It was mentioned weeks ago.
Now I'm packing for it.
Well, I'm avoiding packing for it.
I am going to the gym and then the grocery store and then the bank and then I will paint my toe nails and take a shower and shave and primp and THEN I will pick Him up and Then we will come and have dinner and T H E N I will pack for our trip to Vegas.
I'm not scared really. Just nervous. And the mini nervous breakdown last night helped a lot.
The roomie caught me though. Thought I looked, well, not ok.
"I'm fine. I just decided to tell my car stereo what I was worried about before He was in the car to hear it. Want a White Russian with me?"
We didn't get that far. Girl talk til midnight. Very much better.
Didn't sleep much last night. Big problem since I'll be up all night tonight. Fuck.
The dog went to the vet. KaChing.
The car got the outside waxed and the inside shampooed. KaChing!
The car insurance check went through with the rent check. CHINGCHINGCHINGCHING.
And the roomie took off before I could pay for bills. Damn it.
I have no idea how much money He is bringing or what to expect to pay for a room or food or liquor store drinks.
Fuck. I broke my CHING.
Hey, the savings account isn't broke. And it holds January's bill money. Time to go live a little.
Make some memories I won't share in the next ten years. Hope my eyeballs and liver make it through the weekend. Hope I don't get rained on. Hope He doesn't expect a ride home if He takes off with a stripper. Hope I bring enough water to keep my brain from sticking to my skull. Hope a street party is all it takes to remember I am still a kid. Hope I stop worrying about sleeping in my car. Hope I remember where to find my car.
Know that His bright sky blue eyes will remind me the weekend is for living, not wishing.
Know that I won't regret missing this chance.
Know that my world is revolving around me instead of Him and I am off to Vegas Baby!
Friday, December 30, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Damn Holiday Cheer
Well, its the last day in the office and I am a straggler among ditchers.
I plan to leave shortly - there is one bitch who has one project she asked me to do MONDAY who is giving me three 'last one I swear' pieces at a time to keep me in check.
Whatever - not like I am dying to get to the mall... well, thats a lie. My roomie graduates college this week and I eagerly announced my interest in being part of the celebration. By eagerly, I mean I had my hand in the air and there may have been some waving and a little jumping while there was a conversation going on at the other side of the room.
They never invite me out but I am always up when the party migrates back to the house. They seem so surprised that I am up at 1:45am on a work night. Fuckwits.
Anyway, I haven't been out to a dance club in over a year... and my wardrobe shows my homelyness. So I figure I'll just get something with sparkles and a deep Vneck and call tonight the 'practice outfit' for New Years.
I digress.
What I meant to say was that I hated the idea of coming in today and spent the entire morning shirking duties. My ex-roomie made it to my building for an hour of chat, all my email inboxes were cleaned out, the post-it copulation that obviously occured in the last month produced what looked like a brood of new mini post-its was decidedly given a profilactic (oh, if I could burn them I would), and a general tidyness is now the mood of my work space even if there is no diminishing of the amount of work there is to actually do.
Then there is this damn 'oh, found one more, you don't mind do you?' mentality that keeps me firmly understanding I am parked at the bottom of Shit Rolls Downhill Mountain no matter the season.
So when people ask if I have plans for the holiday break, I begrudingly reply "I don't know, depends if my sister calls me or if she's decided that I will ream her for being pregnant - if my dad will extend an invitation or pull the traditional 'you know your always invited, don't say you didn't know you could come' that follows three days after any major or minor holiday - if my cousin will use partying with me as a reason to have another affair - if my aunt can pull her bleached blonde head out of her brazilian waxed ass long enough to realize I wouldn't mind having dinner with her but not if she can't ask me outright to buy my own meal BEFORE we choose the restaurant or eat the meal". Even the edited version gets a sidelong stare.
Welcome to Disfunction Alley, my name is Sassy, I'll be your tourguide.
To the right you'll find the stepsister I met at 18 who I wouldn't be able to pick out of a lineup who has chosen me as her guiding light after 10 months in rehab. She hopes to be out by her 19th birthday.
Up ahead, you'll find the Guilt Booth that looks surprisingly like a mailbox where I like to find letters from the grandparents who moved to my hometown 6 months after I left and can't understand why I won't make the trip to hear about their latest trip to the hospital in person.
As you exit, you'll see the light from under the closet door I keep my skeltons in... I've been hiding in there with Him lately; we have stores of canned goods and batteries and vodka to last a good five years.
Please excuse the construction. The remodel is having a hard time getting past the demo phase. Perhaps the next time you visit, we will find it has been deemed uninhabitable by the county and destroyed in favor of something useful... porn shop? parking lot? pet store?
Whatever, as long as I can visit without contributing to the Send The Therapist To France fund.
I need to get a creative hobby. Geez I can't concentrate.
So, back in the real world, in the office on a quickly deserting Friday-before-a-holiday-in-the-marketing-department... I realized I've been spewing my icky humbug guck all over everyone I've seen today.
That made me sad.
THEN my 'oh, and do you mind? there are only another five here... it shouldn't take you long' bYotch-who-won't-go-home found me hiding with the binders in the back room. She isn't too bad really, just irking me today.
See, she has a daughter my age and likes to hear what my generation is up to... and so she askes who I'm seeing and what I do on the weekends... and I never have a reason to lie about it... so I told her that my family is letting me sit this holiday out by being incommunicado during the birthday/Thanksgiving/Christmas months.
Having caught me, she kinda lowered her voice and said "I hope it all works out with your family over the holiday" while she put down her pile of crap and opened both arms for a real mom-type hug.
She stopped her tyrade of running around to push shit downhill on whoever is still here to hug me in the middle of the file room.
Damn it.
Now I miss my Christmas Spirit.
It usually catches up with me eventually.
Its the 23rd already and I hate everything Xmas has come to stand for and resent that I am the only one I know who acknowledges the distain for materialism by not participating.
I hate that I am coming into being someone who says 'yea, I have family but I haven't talked to them in xx years'.
I dispise that I am always having to be the bigger person and I can't seem to muster the energy to be big about anything this year.
And my anger is turning into bitterness faster than I can blink and say "great, how are you?"
Ok, so I'm trying to decompress and get excited about going out tonight and having all my first of January bills covered with a paycheck in my hand and a plan for Vegas turning quickly into the "I had a savings account; then I went to this party" trip of '05.
Somehow all I can think is that I already have plans to hide with Him tomorrow.
Christmas Eve plans with Him.
Well, if the holiday is about sharing time with the ones you love, I guess I'm participating.
Cheer and Merriment and Eggnog and Rumballs and Gym Rat Mantras and Sleeping In to All, and to All a Good Night,
I plan to leave shortly - there is one bitch who has one project she asked me to do MONDAY who is giving me three 'last one I swear' pieces at a time to keep me in check.
Whatever - not like I am dying to get to the mall... well, thats a lie. My roomie graduates college this week and I eagerly announced my interest in being part of the celebration. By eagerly, I mean I had my hand in the air and there may have been some waving and a little jumping while there was a conversation going on at the other side of the room.
They never invite me out but I am always up when the party migrates back to the house. They seem so surprised that I am up at 1:45am on a work night. Fuckwits.
Anyway, I haven't been out to a dance club in over a year... and my wardrobe shows my homelyness. So I figure I'll just get something with sparkles and a deep Vneck and call tonight the 'practice outfit' for New Years.
I digress.
What I meant to say was that I hated the idea of coming in today and spent the entire morning shirking duties. My ex-roomie made it to my building for an hour of chat, all my email inboxes were cleaned out, the post-it copulation that obviously occured in the last month produced what looked like a brood of new mini post-its was decidedly given a profilactic (oh, if I could burn them I would), and a general tidyness is now the mood of my work space even if there is no diminishing of the amount of work there is to actually do.
Then there is this damn 'oh, found one more, you don't mind do you?' mentality that keeps me firmly understanding I am parked at the bottom of Shit Rolls Downhill Mountain no matter the season.
So when people ask if I have plans for the holiday break, I begrudingly reply "I don't know, depends if my sister calls me or if she's decided that I will ream her for being pregnant - if my dad will extend an invitation or pull the traditional 'you know your always invited, don't say you didn't know you could come' that follows three days after any major or minor holiday - if my cousin will use partying with me as a reason to have another affair - if my aunt can pull her bleached blonde head out of her brazilian waxed ass long enough to realize I wouldn't mind having dinner with her but not if she can't ask me outright to buy my own meal BEFORE we choose the restaurant or eat the meal". Even the edited version gets a sidelong stare.
Welcome to Disfunction Alley, my name is Sassy, I'll be your tourguide.
To the right you'll find the stepsister I met at 18 who I wouldn't be able to pick out of a lineup who has chosen me as her guiding light after 10 months in rehab. She hopes to be out by her 19th birthday.
Up ahead, you'll find the Guilt Booth that looks surprisingly like a mailbox where I like to find letters from the grandparents who moved to my hometown 6 months after I left and can't understand why I won't make the trip to hear about their latest trip to the hospital in person.
As you exit, you'll see the light from under the closet door I keep my skeltons in... I've been hiding in there with Him lately; we have stores of canned goods and batteries and vodka to last a good five years.
Please excuse the construction. The remodel is having a hard time getting past the demo phase. Perhaps the next time you visit, we will find it has been deemed uninhabitable by the county and destroyed in favor of something useful... porn shop? parking lot? pet store?
Whatever, as long as I can visit without contributing to the Send The Therapist To France fund.
I need to get a creative hobby. Geez I can't concentrate.
So, back in the real world, in the office on a quickly deserting Friday-before-a-holiday-in-the-marketing-department... I realized I've been spewing my icky humbug guck all over everyone I've seen today.
That made me sad.
THEN my 'oh, and do you mind? there are only another five here... it shouldn't take you long' bYotch-who-won't-go-home found me hiding with the binders in the back room. She isn't too bad really, just irking me today.
See, she has a daughter my age and likes to hear what my generation is up to... and so she askes who I'm seeing and what I do on the weekends... and I never have a reason to lie about it... so I told her that my family is letting me sit this holiday out by being incommunicado during the birthday/Thanksgiving/Christmas months.
Having caught me, she kinda lowered her voice and said "I hope it all works out with your family over the holiday" while she put down her pile of crap and opened both arms for a real mom-type hug.
She stopped her tyrade of running around to push shit downhill on whoever is still here to hug me in the middle of the file room.
Damn it.
Now I miss my Christmas Spirit.
It usually catches up with me eventually.
Its the 23rd already and I hate everything Xmas has come to stand for and resent that I am the only one I know who acknowledges the distain for materialism by not participating.
I hate that I am coming into being someone who says 'yea, I have family but I haven't talked to them in xx years'.
I dispise that I am always having to be the bigger person and I can't seem to muster the energy to be big about anything this year.
And my anger is turning into bitterness faster than I can blink and say "great, how are you?"
Ok, so I'm trying to decompress and get excited about going out tonight and having all my first of January bills covered with a paycheck in my hand and a plan for Vegas turning quickly into the "I had a savings account; then I went to this party" trip of '05.
Somehow all I can think is that I already have plans to hide with Him tomorrow.
Christmas Eve plans with Him.
Well, if the holiday is about sharing time with the ones you love, I guess I'm participating.
Cheer and Merriment and Eggnog and Rumballs and Gym Rat Mantras and Sleeping In to All, and to All a Good Night,
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Notes to Self
1) Even if the tequila is so good it costs $20 a shot in a bar, and the roomie gives you permission to drink whatever you find, its still tequila.
2) When drinking, it is a good time to eek out the tidbits of thoughts from others. You have the guts to ask; they have no inhibitions and will answer. BRING A RECORDER.
3) Tequila = no new memories.
4) Morning wood should not go to waste. Find a towel instead of swallowing as cum shots are harder to justify for breakfast than for dinner.
5) Sleeping for another hour is almost enough time to forget you drank tequila, but not long enough to forget you had a cum shot for breakfast.
6) Don't think because there is leftover mexican that it is edible immediately. Your body still hates you and remembers Every Part of what did this.
7) Planning wardrobe choices around what is easiest to lean over a toilet in does not a good morning make.
8) 2 in 1 shampoo/conditioner always sounds like a good idea. It never is.
9) Thinking you are cool because you didn't yak on your outfit is deflated instantly upon finding your reflection and fro ass baby hairs making a funky halo around your head.
9) Remember the big smile he had on. It helps make the bile in your throat and the bad hair day almost worth it.
10) It is possible, even on the rag, to become sexually excited enough to lubricate.
It is also apparently possible to become lubricated enough to drip all over yourself while performing fallatio - and stuffed full with a wad of brand name cotton.
Do Not think you missed some of 'breakfast' when you lean back onto a wet spot.
He is just that cute and you are just that horny when your menstrating.
11) You Rock.
Case in point: kept up on all the shots, made a bomb ass dinner, got nuggets of blush inducing mushy crap to throw back at him for verification, he left satisfied and on time for work, and so did you thanks to his little known talent of finishing off in 2 minutes while he showers.
And no one but the coworkers know about the hangover = no shit from the party people.
Sah-weet.
2) When drinking, it is a good time to eek out the tidbits of thoughts from others. You have the guts to ask; they have no inhibitions and will answer. BRING A RECORDER.
3) Tequila = no new memories.
4) Morning wood should not go to waste. Find a towel instead of swallowing as cum shots are harder to justify for breakfast than for dinner.
5) Sleeping for another hour is almost enough time to forget you drank tequila, but not long enough to forget you had a cum shot for breakfast.
6) Don't think because there is leftover mexican that it is edible immediately. Your body still hates you and remembers Every Part of what did this.
7) Planning wardrobe choices around what is easiest to lean over a toilet in does not a good morning make.
8) 2 in 1 shampoo/conditioner always sounds like a good idea. It never is.
9) Thinking you are cool because you didn't yak on your outfit is deflated instantly upon finding your reflection and fro ass baby hairs making a funky halo around your head.
9) Remember the big smile he had on. It helps make the bile in your throat and the bad hair day almost worth it.
10) It is possible, even on the rag, to become sexually excited enough to lubricate.
It is also apparently possible to become lubricated enough to drip all over yourself while performing fallatio - and stuffed full with a wad of brand name cotton.
Do Not think you missed some of 'breakfast' when you lean back onto a wet spot.
He is just that cute and you are just that horny when your menstrating.
11) You Rock.
Case in point: kept up on all the shots, made a bomb ass dinner, got nuggets of blush inducing mushy crap to throw back at him for verification, he left satisfied and on time for work, and so did you thanks to his little known talent of finishing off in 2 minutes while he showers.
And no one but the coworkers know about the hangover = no shit from the party people.
Sah-weet.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
I Swear, Mr. Murphy...
I decide what to do with all my free time at work just as there is Work to do.
I notice my entire department isn't ever HERE between 8:30 and 10am, so I don't kill myself trying to mascara and lip gloss myself on the way to work when I wake up late - just in time for the "lets be good girls and get our bonuses" sweep when they are all at their desks and ready to dump on the temp promptly at 8:58am.
I have realized that there are certain things in life that I can not control just as I am asked to take complete responsibility for my life and everything in it.
Of the six office gifts I have recieved thus far, five bought by girls (candles/candlescapes/candle sets, two holiday hand towels, Santa salt and pepper shakers) and the one from a guy, an hour ago; Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate with Mint Center squares... the day after I vow not to dip into the holiday treats in an effort to make the workouts show by New Years.
For the last three and a half days I have been more than modestly prepared for the end of PMS and the visit of Aunt Flo only for her to decide to show up TEN MINUTES after I was asked out on a date. For tonight.
F*ck Murphy's Laws. Its C*ck Bloging Wednesday and all the pics are driving me nuts (agh, I couldn't help it) and I even have dick available to me in about three hours and damn it if I'm not huddled in pain or in an ibuprofin stupor by then. Not to mention already stuffed.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
Happy Anniversary Mom; Cheers to you and your grace in your dance with Mr. Murphy.
::weep softly::
I notice my entire department isn't ever HERE between 8:30 and 10am, so I don't kill myself trying to mascara and lip gloss myself on the way to work when I wake up late - just in time for the "lets be good girls and get our bonuses" sweep when they are all at their desks and ready to dump on the temp promptly at 8:58am.
I have realized that there are certain things in life that I can not control just as I am asked to take complete responsibility for my life and everything in it.
Of the six office gifts I have recieved thus far, five bought by girls (candles/candlescapes/candle sets, two holiday hand towels, Santa salt and pepper shakers) and the one from a guy, an hour ago; Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate with Mint Center squares... the day after I vow not to dip into the holiday treats in an effort to make the workouts show by New Years.
For the last three and a half days I have been more than modestly prepared for the end of PMS and the visit of Aunt Flo only for her to decide to show up TEN MINUTES after I was asked out on a date. For tonight.
F*ck Murphy's Laws. Its C*ck Bloging Wednesday and all the pics are driving me nuts (agh, I couldn't help it) and I even have dick available to me in about three hours and damn it if I'm not huddled in pain or in an ibuprofin stupor by then. Not to mention already stuffed.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
Happy Anniversary Mom; Cheers to you and your grace in your dance with Mr. Murphy.::weep softly::
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
And the Pendulum Swings
Perhaps it was the weekend of bonding, laundry, tug-o-war with the dogs, good hard sleep, and no junk food that left my Monday a little peppier than usual.
With the search for the perfect calendar in full force, I am in a mind to say the lunar cycle and the biorythems of the day were all going well.
Actually, maybe its just that Aunt Flo decided to finally make it and all the havoc her impending arrival ensues eventually disipates into a normalcy that is elating by comparison.
I will say there was a certain appeal I was OOZING yesterday.
And the ego boost has made it through a restless night and manic morning =)
I had a productivity at the office in the morning, making the lame ass job of formatting a document I didn't write (and three other sadists did) a trip down Receptionist Hell Lane. I was in the Zone however and had a manual in succinct bullets and headers before lunch.
I got a call from Him right as I emailed the doc back to its owner... scarfed a burger and discussed job opportunities with smiles and ketchup mishaps before a surprisingly heartfelt kiss in front of the guys. Gonna be hard knowing he is right over the freeway for the next couple of weeks - especially when I can't come to work next week!
The afternoon was filled with research of personal stuff, checking out Amazon for the latest col stuff I don't know exists, and water cooler talk to make teenaged boys blush.
I rushed out of work a few minutes early to get the "extra postage required" on my Christmas cards to find a 20 min line for $.12 in stamps. I chatted it up with the Phillipino woman behind me who by the end of our journey asked if I wouldn't mind meeting her son for a drink. Apparently I am so nice and kind and with such pretty hair, she doesn't care if the girl he's seeing knows she is setting him up with me.
I got to the counter before I could answer.
I left a smile on the PO clerk before departing =)
I decided to fight the masses of Monday Gym Attendees and go in anyway. I was bombarded by a guy selling magazine subscriptions who ended up sitting with me in the courtyard just to spend time with "the coolest chick I've met all month - and its my job to meet cool chicks". I was informed that my open honesty, sassyness, and smart-assed attitude combined with my infallible confidence and disarming smile was more enriching than the commissions he was missing out on.
He was cute, young, filled with one liners and a plastic smile... a huge flirt like me and making money with it. At some point I saw the change though; the smile turned genuine.
I left him for my workout, chatted a bit when I got out, and wasn't too disappointed he was on his way to AZ this morning.
My evening was filled with girl talk with the roomie, as much love as I could pour into my aching Pooch with the bad back, and a little indulgence for dinner.
Yesterdays horoscope said my social graces wouldn't go unnoticed. Well, thats for sure!! I felt like a ball of sunshine, letting my rays pour over whatever I passed. And every bit of conversing, flattery, flirting... enhanced my glowing aura and drew more positive attention my way!
Today apparently I will be more interested in solitary endevours; noteable in my choice of attire/plans of spending time bent over a file cabinet instead of parading in red heels. I'm plugged into my iPod-wanna-be, in jeans and tennies with my hair pulled tightly out of my face, hunkered down at the computer, plotting which stack of papers I don't want to see at my desk tomorrow morning.
And still glowing at the thought of spreading smiles all over town just by being me.
With the search for the perfect calendar in full force, I am in a mind to say the lunar cycle and the biorythems of the day were all going well.
Actually, maybe its just that Aunt Flo decided to finally make it and all the havoc her impending arrival ensues eventually disipates into a normalcy that is elating by comparison.
I will say there was a certain appeal I was OOZING yesterday.
And the ego boost has made it through a restless night and manic morning =)
I had a productivity at the office in the morning, making the lame ass job of formatting a document I didn't write (and three other sadists did) a trip down Receptionist Hell Lane. I was in the Zone however and had a manual in succinct bullets and headers before lunch.
I got a call from Him right as I emailed the doc back to its owner... scarfed a burger and discussed job opportunities with smiles and ketchup mishaps before a surprisingly heartfelt kiss in front of the guys. Gonna be hard knowing he is right over the freeway for the next couple of weeks - especially when I can't come to work next week!
The afternoon was filled with research of personal stuff, checking out Amazon for the latest col stuff I don't know exists, and water cooler talk to make teenaged boys blush.
I rushed out of work a few minutes early to get the "extra postage required" on my Christmas cards to find a 20 min line for $.12 in stamps. I chatted it up with the Phillipino woman behind me who by the end of our journey asked if I wouldn't mind meeting her son for a drink. Apparently I am so nice and kind and with such pretty hair, she doesn't care if the girl he's seeing knows she is setting him up with me.
I got to the counter before I could answer.
I left a smile on the PO clerk before departing =)
I decided to fight the masses of Monday Gym Attendees and go in anyway. I was bombarded by a guy selling magazine subscriptions who ended up sitting with me in the courtyard just to spend time with "the coolest chick I've met all month - and its my job to meet cool chicks". I was informed that my open honesty, sassyness, and smart-assed attitude combined with my infallible confidence and disarming smile was more enriching than the commissions he was missing out on.
He was cute, young, filled with one liners and a plastic smile... a huge flirt like me and making money with it. At some point I saw the change though; the smile turned genuine.
I left him for my workout, chatted a bit when I got out, and wasn't too disappointed he was on his way to AZ this morning.
My evening was filled with girl talk with the roomie, as much love as I could pour into my aching Pooch with the bad back, and a little indulgence for dinner.
Yesterdays horoscope said my social graces wouldn't go unnoticed. Well, thats for sure!! I felt like a ball of sunshine, letting my rays pour over whatever I passed. And every bit of conversing, flattery, flirting... enhanced my glowing aura and drew more positive attention my way!
Today apparently I will be more interested in solitary endevours; noteable in my choice of attire/plans of spending time bent over a file cabinet instead of parading in red heels. I'm plugged into my iPod-wanna-be, in jeans and tennies with my hair pulled tightly out of my face, hunkered down at the computer, plotting which stack of papers I don't want to see at my desk tomorrow morning.
And still glowing at the thought of spreading smiles all over town just by being me.
Friday, December 16, 2005
TGI F*ck It All
THIS would have been a better start to my work day.
I would much have prefered THIS to the f*cktarded things I've had to do in the last 3 hours. 
And there are no signs of it getting any better. Unless I come back from lunch to THIS. 
My day would be made if this were all I had to deal with. I'd put them all back into perfectly useable cube's of notepaper. It would take me the rest of the day, I promise.
I would much have prefered THIS to the f*cktarded things I've had to do in the last 3 hours. And there are no signs of it getting any better. Unless I come back from lunch to THIS. My day would be made if this were all I had to deal with. I'd put them all back into perfectly useable cube's of notepaper. It would take me the rest of the day, I promise. Thank the full moon I put Limp Bizkit on the iPod-wanna-be this week.
Break Stuff is today's soundtrack.
"Your best bet is to stay away Mother F*CKER!!! Its just one of those days"
"I feel like Shit. My suggestion is to keep your distance, because Right Now I'm Dangerous"
"If my day keeps going this way I just might Break your F*ckin Face Tonight"
Its the remixed version, so the words repeat like 12 times in the song. Each time its played.
PMS. Lovely TGIF. I'm not even horny.
What usually keeps me from homicide is that I can't get my hand out of my pants long enough to get the bebe gun from the back of the cabinet.
Email me if you have extra tranquilizers, I'll give you an address to FedEx them to.
Or a sex toy I can break in. Nothing like a quicky to get all the happy neurotransmitters flowing.
I'm gonna go home and find some tequila I can shoot until you send reinforcements.
You think I'm kidding.
I am quite apparently not in the mood for wit today.
See you on the flip side.
EDIT: Confession
I left for lunch and in the car I heard that song by Pink about the guy not being like the other pills and how she can't stay on his morphine because it makes her itch...
I am still in the throws of asshat coworkers causing me to self inflict a bald spot and an eye twitch, but I called Him to see if I could weasel some free car repair from Him. It worked so well I think we decided on New Years plans. And I think somewhere in our conversation he decided to ditch his Saturday day date to expidite time under my hood. Yep, pun intended. His idea.
I am left in a much more jovial mood this afternoon.
I didn't seek out tequila at lunch because I called Him first and that was intoxication enough.
I didn't even eat at lunch. Just barely scarfing two hours later.
There is a hint of a possibility of a smile today.
Even after Pisser's holiday song list, I am fixated on the following holiday weekend.
I even made the call to ditch Dud of the Weekend Drive to spend tomorrow with Him and get my fluids checked.
Yeah. Hello, my name is Sassy and I'm an addict.
He's got a way of sparking my butterflies into formation like no one else and I crave it. I admit it. I'm not quite fine with it right now, but right this minute I am pleasantly drunk on the thought of him and THAT is what will keep me employed today - plus He doesn't show up on a piss test. Not all bad, right?
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Yuppies
Who the F*CK do you think you are?
Give a temp who's never seen what you do the biggest most important job you have??
Its YOU being audited - YOUR files no one can navigate - YOUR shitty worded contracts no one can read - YOUR ASS when the temp can't find what YOU can't decide you are looking for.
Oh, and to think all the input you have to give is "um, this still doesn't say what I need it to, keep looking".
Look you asshat, get out of your chair and stop talking to your kids and checking your lipliner and look and the cumbersome freakshow of a file you've created and start saving your OWN ASS.
I saw you tremble in front of the auditor last night. So did he by the way.
And seriously, we had gone over those binders ONE HOUR before he got there and suddenly with him sitting there I ME SINGULARLY didn't get you the right stuff for when he showed up TWO DAYS earlier than I was told to have the project done by.
It has been three days of hell trying to appease you. I'd never met you before Friday and now I despise your voicemail saying "thanks but um no".
Shove it you cock hungry ex wife who can't decide to keep the married name for the sake of your kid's absence notes matching the name on their school records - stop whining to me about what your life amounts to via last name and help me find what your back-from-the-office-party-because-there-was-no-bar half hearted giggle with that extra 12 lbs of belly fat in red velvet so you can REALLY tell where all the chocolates went veneered smile and deer in the semi lights can't seem to nail down even when I highlight the f*cking thing for you.
And stop looking past your every-two-weeks highlights down at me because I'm fine with my virgin hair. Get out of your chair and HELP ME COVER THIS AUDIT.
F*ck man. Seriously. Deal you psych case of insecurity. I'm going to lunch.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Workin It
So last week I woke up at 9am, cleaned up after a dog fight, and got in REALLY late when the entire department was flipping out for what I saw was no reason at all.
Today I get up at 8:45am, take my time because the entire department was to be out of the office and I don't give a rip about the two things I left on my desk at 7pm when I left last night so I took a shower, made my bed, pet the dog, and not quite rushed out the door at 9:40am.
Yeah. I had a 10am with my section of the department.
They don't leave until after lunch.
And they ALL noticed I wasn't here at 9:30ish.
So here I sit with a mountain of work to do that wasn't here last night, a half ready resume waiting to be updated, a manager who loves my work and can-do-it-ness but doesn't understand why I can't get out of bed in the mornings.
Is this the life I choose for myself? Can I resign to apply for cubicle positions with partially non existent management? Will I knowingly take a seat at the bottom of a shit-rolls-downhill mountain?? And is there any real alternative???
I love the income, the weekends off, the possible perks of a permanent position... and my home business is sitting waiting for me to acknowledge it with a promise of 40hrs a week of work on my schedule, a company car, a team of women who compete with me but support me at every step... and there is no looking down there nose at me because they have a better title.
I'm off to the copier machine, to find labels, to print copies of excel spreadsheets, and to fix my resume for whatever job I'll be in come March. And when they all leave this afternoon, I'm taking as long of a lunch as I need to for my errands to get run. (No, I haven't tested the waters enough... I'm a temp, WTF ever)
Today I get up at 8:45am, take my time because the entire department was to be out of the office and I don't give a rip about the two things I left on my desk at 7pm when I left last night so I took a shower, made my bed, pet the dog, and not quite rushed out the door at 9:40am.
Yeah. I had a 10am with my section of the department.
They don't leave until after lunch.
And they ALL noticed I wasn't here at 9:30ish.
So here I sit with a mountain of work to do that wasn't here last night, a half ready resume waiting to be updated, a manager who loves my work and can-do-it-ness but doesn't understand why I can't get out of bed in the mornings.
Is this the life I choose for myself? Can I resign to apply for cubicle positions with partially non existent management? Will I knowingly take a seat at the bottom of a shit-rolls-downhill mountain?? And is there any real alternative???
I love the income, the weekends off, the possible perks of a permanent position... and my home business is sitting waiting for me to acknowledge it with a promise of 40hrs a week of work on my schedule, a company car, a team of women who compete with me but support me at every step... and there is no looking down there nose at me because they have a better title.
I'm off to the copier machine, to find labels, to print copies of excel spreadsheets, and to fix my resume for whatever job I'll be in come March. And when they all leave this afternoon, I'm taking as long of a lunch as I need to for my errands to get run. (No, I haven't tested the waters enough... I'm a temp, WTF ever)
Monday, December 12, 2005
Filthy Rich
Have you ever had so much money horded up that you literally didn't know what to do with it?
I mean really had no clue how much you could accomplish because you had never seen SOOO many zeros after your account number before??
So appaulingly ridiculously dumbfoundingly rolling in it that to travel for the holidays won't interfere with your ability to buy out the shoe department the day after Christmas?
I'm not talking millionaire status... I'm talking you make less than $30,000 a year and somehow a year after declairing bankruptcy your will power or lifted boot straps or cinched belt or humble acceptance that you do indeed make less than $30,000 a year has left you with what you feel is a nest egg in the making??
Well, it sucks.
For a year I've eaten Hot Pockets and 10 for $10 cans of soup and chili.
I'm wearing a pair of shoes I wore to my first day at University. I graduated four years ago.
I've respectfully declined any outing that did not come with the expressed clause "I've got it."
Hell, after looking over my recent paystubs and receipts, I've found that of all the contributing I've done to the current household, somehow I haven't bought TP in four months.
So, here I sit with numerous invitations for holiday trips and parties.
I have five pressing matters to attend to on my car.
I have to seriously think about how much money I will put into my dog to keep her walking.
I will eventually stop enjoying the homemade cookies and the gym workouts will do more than make me sleep well and I will get sick of the two pair of shoes that cover my feet in the rain having leaks in them and update my wardrobe.
I have a car payment that still hangs over my head and a student loan payment in the wings.
You'd think I'd be EX - TA - TIC to have the ability to deal with any one of these situations with more than a "when I win the lottery" statement. But somehow I loath the decision of choosing which part of my life takes precident this season.
What to do, what to do...
Friday, December 09, 2005
Responsibility
Now, my house doesn't look anything like this... but I'll tell you it feels like it with all the particular personalities that come along with four girls, three indoor cats, two indoor dogs, and a cat in the garage.
Not that I will ever taut my ability to get out of the house in any reasonably calm or timely manner on any morning, but today - well, I'm supposed to get to work at 9am and getting up at 8:45 isn't Exactly the way I think I can get to work on time BUT with the critters underfoot and pushing me over and screaming at me for giving the big ones treats before the little ones and the little ones wanting to get outside instead of the big ones and getting ANY of them to understand that just because I am in the house at 9:30am (via how much sun is available to bask in on the kitchen floor, believe me they know I'm not supposed to be there) Does Not mean its Saturday and I have all the time in the day to cuddle and caress and talk back to and wait around for piddles and give treats all day long...
And to walk into the building, purse in hand, sunglasses on head, and see my boss walking away from me... and she didn't turn around... more relief than ExLax can provide. =)
EDIT: I had this post in draft mode earlier this week. Upon review I find it HILARIOUS that today I was an Hour and a Half late to work due to a REAL pet emergency - dog fight.
In the kitchen.
Torn ear.
Popped eye cyst.
Blood Everywhere.
Three girls as witnesses and the only conclusion was that it was out of NOWHERE.
Before I left the house there were 10 paper towels covered in blood in the garbage, a clear path of clean floor where the clean up crew spot checked, one band aided ear on the big one, two very clean eyeballs on the little one, two shell shocked roomies, and me dashing off to work hoping not to be noticed.
No such luck.
The temp agency had called, two coworkers had keys in hand to search the sides of the freeways for me, another gave me shit for making them think I had quit and not told anyone, and somehow the entire department is up to their fake boobs in work and they thought I wouldn't be here to help. Tell you what folks, I just got my load of the "massive, crazy, unreal for a Friday, out of control amount of work to do"... the printer is going, the copy machine is waiting, and the envelopes are sitting waiting to be stuffed. But they don't get mailed until Monday. And there are only 60.
SIXTY!!!
I might take a normal lunch break today after all.
Oh, and did I mention I didn't get ANY hour of consecutive sleep last night and part of the lateness this morning was that a roomie from downstairs decided my shower was her's at 7:30am causing me to roll over and pass out until 9am??!?!?! Yeah, THAT, then the dog fight, then the coworkers jabs, And the temp agency dude jabs, and thinking I had a ton of work to get me to forget I didn't sleep last night and here it is 12:30pm and I am nearly finished.
Bah Humbug.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Violated
I spent the weekend out of town. Well, that was the big thing I did this weekend anyway. I was invited to meet a fairly new friend two hours away for a dinner and support of his friends band in a bar. I accepted under the pretense that I consistantly can NOT fully enjoy my Tivo/dog cuddle/vodka drink/PJ clad weekends because I know there is more to life than sitting on the couch when your able body and overactively fatasy ridden mind have all the possibilities of Southern California that a big wide smile can get into - and I Tivo. So I did two loads of laundry, packed a bag, and headed off to find out it was a three and a half hour drive into the sunset gleaming off the ocean of Santa Barbara (sounds nice, but not for driving I PROMISE) to get to wait for an hour at the only place in his town worthy of stuffing our faces at and leaving three songs into the three hours late set of his band. And he passed out when we got to bed. Fan bloody tastic.
In the morning I slept in, showered, had his mom make me a ham sandwich (yep, I met the parents and everything) before waiting through half an hour of football commercials before announcing if this was all he had to offer I would be leaving now. And as I pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway, it hit me. A heavy burden rested over my straight posture and 10 and 2 positioning, reminding me that there is the severe possibility (well, the feeling was more like "DOOM IMPENDING DOOM") of bad bad bad things to come. Like I would get pulled over and my car would be impounded or I would watch the waves and run off the road and over the cliff side to meet them or that one of these jokers at 90 mph would not merge with the half a second to spare they had been leaving themselves and I would be a first witness to a sprawl of car parts and bleeding people and spend the rest of the weekend repeating my testamony as to who's fault it was to the 14 cops who would be part of the clean up.
Alas, none of that happened. I had a heart attack coming around a corner on a massive downhill grade where my car refused to stick to the speed limit, but Mr. CHP stayed put and it only took me twenty miles to get my heart out of my throat. Since things were going pretty well, I refused to find a fast food joint 20 min from my house to piss in and raced upstairs quietly so as not to wake the dogs the instant I pulled into the driveway. Having Succeeded, I gave the pups a rubdown, got back outside and unloaded the empty water bottles, RockStar can, Carl's Jr. bag, my luggage and purse and coat, AND the 12 pack of soda my aunt gave me about two months ago that I have used as a stand for my muddy tennie shoes behind my seat.
Apparently I didn't make a second glance worth its two seconds. And I guess a year and a half knowing my automatic locks are possessed and simply won't stay locked about 3/4 the time is catching up with me. When I got into my car this morning my book of CDs, visor of CDs, and whatever tampons and nail files and bobby pins I had in my glove compartment had been ripped off. From my own driveway.
I felt raped.
And then I felt my gut S C R E A M I N G at me " I TOLD YOU SO - LISTEN!!!"
Its been a few times now that my car has bore the brunt of my facing down my existential quandries. I cracked the windshield the last time I went to visit the guy who thought take out chinese made up for the hour and a half each way I drove to his place. It was the last time because even THAT was too much to ask that trip. I still wear the crease in the back passanger door from when I thought spending time with the family would be a nice idea - and came out the next morning to a smashed car and no note. The passenger side has a scrape of worn paint on the wheelwell and side mirror from the parallel parking job in front of the apartment complex of the guy who said we were friends but dumped me for the woman I had dinner with that night. And the bumpers are both obviously worn from a myriad of small infractions of judgement that remind me of parties gone bad, roomates gone worse, and quick fixes that ruined the structure. These lessons I am reminded of Every time I wash Missy.
But, this is seriously the first time the inside has been abused in any way. Well, it hasn't been vaccuumed out since I got here and the moves and the dog and the take out have made their marks but that helps reveal the ME factor. I LIVED out of my car. It was my sanctuary of perfect treble to bass ratio, never moved by a guy seat, everything in reach right where I left it, and No One had anything to do with it but me.
And as I slid into my familiar this morning, the visor hit me in the forehead; the whole in the dash left wide open for me to see its emptyness.
And there was a whole new feeling of violation.
Beat up the outside. Fine. Its cosmetic and I'll fix it when I feel like it. Rip a bumper half off, chip the paint - whatever. Its just a little protection stripped away but I am still whole inside. Its still my car and my space when I get behind the wheel and manouver this beast of tin about the world. But to sit there and know someone was there...to look around and wonder if they were in my seat... took my sanctuary away.
Well, I did get the bad feeling about the car for this weekend ahead of time. And it materialized. Usually I see in hindsight that the car was simply a coincidental icing on the Fucked Situation cake I ate at that time. It was just some old CDs.
But what is it about my car getting fucked with when I am going through a Big Deal? And what about this weekend left me cosmetically intact but robbed from the inside?? OK, OK, maybe its not all that directly symbolic. But I did talk to Him on the way back into town and this morning I felt peices of me missing. And I immediately started coping with the grief; covering it up, rationalizing it away, being thankful for this reminder of what is really important; feeling hurt in places I didn't know I had. Just like every time I think of Him. Coincidence?
In the morning I slept in, showered, had his mom make me a ham sandwich (yep, I met the parents and everything) before waiting through half an hour of football commercials before announcing if this was all he had to offer I would be leaving now. And as I pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway, it hit me. A heavy burden rested over my straight posture and 10 and 2 positioning, reminding me that there is the severe possibility (well, the feeling was more like "DOOM IMPENDING DOOM") of bad bad bad things to come. Like I would get pulled over and my car would be impounded or I would watch the waves and run off the road and over the cliff side to meet them or that one of these jokers at 90 mph would not merge with the half a second to spare they had been leaving themselves and I would be a first witness to a sprawl of car parts and bleeding people and spend the rest of the weekend repeating my testamony as to who's fault it was to the 14 cops who would be part of the clean up.
Alas, none of that happened. I had a heart attack coming around a corner on a massive downhill grade where my car refused to stick to the speed limit, but Mr. CHP stayed put and it only took me twenty miles to get my heart out of my throat. Since things were going pretty well, I refused to find a fast food joint 20 min from my house to piss in and raced upstairs quietly so as not to wake the dogs the instant I pulled into the driveway. Having Succeeded, I gave the pups a rubdown, got back outside and unloaded the empty water bottles, RockStar can, Carl's Jr. bag, my luggage and purse and coat, AND the 12 pack of soda my aunt gave me about two months ago that I have used as a stand for my muddy tennie shoes behind my seat.
Apparently I didn't make a second glance worth its two seconds. And I guess a year and a half knowing my automatic locks are possessed and simply won't stay locked about 3/4 the time is catching up with me. When I got into my car this morning my book of CDs, visor of CDs, and whatever tampons and nail files and bobby pins I had in my glove compartment had been ripped off. From my own driveway.
I felt raped.
And then I felt my gut S C R E A M I N G at me " I TOLD YOU SO - LISTEN!!!"
Its been a few times now that my car has bore the brunt of my facing down my existential quandries. I cracked the windshield the last time I went to visit the guy who thought take out chinese made up for the hour and a half each way I drove to his place. It was the last time because even THAT was too much to ask that trip. I still wear the crease in the back passanger door from when I thought spending time with the family would be a nice idea - and came out the next morning to a smashed car and no note. The passenger side has a scrape of worn paint on the wheelwell and side mirror from the parallel parking job in front of the apartment complex of the guy who said we were friends but dumped me for the woman I had dinner with that night. And the bumpers are both obviously worn from a myriad of small infractions of judgement that remind me of parties gone bad, roomates gone worse, and quick fixes that ruined the structure. These lessons I am reminded of Every time I wash Missy.
But, this is seriously the first time the inside has been abused in any way. Well, it hasn't been vaccuumed out since I got here and the moves and the dog and the take out have made their marks but that helps reveal the ME factor. I LIVED out of my car. It was my sanctuary of perfect treble to bass ratio, never moved by a guy seat, everything in reach right where I left it, and No One had anything to do with it but me.
And as I slid into my familiar this morning, the visor hit me in the forehead; the whole in the dash left wide open for me to see its emptyness.
And there was a whole new feeling of violation.
Beat up the outside. Fine. Its cosmetic and I'll fix it when I feel like it. Rip a bumper half off, chip the paint - whatever. Its just a little protection stripped away but I am still whole inside. Its still my car and my space when I get behind the wheel and manouver this beast of tin about the world. But to sit there and know someone was there...to look around and wonder if they were in my seat... took my sanctuary away.
Well, I did get the bad feeling about the car for this weekend ahead of time. And it materialized. Usually I see in hindsight that the car was simply a coincidental icing on the Fucked Situation cake I ate at that time. It was just some old CDs.
But what is it about my car getting fucked with when I am going through a Big Deal? And what about this weekend left me cosmetically intact but robbed from the inside?? OK, OK, maybe its not all that directly symbolic. But I did talk to Him on the way back into town and this morning I felt peices of me missing. And I immediately started coping with the grief; covering it up, rationalizing it away, being thankful for this reminder of what is really important; feeling hurt in places I didn't know I had. Just like every time I think of Him. Coincidence?
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Gym Rats Rock
Its been my recent experience to be overly cynical of the beautiful people that populate my vacinity. I talk myself into loving the voluptuousness I've carried since puberty, find the natural highlights in my hair to avoid costly salon bills, buy $5 tweezers and razors to keep up with the trends in bare minimum hygene, reapply my lip gloss every time I pass a mirror.
This has been the conditioned effect of never quite fitting in with The Pretty People.
I try, but barely, to blend in... my morning routine includes a blowdryer to keep my clothes dry and not much else, the makeup is a step but its more a mask over of the acne skin I still fight with. When it comes down to it I find there must be more than physical attributes that make me worth while. Another defense mechanism the loners in sweatshirts in the corner tell themselves.
The trick is to be pretty enough to get the attention of the Pretty People so they want to find out what personality is behind the smile. Its happened to me, and it feels stupendous to be attended to by people who ooze charisma. But somehow I still get left, with all the personality that develops watching the Pretty People pass you over, for the blonde gigglefit in a miniskirt.
But I know it has always been a ruse. I've always been jealous of these people The ones who wanted to take an hour a day to beautify themselves. I want to be polished every time I was seen. I want to roll the top of my sweats down and wear a cami and have it be the most flattering outfit I can find. I want to have hair that flows perfectly. I want to abandon my need for 15 minutes of makeup to give me flawless skin and a healthy glow.
I want my secret to be beauty sleep instead of horded cookies.
I want to stop spouting the fat girl mantra of Real Women Have Curves when I look in the mirror. I realize now this is a coverup. I am holding these 25 pounds as a security blanket to hide under so life doesn't hurt so much; so I don't have to feel rejected when I get passed over; to use as an excuse when I am told they love me but leave me anyway.
This all came to a head when I sat across a tiny desk in a thumping Beauty Factory known as the So. Cal gym. I was being looked in the eye by a near stranger. His arms stretching the sleeves of his company issue tshirt. His veins still swollen from the demo curls we just finished. He'd given me an hours worth of expertise of the equipment, the human body, the hidden insecurities of women, the tricks of the trade, the perks of being a Pretty Person. He sat with my profile under his arms, leaned in, and said "you've got absolutely no reason you can't be a totally different person in 3 months. You have great form. You get it. You're flexible enough to show me your muscles can take the work. The stregth will come. If you want it, you can do it. Quickly. Come in for an hour - make it the time you do something for YOU - leave it on the floor; fatigue yourself every set... you won't be able to wear anything in your closet before you can realize whats happened to you."
I took a deep breath. I smiled because thats what I do when I'm nervous. He maintained his resolve. He sat back and waited for me to look him in the eye again. "You can do this if you want it. I can help you." I knew he was right.
I was told in junior high I could be that girl in high school with a spring in her step and a constant smile who gets carried to her boyfriends convertable to dash off to the bonfire parties where everyone wants to sit with me just to say they were with ME. When that didn't happen, when I was nearly the exact opposite, I decided not to think about who I would be in the future so I wouldn't have to feel that disappointment again.
Well you know what?? Screw that. I can see that what I've been thinking about, I've been bringing about. In EVERY part of my life. Still I hide in my insulating blubber. I'm done with it. I'm gonna take the power of conviction from Mr. Personal Trainer to heart. I saw him studying my curves; felt his hands on my flexed bicep, tightened deltoids, rounded belly, squatting quads; heard the sincerity of his words. I could see him drinking me in, knowing soon I would be evolve my good posture into standing tall in my stregth of body and self worth.
And I started. Thats right byotch. He made his pitch, gave me his business card, and I got on that damned machine in the back row and added 10 minutes to my record from two days ago - on a setting 4 levels harder than two days ago.
And it was a struggle to get up the stairs when I got home.
And I smiled about it.
I have flipped a switch. I'm not waiting for Him to prove he's good enough to be in my life, I'm not waiting for my sister to return to treating me like a person and not a bank account, I'm not hoping to create friends from a month old conversation, I'm not wishing for a full time permanent position, I'm not worried about starting a retirement account. I won't wait for the Pretty People to notice me to hinge my self esteem on. I am now about Planning AND Acting. Speaking AND Doing. Starting AND Finishing.
Comfort Zones are for lazy Sunday Mornings. The rest of the week is for making the most of life.
Pretty People Beware: I'm joining your ranks. And I'll be snubbing you for never having to have a thought to back up your beauty with. And then demanding you be the best YOU can be - because if I can do it so can you.
Watch Out. I'm about to catapult into the next version of me. And all the fear I've used to keep me on the couch has turned to venom at not already being the best I know I can be.
This has been the conditioned effect of never quite fitting in with The Pretty People.
I try, but barely, to blend in... my morning routine includes a blowdryer to keep my clothes dry and not much else, the makeup is a step but its more a mask over of the acne skin I still fight with. When it comes down to it I find there must be more than physical attributes that make me worth while. Another defense mechanism the loners in sweatshirts in the corner tell themselves.
The trick is to be pretty enough to get the attention of the Pretty People so they want to find out what personality is behind the smile. Its happened to me, and it feels stupendous to be attended to by people who ooze charisma. But somehow I still get left, with all the personality that develops watching the Pretty People pass you over, for the blonde gigglefit in a miniskirt.
But I know it has always been a ruse. I've always been jealous of these people The ones who wanted to take an hour a day to beautify themselves. I want to be polished every time I was seen. I want to roll the top of my sweats down and wear a cami and have it be the most flattering outfit I can find. I want to have hair that flows perfectly. I want to abandon my need for 15 minutes of makeup to give me flawless skin and a healthy glow.
I want my secret to be beauty sleep instead of horded cookies.
I want to stop spouting the fat girl mantra of Real Women Have Curves when I look in the mirror. I realize now this is a coverup. I am holding these 25 pounds as a security blanket to hide under so life doesn't hurt so much; so I don't have to feel rejected when I get passed over; to use as an excuse when I am told they love me but leave me anyway.
This all came to a head when I sat across a tiny desk in a thumping Beauty Factory known as the So. Cal gym. I was being looked in the eye by a near stranger. His arms stretching the sleeves of his company issue tshirt. His veins still swollen from the demo curls we just finished. He'd given me an hours worth of expertise of the equipment, the human body, the hidden insecurities of women, the tricks of the trade, the perks of being a Pretty Person. He sat with my profile under his arms, leaned in, and said "you've got absolutely no reason you can't be a totally different person in 3 months. You have great form. You get it. You're flexible enough to show me your muscles can take the work. The stregth will come. If you want it, you can do it. Quickly. Come in for an hour - make it the time you do something for YOU - leave it on the floor; fatigue yourself every set... you won't be able to wear anything in your closet before you can realize whats happened to you."
I took a deep breath. I smiled because thats what I do when I'm nervous. He maintained his resolve. He sat back and waited for me to look him in the eye again. "You can do this if you want it. I can help you." I knew he was right.
I was told in junior high I could be that girl in high school with a spring in her step and a constant smile who gets carried to her boyfriends convertable to dash off to the bonfire parties where everyone wants to sit with me just to say they were with ME. When that didn't happen, when I was nearly the exact opposite, I decided not to think about who I would be in the future so I wouldn't have to feel that disappointment again.
Well you know what?? Screw that. I can see that what I've been thinking about, I've been bringing about. In EVERY part of my life. Still I hide in my insulating blubber. I'm done with it. I'm gonna take the power of conviction from Mr. Personal Trainer to heart. I saw him studying my curves; felt his hands on my flexed bicep, tightened deltoids, rounded belly, squatting quads; heard the sincerity of his words. I could see him drinking me in, knowing soon I would be evolve my good posture into standing tall in my stregth of body and self worth.
And I started. Thats right byotch. He made his pitch, gave me his business card, and I got on that damned machine in the back row and added 10 minutes to my record from two days ago - on a setting 4 levels harder than two days ago.
And it was a struggle to get up the stairs when I got home.
And I smiled about it.
I have flipped a switch. I'm not waiting for Him to prove he's good enough to be in my life, I'm not waiting for my sister to return to treating me like a person and not a bank account, I'm not hoping to create friends from a month old conversation, I'm not wishing for a full time permanent position, I'm not worried about starting a retirement account. I won't wait for the Pretty People to notice me to hinge my self esteem on. I am now about Planning AND Acting. Speaking AND Doing. Starting AND Finishing.
Comfort Zones are for lazy Sunday Mornings. The rest of the week is for making the most of life.
Pretty People Beware: I'm joining your ranks. And I'll be snubbing you for never having to have a thought to back up your beauty with. And then demanding you be the best YOU can be - because if I can do it so can you.
Watch Out. I'm about to catapult into the next version of me. And all the fear I've used to keep me on the couch has turned to venom at not already being the best I know I can be.
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