I’m feeling more mature already.
1. Suffering from a disabling lack of interest.
2. It’s Friday.
3. Nothing to do at work.
4. Am quitting job in two weeks anyway, feel strongly that “they’re just lucky I’m still showing up.”
5. Would rather eat dog turd than participate in scheduled lunch meeting.
6. Need to make list of normally forbidden foods to eat this weekend for my Birthday Calorie Vacation.
7. Have stomachache.
8. Have headache.
9. May have SARS (again)
10. Am wearing uncomfortable bra.
I keep forgetting that I am turning 28 on Sunday.
Usually, I am all about having a birthday week of celebrating (in small ways) but his year, it has slipped through the cracks. Not only are none of my friends or family here (except for Ryan), but my birthday is on a Sunday, historically my least favorite day of the week. It’s funny though, because even if my friends were here (with two notable exceptions), I’d probably spend the day trying to avoid them. I love my friends so much, but sometimes, especially during big events, I tend to get…antisocial. I once had to be dragged kicking and screaming to a surprise party for me, because I just didn’t feel like hanging out with the party host, and I didn’t think that MAYBE it was a party for my birthday.
What a bitch.
I actually feel ok about getting older and everything (truthfully, I tend to forget my age a lot of the time when asked) but his year seems to hold some weight. Like really good-let’s get it started-excitement. I was thinking about what I want for my birthday, and I guess Cyndi Lauper was right.
Girls really do just wanna have fun.
Seriously, I think it’s all I ever want out of my whole life. I think if you do it right, work is fun. Having kids could be fun (in twenty years). Life is just so…fun. I plan on getting the most out of this year. I have had too many mornings of wanting to go back to bed this past year. Of being…bored. That is not ok this year. That is heinous and unacceptable.
This year, my motto is…It Better Be Great, ‘Cause I’m 28…or maybe…28-I Can’t Wait, or how about…Fucking Hold On 29, I’m Not There Yet.
Yeah, that’s the one.
Today, alone at work, I hurt my shoulder.
How, you ask?
By pretending to pitch women’s professional softball. You know, underhanded like Jenni Finch?
While launching my invisible ball, I felt my shoulder pop out, just a little.
It really hurt.
My softball career may be over.
My reputation of being a retard, however, is secure.
We have entire photo albums from my childhood that are FULL of zoo pictures. In your excitement to see a lion UP CLOSE or a gorilla EATING LEAVES, you take pictures. Magical animal moments, preserved for all of eternity on film. The problem is, later on, post-photo development, you have no idea what you were taking a picture of.
“Remember the koalas?”
No.
“Is that a giraffe or a light pole?”
Exactly.
“Look! Ducks!”
::SNORE::
I honestly think we have more zoo photos than actual baby pictures of me, which is why I am leading the Crusade Against Zoo Pictures Without People. It’s just not necessary, folks. Recently, Ryan and I went to the zoo. We took a few pictures of us and a few (less than 5) of the animals. The people pictures I have showed off. The animal pictures are on my iPhoto, alone, waiting to be deleted. Yes, I went against my own rule, but only to prove a point.
Zoo Pictures Are Dumb.
Since we all know walking is for losers, R and I coughed up $25 for three hours on this Zoo Bike. It ruled. We biked our asses through every exhibit . We even got to get in on feeding time for the giraffes, where we were so close to them, we could have petted them. But we didn’t. We got to see otters swim, which was also amazing, but which I chose NOT to photograph, and instead preserve in my memory. It was such a fun day, and could have only been made better with FEWER ANIMAL PICTURES.
This is my nephew. I will get to meet him in two weeks. I hope he likes me.
Yesterday our new temp went on a walk for her lunch break. She came back and told me that while she was out, she bought a bottle of water at Seevus. I was mystified. What is theis Seevus and why haven’t I been there? I asked her where it was, and she said right across the street.
I realized she meant CVS.
She quit today.
Ha!
Tomorrow at 11:30 I get my scope. Even though it has been at least two years since my last one, it feels like yesterday. That laxative you have to take is brutal, not only does it basically give you instant stomach flu, it tastes like…thick salty snot. Mixing it is futile. I held my breath while I drank it and chased it with apple juice and I still gagged my brains out. However, if memory serves me, the prep was by far the worst, and tomorrow at this time my stomach will be happily stuffed with delicious FOOD, unlike now when it is full of nasty broth and jello.
And gatorade. Don’t forget the gatorade.
I watched Food Network all day.
Bad idea.
Today R and I went to the mall to pick up the new Harry Potter, and a few other impulse purchases along the way. I was a little tired and spacey when we started out (malls seem to do that to me, too much to look at or something), but after we ate lunch, I spotted Sephora. My mood instantly lifted. I walked in and bought a bunch of…stuff. Nothing necessary, just stuff that I thought was cool. I didn’t spend an outrageous amount of money or anything, but nonetheless, the weight of my new bag of stuff filled me with joy. The kind of joy you should get when you feed orphans or something. I felt exceptionally good about myself.
Isn’t that sick?
Recently, after I made a small comment about someone’s pants (NOT in front of said person) I was called shallow. It was one of the most emabrassing things that has ever happened to me. Shallow? ME? According to this person, yes. I t hurt more because the name-caller is someone I have quite a lot of respect for. I agonized my every thought and motion for the next few weeks, “Is THAT shallow of me?” “Was THIS shallow of me?”
That, coupled with my little shopping issue makes me feel particularly…shallow.