*SPOILER ALERT - WHINING*
Do you ever feel like a poo sandwich? I feel like a poo sandwich on rye with extra Limburger cheese.
1. I am really hoping the mirror in the bathroom at work is broken, or something. Humidity is 2000% here these days and my hair goes from super soft (not my words) to something not unlike the Friends episode where Monica plays ping pong in Hawaii. Normally, I wouldn't care since I'm not one to fuss with such things, but I'm at least trying to make a good impression at work for the first few days anyway. Shit pisses me off. Also, someone could tell me my mascara has melted down my face after I return from scurrying about campus. Jeez.
2. I just want to sit outside and drink beers on a patio. I just want to drive around in my car with the windows down. I just want to watch a movie in my bed. I want to go on a real date with dinner and everything. But, I don't really know anyone who's into that (maybe including myself). Whine, whine whine.
3. Tonight (or last night, whatever, I don't know what time it is), I was walking my dog - wait, let me back up, today marked day 20 out of 20 consecutive days of rain (or something like that - ask Gary England), so every surface is water logged. The area where my driveway meets the street is covered in a mossy, wattery goo that I promptly slid in and landed on my ass much to the dismay of Claire. Being the strong breed that she is, she dragged me about two feet before I figured out how to get up (lightning fast reflexes!!). My whole right side was covered in this kind of stinky slime. I scraped my elbow. Ow.
4. Until right now, I had forgotten that Oklahoma declared the watermelon to be the state vegetable.
5. My Monday night consisted of a trip to heaven (Super Target), a failed dog walk, reading New York Magazine, the warm glow of my computer screen and a slush from Classic 50s.
6. The 4th is as bad as New Years. I always feel pressured to be at some fantastic party/barbecue having the best time of the summer knowing that it's halfway over. Half the time I end up spending a paycheck on fireworks, then almost blowing myself up or at least starting a small grass fire. The other half of the time I bitch about the parking at the fireworks venue and wish I was there with anyone but who I'm there with.
7. Mr. Shain will undoubtedly hail this post the worst yet of my dismal, but thankfully brief (much like my love life) blogging career. I might agree, but first I will listen to enough M. Ward to tranquilize a hippo.
