Sunday, January 29, 2006

Maybe Money DOES Make People Happy

Sick. It's how I feel. I ate a pound of ColdStone Creamery's Lard-In-A-Cup, and I just thought I'd check on my bank account via the Web. SHIT. I really don't think twice about renting a DVD, stopping for a coffee and a muffin, ordering in ColdStone on Sundays with BR1 and BR2. "Champagne tastes with a beer budget," my dad says. "Fifty pairs of shoes." How can editors at a publishing company that shall remain nameless live off of a $22K/year salary? At a publishing company where you have to look like you make $100K. And I make a decent salary, yet I can't seem to make it? I moved here 2.5 years ago with $3,000, and I'm still asking dad for money? Maybe I should move back to Kansas? All I know is that I have 3 loads of dirty laundry, and for the first time ever, I have to pick and choose what I'm going to wash because I can't afford to do it all.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Blast from the Past

There's nothing like the feeling you get when an ex from high school looks you up on My Space and says, "Man, you still look good." I don't know if he expected me to be fat and wrinkled by 24, but it still made me grin and think, "HA!"

Friday, January 13, 2006

A Million Little Pieces of Shit

Yeah, I'm pretty sick of this James Frey bullshit. Maybe he did lie. The writing was good, and I could relate to some of his feelings, although I do feel a little duped. But those who write memoirs DO embellish a bit, they do tend to exaggerate. Because frankly, life on its own can be slightly uninteresting, a bit drab and colorless. Would you be shocked if I told you that I embellish on my blog?

Then again, I find it damn near impossible for a man to stay 100% clean and refrain from drinking without some sort of 12-step program. Alcohol can be so much fun, and when you enjoy it to the extent that an alcoholic does, I think it would take a little more than willpower to keep you away from the bottle. That's just my two cents. Then again, maybe I'm just glad that Oprah doesn't know who I am.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Good Morning! (Yeah, right.)

I wish I was a Morning Person. Every single morning I rush around and am late for my ride to work. My routine is as follows:

7:30 a.m. Alarm goes off. Today's CD is Franz Ferdinand. I know this clock is 18 minutes fast, so I hit Snooze. After all, I plan to go to the gym this morning and run for exactly 30 minutes.

7:40 a.m. Alarm goes off. It's actually 7:22 a.m. If I hit Snooze, I can still make it the gym and back by 8:20 a.m. I hit Snooze.

7:50 a.m. Alarm goes off. I convince myself I have no time to go to the gym. Darn. I re-set my alarm for 8:30.

8:30 a.m. Alarm goes off. I hit Snooze.

8:40 a.m. Alarm goes off. I hate Franz Ferdinand. I hit Snooze.

8:50 a.m. Alarm goes off. SHIT! I turn my attention to the clock that's above my TV set. This clock is set correctly. It's actually 8:32 a.m. and I have to walk five blocks to meet my ride at 9 a.m.

Correct clock time: 8:32 a.m. Run to the bathroom, strip faster than Paris Hilton about to get taped. Turn on shower, brush teeth, hop in shower.

8:42 a.m. Am in room, hair in towel, robe on. Look at the array of colorful eyeshadows. As I don't yet know what I'm wearing to work, I can't exactly match my shadow with my outfit, as I'd like. I opt for Clinique's Rose Wine, a neutral pink/brown combo. Apply makeup.

8:49 a.m. Frantically find a presentable outfit. Opt for jeans and a cami w/ a blazer or sweater. Toss clothes onto bed.

8:51 a.m. Race to the bathroom and attempt to dry hair. Find that I have no time to dry my hair, so I dry my bangs, add a volumizer to roots and attempt to scrunch ends so it looks wavy in that sexy/sultry kind of way. I look like a wet rat.

8:55 a.m. Realize that I have to iron my fucking jeans. Iron and toss on clothes.

8:57 a.m. Need shoes. Pick a pair of heels, as I've suddenly accumulated more heels than flats in my closet. I don't know when this switch took place, but I frequently find myself hobbling down the street in shoes that pinch.

8:58 a.m. Fuck. I have no time to make a salad. I grab a frozen cheese ravioli and stuff in giganto purse. Race around grabbing random things I need to bring to work. Stuff in purse.

9 a.m. Triple fuck. I hear the church bells ring, and I know I will be late. There's no way I can hobble my way five blocks in three minutes. I attempt it anyway.

Pretty ridiculous, huh? Sometimes I beat my ride to the corner; sometimes she is waiting for me. But every morning is the same. I have been setting my alarm at 7:30 a.m. for the past four months, and I've made it to the gym once before work. Any advice on how to break this habit before it breaks me?

Tuesday, January 3, 2006

Big News

I got promoted to Associate Editor!!! It IS a good year!

Sunday, January 1, 2006

The NYE Hunt

It's 11:43 p.m. on Dec. 31. Always the same, whether at a bar, a party or Times Square. The tension builds as single folk attempt to position themselves for the Big Kiss. Single boys and girls have likely narrowed down their prospects to two or three lucky candidates. It's obvious—they're looking around, ensuring that their prey in fact, do not have a kiss already scheduled. They zoom in like a hawk, strike up their best smile and start a conversation, perhaps about the slobbering drunk retard in the corner. They silently pray that the convo lasts until 11:59 p.m. so any talk can cease to make way for the Big Countdown leading to...the Big Kiss.

In my case, I had selected two candidates last night. I had my eye on one, the other, well, simply a runner-up. I was lucky, as both boys were in my group of friends, although I had just met them that night.

11:43 p.m.
I inconspicuously lean in towards my pal, JoAnna.
Me: Psst! That guy next to you, I'm kissing him at midnight.
Jo: What?! I am! I already talked to Anisa about it!
Anisa is the mutual friend between Hot Boy and Us. Anisa is more Jo's friend, giving her precedence over the Kissing opp.
Me: What?! But I wanted to kiss him! I've been eyeing him for an hour!
Jo: But we haven't been here for an hour!
Me: Well, OK, you can kiss him. Your heart was broken last. I'll kiss the kid next to me. But can I maybe kiss him later for kicks?
Jo: Of course! Thanks Teen!

The Kid next to me starts talking to me around 11:50 p.m. He's familiar with the drill. We chat, ask questions, feigning interest, and before we know it, it's 11:58. The countdown ensues, the Kid slams his yager shot, I grab his face for the Big Kiss. He's obviously shocked, but pleased, and attempts to make the kiss last longer than necessary. I kindly pull away, turn to Cute Boy next to me, as Jo is finished with her kiss, and I kiss HIM. The night quickly comes to a close, but I do know this: 2006 is gonna be a good one.
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