entirely unpleasant situation, but I don't think it's going to make me employee of the month. But let's face it, the odds of that happening were slim anyway. Also, we don't do employee of the month where I work, so ACTUALLY it would have been impossible.
I hope I start hallucinating soon.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
don't think any less of me BUT
Maybe it's my girl crush on Sydney Bristow, or the nerdy, awkward 13-year-old girl with weird bangs in me, but there is a special place in my heart for the movie 13 Going on 30.
PS: If that means I get to look like Jennifer Garner when I'm 30, then that is FINE with me.
PPS: If that also means I get to date Michael Vartan, then ALL THE BETTER.
PPPS: I have to go to work now, and I didn't sleep much last night because it was Friday so that explains everything, right? Right. Thanks, friends.
PS: If that means I get to look like Jennifer Garner when I'm 30, then that is FINE with me.
PPS: If that also means I get to date Michael Vartan, then ALL THE BETTER.
PPPS: I have to go to work now, and I didn't sleep much last night because it was Friday so that explains everything, right? Right. Thanks, friends.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
to say this post is about nothing would be an insult to nothingness
Friday totally snuck up on me this week. Usually by Friday I have already had several mini-breakdowns as a result of either extreme boredom or being crazy-busy. The office has been closed the last couple of days, though, because of FLU (caps lock ON) so all near-breakdowns were a result of the former. I am happy to report that, as of right this very moment, this week has been breakdown free. Do you ever go to post something in your blog, and you get to a certain point where you realize you have no idea what you're talking about? You're just typing to type? I mean, sure, a stream of consciousness exercise has its uses, but I'm not sure they make for the best blogging. OH WELL, too late now.
The other night, I went to my mom and dad's for dinner. My plan, after leaving their house, was to go to the grocery because I was out of cheese slices. That's it. Just cheese slices. And since I hate going to the grocery and prefer to wait to go until I am forced to eat PB&J without the J or, wait, also the PB for dinner, I decided to put it off. Again. I am not to the point of eating a bowl Phoebe's cat food with flat Diet Coke poured on it yet, so instead of going to the grocery I went to Target.
Target strikes again! I was in that store for, I kid you not, at least two hours. I went because hello! You can buy cheese slices there (which I never ended up buying WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?), but more importantly I needed new jeans. That's right, DAD, I NEEDED them. I also wanted them, but mostly I NEEDED them because all of the jeans I have now are too large. Which is better than too small, but still annoying. I'm tired of walking around pulling up my jeans like some drunk hitchhiker. I can also fit two fists into the waistband of my favorite pair of jeans. Not that I routinely walk around with my hands down my pants, but sometimes I get bored, you know? And want to see how many hands I can fit in the waistband of my jeans. That sounds wrong on so many levels, SO moving on.
Last weekend, I went to a family thing because my cousin (second cousin? first cousin once removed? hell if I know) was visiting from California. I hadn't seen her since we were about 10, I think, so it was nice to catch up. I got there kind of late (me?) because I was apartment hunting with a friend and then, yes, I got a teeny bit lost. But not really lost because I just forgot the name of the street I was supposed to turn on. Apparently, since I got there late, I unfortunately missed the point where Brokeback Mountain was discussed, but for the rest of the evening all I heard were comments along the lines of, "Stop it or I'll quit you!" or "Carbs, I am going to quit you tomorrow." I mean, wow. I haven't even seen the movie, but I'm kind of afraid that I'll end up laughing during Jake Gyllenhaal's "I wish I could quit you" speech, because I'm picturing my uncle holding up a cookie and shouting, "COOKIE! I WISH I COULD QUIT YOU!" I mean, wouldn't you laugh? If no, why not? Are you dead inside? If yes, I am sorry. You probably smell bad.
Later that night, I went with some friends to a comedy club. I was quickly taken aback when our waitress dropped the f-bomb several times. Not because I am morally opposed to the word "fuck" (ha!) but because it's not something you expect your waitress to say to you. All three comedians were young men. The second looked like Fez from That 70's Show and the third, even though he said he looked like Keith Urban, resembled a (much) less hot version of Sawyer from Lost. The first one didn't resemble anyone, except I think he looked the way I imagine one of my college professors looked when he was younger, but he's not famous, although he has written a book. ANYWAY. I have never heard so many masturbation jokes in my life, not even during South Park. After the show, we went to a bar and I saw someone I went to high school with. I think his name was Justin. He was balding. Yeah. So I felt good about myself because I'm not balding. I hope. You know what's not a good idea, though? Buying beer so you can play Asshole til 4 AM. I would think most people know this without trying it, but suffice it to say, none of us could move until about 3 in the afternoon the next day. And even then we only managed to drag ourselves to Penn Station oh, and also Target. Oh, Target. You tempt me even when I have no money. That is not cool.
I don't know why I'm doing a last weekend recap on the precipice of the coming weekend. It just happened. Like unplanned pregnancy. No, that did not happen to me. Yet. Haha, just kidding.
I have a feeling that one day all of this joking about unplanned pregnancy is going to sneak up on me. Like, I'll get pregnant and go to the doctor and the doctor will tell me I'm pregnant with like five babies at one time and the camera will pan out of the doctor's office until all you can see is the planet earth and you hear me going, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" except, oh wait, I'm not on TV. I keep forgetting.
The other night, I went to my mom and dad's for dinner. My plan, after leaving their house, was to go to the grocery because I was out of cheese slices. That's it. Just cheese slices. And since I hate going to the grocery and prefer to wait to go until I am forced to eat PB&J without the J or, wait, also the PB for dinner, I decided to put it off. Again. I am not to the point of eating a bowl Phoebe's cat food with flat Diet Coke poured on it yet, so instead of going to the grocery I went to Target.
Target strikes again! I was in that store for, I kid you not, at least two hours. I went because hello! You can buy cheese slices there (which I never ended up buying WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?), but more importantly I needed new jeans. That's right, DAD, I NEEDED them. I also wanted them, but mostly I NEEDED them because all of the jeans I have now are too large. Which is better than too small, but still annoying. I'm tired of walking around pulling up my jeans like some drunk hitchhiker. I can also fit two fists into the waistband of my favorite pair of jeans. Not that I routinely walk around with my hands down my pants, but sometimes I get bored, you know? And want to see how many hands I can fit in the waistband of my jeans. That sounds wrong on so many levels, SO moving on.
Last weekend, I went to a family thing because my cousin (second cousin? first cousin once removed? hell if I know) was visiting from California. I hadn't seen her since we were about 10, I think, so it was nice to catch up. I got there kind of late (me?) because I was apartment hunting with a friend and then, yes, I got a teeny bit lost. But not really lost because I just forgot the name of the street I was supposed to turn on. Apparently, since I got there late, I unfortunately missed the point where Brokeback Mountain was discussed, but for the rest of the evening all I heard were comments along the lines of, "Stop it or I'll quit you!" or "Carbs, I am going to quit you tomorrow." I mean, wow. I haven't even seen the movie, but I'm kind of afraid that I'll end up laughing during Jake Gyllenhaal's "I wish I could quit you" speech, because I'm picturing my uncle holding up a cookie and shouting, "COOKIE! I WISH I COULD QUIT YOU!" I mean, wouldn't you laugh? If no, why not? Are you dead inside? If yes, I am sorry. You probably smell bad.
Later that night, I went with some friends to a comedy club. I was quickly taken aback when our waitress dropped the f-bomb several times. Not because I am morally opposed to the word "fuck" (ha!) but because it's not something you expect your waitress to say to you. All three comedians were young men. The second looked like Fez from That 70's Show and the third, even though he said he looked like Keith Urban, resembled a (much) less hot version of Sawyer from Lost. The first one didn't resemble anyone, except I think he looked the way I imagine one of my college professors looked when he was younger, but he's not famous, although he has written a book. ANYWAY. I have never heard so many masturbation jokes in my life, not even during South Park. After the show, we went to a bar and I saw someone I went to high school with. I think his name was Justin. He was balding. Yeah. So I felt good about myself because I'm not balding. I hope. You know what's not a good idea, though? Buying beer so you can play Asshole til 4 AM. I would think most people know this without trying it, but suffice it to say, none of us could move until about 3 in the afternoon the next day. And even then we only managed to drag ourselves to Penn Station oh, and also Target. Oh, Target. You tempt me even when I have no money. That is not cool.
I don't know why I'm doing a last weekend recap on the precipice of the coming weekend. It just happened. Like unplanned pregnancy. No, that did not happen to me. Yet. Haha, just kidding.
I have a feeling that one day all of this joking about unplanned pregnancy is going to sneak up on me. Like, I'll get pregnant and go to the doctor and the doctor will tell me I'm pregnant with like five babies at one time and the camera will pan out of the doctor's office until all you can see is the planet earth and you hear me going, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" except, oh wait, I'm not on TV. I keep forgetting.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
I can't believe I namedropped Ally McBeal. I am so ashamed.
I spend a great majority of my time daydreaming. I've always been this way. I may look like I'm working but I am not paying attention to what's on the computer in front of me. I'm thinking about something that happened this past weekend, last month, two years ago. I can't leave it alone, though. I modify my memories with what I wish had happened, or what could have happened. This usually leads me to think about something that hasn't happened yet. But could happen. Might happen. If I think about it long enough, hard enough. It's like I'm practicing for the real thing, but once the real thing rolls around I won't know what to do if everyone else doesn't cooperate with the images I already have in my mind.
Daydreaming can be bad for you. It used to get me in trouble at school, where I'd stare out the window instead of listening to directions, so when it came time to complete a project I'd make up my own. It gets me in trouble now, when my boss or a coworker has to say my name several times before I snap out of whatever fantasy I'm in the middle of. I hate to be all Ally McBeal at work, but at least I haven't seen any dancing babies. Yet. Maybe I'm not old enough.
Daydreaming can be dangerous. Have you tried it in the car? You are probably safer driving with a drunk person with glaucoma who hasn't slept for three days than you are driving with me while I'm daydreaming. Luckily for you, I only tend to daydream in the car when I'm alone. You totally dodged the bullet.
So, yes, daydreaming is bad, right? I've tried to make myself stop. Concentrate on what I'm doing, who I'm with, pay attention to directions. But I can't. Because as long as I can live in my head, modify old memories, imagine new ones, at least I'm living somewhere. Even if I really am just sitting in a cold office on a dreary Wednesday morning, staring out the window at the rain, wishing I was somewhere else.
Daydreaming can be bad for you. It used to get me in trouble at school, where I'd stare out the window instead of listening to directions, so when it came time to complete a project I'd make up my own. It gets me in trouble now, when my boss or a coworker has to say my name several times before I snap out of whatever fantasy I'm in the middle of. I hate to be all Ally McBeal at work, but at least I haven't seen any dancing babies. Yet. Maybe I'm not old enough.
Daydreaming can be dangerous. Have you tried it in the car? You are probably safer driving with a drunk person with glaucoma who hasn't slept for three days than you are driving with me while I'm daydreaming. Luckily for you, I only tend to daydream in the car when I'm alone. You totally dodged the bullet.
So, yes, daydreaming is bad, right? I've tried to make myself stop. Concentrate on what I'm doing, who I'm with, pay attention to directions. But I can't. Because as long as I can live in my head, modify old memories, imagine new ones, at least I'm living somewhere. Even if I really am just sitting in a cold office on a dreary Wednesday morning, staring out the window at the rain, wishing I was somewhere else.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
help me, Midol, you're my only hope!
My uterus has started a revolution. I fear the ovaries are about to join. I do not know what this means for the fallopian tubes, but I am about to stab myself in the stomach. If I have to sacrifice myself to win this war, so be it.
The uterus must learn.
Seriously. Ow. I would curl up in the fetal position under my desk until the battle is over but I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon.
The uterus must learn.
Seriously. Ow. I would curl up in the fetal position under my desk until the battle is over but I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon.
Friday, March 03, 2006
oh, universe, you wily bitch
For the most part, I am ignored by the opposite sex at the grocery, in bars, the movies, the mall, on vacation, in construction zones, at the mechanic, restaurants, Target, the library, the mailroom, the park, the post office, etc.
So why, on a quiet Friday morning at work, do I get asked for my phone number by a nomadic art salesman, traveling all this way from the far land of CINCINNATI?
And maybe it was the smell of good, cheap art, the fact that I was flattered or just plain bored, but I totally gave it to him.
So why, on a quiet Friday morning at work, do I get asked for my phone number by a nomadic art salesman, traveling all this way from the far land of CINCINNATI?
And maybe it was the smell of good, cheap art, the fact that I was flattered or just plain bored, but I totally gave it to him.
things I worry about, in no particular order
- That I'll never find someone I like enough to marry
- That I won't find that someone, so I'll marry the wrong someone and spend the rest of my life a miserable wreck of a human being
- That I worry about getting married, how 1950's is that?
- That Phoebe will somehow set herself on fire when I'm not home, thus setting my apartment and the rest of my worldly possessions on fire
- That I'm more worried about my apartment burning down because my cat set it on fire than I am about gas leak/runaway candle flame/etc.
- That the stories I submitted to the contest are so awful that they'll send them back to me with the words, "HAHAHA" scribbled on them in thick, black marker.
- Moving again, for the third time in less than two years
- Money
- Friend/Family member dying
- That I will unintentionally do something with my computer that will cause the downfall of civilization
- Three letters . . . G W B
- That the world will end while I'm in the shower
- And, for some freak reason, I do not die but all of my clothes have disintegrated and I have to walk around with all the other mutants all naked and vulnerable
- And all the other mutants are boring and don't get my jokes
- Or Republicans
- That the fact that I worry about the world ending and what kind of mutants I might end up with means I have some sort of brain disorder
- But if I do have a brain disorder, maybe Dr. McDreamy can fix me
- Or George
- I'm not picky
- Should I be worried that I am pretending McDreamy and George are real doctors? Or that my obsession with Grey's Anatomy is reaching scary levels?
- I'm gonna go with no, because this list is long enough as it is
Long live McDreamy.
And George, my favorite little Hobbit doctor.
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