First of all, let me state that this is my LEAST favorite night and holiday of the year. I hate New Year's Eve. There is always all this expectation behind it and it turns out like a Smiths' song every time. Plus there was this one time where I was pulled over . . . the cop was pissed off that I wasn't drunk and so wrote a ticket for exactly what I was over, no "under advisement", no five over even though you were going 11 over . . . so basically a 500 dollar ticket with lawyer's fees for being speedy and sober. I know, I know, let it go Emily . . .
Went to the bar with my brother and his wife last night. As I wake up at one in the afternoon I realize I am trying too hard. If things are supposed to happen, they will happen . . . I don't really want to talk to randoms at The Front. Likewise, no more juggling. If someone calls at 10:30 p.m. and I'm already out, then I'm out and busy. I felt guilty last night for not dropping everything or inviting people to join us (except for those people I did invite who totally dissed me and screened my calls . . . some girl friends I have) and I can't rationalize feeling guilty when the phone call was at 10:30. I tried really hard but I can't.
There's a line in my new Nada Surf CD (yes, planning to go back to the Magic Stick and need some bands) "to find someone you love, you've gotta be someone you love" so simple . . . Yet, I'm attracted to such assholes usually . . . yeah, no more trying so hard . . .
So we are supposed to go to Jack's tonight. I wonder if that's still on. Otherwise, I'm staying home and hiding.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Cheesean'RICE
Now I'm sick . . . ill with the black plague, I'm sure. My whole body aches . . . and not from the SKA concert, there are chills, there is sore throatness, there might be a fever but I don't have a thermometer. . . and I know I've been staying up all night but I slept ALL day. In the fetal position. Groaning softly. With a blanket over my head.
It doesn't help that I am the biggest hypochondriac in the world. I'm already dreaming up all the diseases that start with "flu-like" symptoms. So I'm sure I'm terminal . . . it couldn't just be a cold. They definitely should not let me watch House.
In between thoughts of my demise, I'm waiting on the phone to ring and making mix CDs. I have no food in the house, my usual M.O., which is inconvenient when you don't feel well enough to leave the house. I ate Ramen for dinner. (did you realize that there are TWO servings in that package? Two servings for small children? Cats?) (Ramen are not very low calorie either, by the way) So I may have to rally enough for a trip to Meijer tonight . . . and we all know how I love the Royal Oak Meijer at midnight. On a Thursday.
But for gosh sake! Why do I always have to get sick on vacation?
It doesn't help that I am the biggest hypochondriac in the world. I'm already dreaming up all the diseases that start with "flu-like" symptoms. So I'm sure I'm terminal . . . it couldn't just be a cold. They definitely should not let me watch House.
In between thoughts of my demise, I'm waiting on the phone to ring and making mix CDs. I have no food in the house, my usual M.O., which is inconvenient when you don't feel well enough to leave the house. I ate Ramen for dinner. (did you realize that there are TWO servings in that package? Two servings for small children? Cats?) (Ramen are not very low calorie either, by the way) So I may have to rally enough for a trip to Meijer tonight . . . and we all know how I love the Royal Oak Meijer at midnight. On a Thursday.
But for gosh sake! Why do I always have to get sick on vacation?
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
My Teacher the Rock Star
As I was reading the newspaper yesterday, there was a picture of a group of handsome young men with a little caption reading "mustardplug.com". This caused me to READ instead of skim the daily "what to do" section and found that Mustard Plug, the ska band from my youth, was playing at the Magic Stick.
I immediately called Molly (M1), who is in town for the holiday, and she graciously agree to accompany me to the show. I knew that I would see at least two former students from yearbook who are Mustard Plug fans, so much so they actually own MP T-shirts. Turns out that there are quite a few Mustard Plug fans as the line wrapped around the building. Unfortunately about 16 of these fans are over the age of 21, including all the guys in the band (and it's a ska band . . . with a horn section). We got to talk to Dave (the lead singer) and he was very nice . . . nice enough to listen to two girls babbling at him about people he knew fifteen years ago.
As I'm at the bar, I hear a "Hey, Miss _______!" from this guy with a beard. Turns out there was a group of former Cranbrook students (including one in a mustard bottle costume) in the crowd, who are all old enough to drink . . . thus making me older than dirt.
M1 and I proceed to make up stories about the guys sitting at the bar, including a guy with glasses that is very cute in a Drew Carey way . . . and you know how I'm hot for Drew. However, he calls the bartender by name and orders up a shot of Jager so he is disqualified from the "flirt with" category for potential alcoholic status. The next band is coming up and I have moved on to staring at some guy with a fauxhawk in the corner, who might even be my age and not a parent. The next band is GREAT so I look up to see who is singing and it's Drew Carey guy. So he was just getting some liquid courage to go up in front of the throng of teenie boppers. And of course, any guy that's up on stage with a microphone gains like a thousand cuteness points automatically, especially when the band is actually good. Unfortunately, I hate people who don't like me at first and then see my art and want to be my best friend so I refused to go talk to him . . . it just wouldn't have been right under the circumstances . . . but the band was really cool. Deal's Gone Bad. Check them out. So we go dance and end up at the stage.
Cute Drew Carey singer boy calls all the girls up on stage. People are videotaping and have camera phones so I do not go up on stage, but some dumb sixteen year old decides to stage dive without looking, colliding with my head on the way down to the floor. It really hurt but if she had caught my nose, I would have kicked her ass. I mean it. It was very cute how the former yearbook students checked to see if I was okay.
So there was much more merriment before the night was done, all of which I will not bore you with today. Good clean fun, I tell you. Good clean fun.
Gotta find a band I like that my students don't like though.
I immediately called Molly (M1), who is in town for the holiday, and she graciously agree to accompany me to the show. I knew that I would see at least two former students from yearbook who are Mustard Plug fans, so much so they actually own MP T-shirts. Turns out that there are quite a few Mustard Plug fans as the line wrapped around the building. Unfortunately about 16 of these fans are over the age of 21, including all the guys in the band (and it's a ska band . . . with a horn section). We got to talk to Dave (the lead singer) and he was very nice . . . nice enough to listen to two girls babbling at him about people he knew fifteen years ago.
As I'm at the bar, I hear a "Hey, Miss _______!" from this guy with a beard. Turns out there was a group of former Cranbrook students (including one in a mustard bottle costume) in the crowd, who are all old enough to drink . . . thus making me older than dirt.
M1 and I proceed to make up stories about the guys sitting at the bar, including a guy with glasses that is very cute in a Drew Carey way . . . and you know how I'm hot for Drew. However, he calls the bartender by name and orders up a shot of Jager so he is disqualified from the "flirt with" category for potential alcoholic status. The next band is coming up and I have moved on to staring at some guy with a fauxhawk in the corner, who might even be my age and not a parent. The next band is GREAT so I look up to see who is singing and it's Drew Carey guy. So he was just getting some liquid courage to go up in front of the throng of teenie boppers. And of course, any guy that's up on stage with a microphone gains like a thousand cuteness points automatically, especially when the band is actually good. Unfortunately, I hate people who don't like me at first and then see my art and want to be my best friend so I refused to go talk to him . . . it just wouldn't have been right under the circumstances . . . but the band was really cool. Deal's Gone Bad. Check them out. So we go dance and end up at the stage.
Cute Drew Carey singer boy calls all the girls up on stage. People are videotaping and have camera phones so I do not go up on stage, but some dumb sixteen year old decides to stage dive without looking, colliding with my head on the way down to the floor. It really hurt but if she had caught my nose, I would have kicked her ass. I mean it. It was very cute how the former yearbook students checked to see if I was okay.
So there was much more merriment before the night was done, all of which I will not bore you with today. Good clean fun, I tell you. Good clean fun.
Gotta find a band I like that my students don't like though.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Like a Duck to Water
Z had never even touched a Gameboy before. My brother had tried earlier in the week to lead him in that direction -- "Look! There's a Gameboy display . . . let's go try it!" but Z had seemingly no interest. My brother's coy plan for Z picking out his own games fell flat.
We opened the Gameboy early. Norma had written on it "open first", meaning to that one should opening it as the first of the Auntie Emily presents . . . not necessarily as the first present.
Z, however, took the written message to heart.
As an aside, Norma is my wrapping elf, she being better at it AND obsessive complusive about clutter. If you just leave gifts at her house (where we open them anyhow) she will wrap them just to get them under the tree and out of her dining room. So free professional gift wrapping without all the hassle of even standing there watching.
The problem with getting a Gameboy from your Aunt (instead of from Santa or something) is that Gameboys don't come fully charged in the box. So we had to plug it in and wait. And wait. And wait even more. And then there were no more presents and the adults were borin'. So we started playing Gameboy before it was fully charged and just left it plugged into the wall.
It was an hour and a half later when he came up for air . . . and that was only because he had to go to the bathroom. He tried to get my brother D. to play the game while he was "away" but my brother wouldn't go for it. We had to pry his little hands off it at 1 a.m. so he would go to bed. If it had been fully charged, I'm sure he would have slept with it . . . lovingly cradled in his arms while it played that annoying music over and over.
In the morning, the adults discovered the "joy of headphones" and he was jacked in until he had to shower. Unfortunately, he smarted off to his mother about not doing karate moves in the shower so there is no Gameboy for a whole week. Of course, while he was back talking to his mother, my brother was playing Jedi Clone Wars downstairs. So my brother and his best friend (who bought one for himself for Xmas) now get to play Gameboy with each other for a whole week without an eight year old hissing "give it back! It's MINE!" while Z is off visiting relatives.
My mother has already started knitting with the sock yarn I got her and my father is unsure about the ipod . . . it's still in the box and will remain there until we go to the Apple store tomorrow and touch all the other kinds. My other brother, J, almost had him convinced to open the box but I still have to go early tomorrow and touch the ipods. This would be much more fun if I hadn't agonized over this purchase for two weeks. I've already been to the Apple store. I've been to more than one Apple store. I have touched all the ipods. Stroked them lovingly and decided on a black Nano in the last second . . . and bought the second to last one in the store. It's wafer thin . . . (should be said with a British accent, a la Monty Python)
My brother J was amazed that I found a Nano on the day before Xmas Eve and then was even more amazed that there are Apple stores that you can walk into and touch stuff. I then pointed out to my father that we could just go to the Apple store and exchange the Nano for something bigger, if that was what he wanted, and he too was amazed that there was an Apple store that you could walk into and touch stuff. I am amazed that the two most technologically advanced geeks in my life DON'T GET OUT MUCH . . . and don't know what stores are in the mall. My brother owns, like, four ipods and he didn't know there was a store. (we will not go into why my brother has four ipods or where the hell he gets them, it's too painful for my head)
So my holiday was absolutely lovely. Hope yours was too. Say a little non-denominational prayer for me . . . I'm going to the mall in 6 hours.
We opened the Gameboy early. Norma had written on it "open first", meaning to that one should opening it as the first of the Auntie Emily presents . . . not necessarily as the first present.
Z, however, took the written message to heart.
As an aside, Norma is my wrapping elf, she being better at it AND obsessive complusive about clutter. If you just leave gifts at her house (where we open them anyhow) she will wrap them just to get them under the tree and out of her dining room. So free professional gift wrapping without all the hassle of even standing there watching.
The problem with getting a Gameboy from your Aunt (instead of from Santa or something) is that Gameboys don't come fully charged in the box. So we had to plug it in and wait. And wait. And wait even more. And then there were no more presents and the adults were borin'. So we started playing Gameboy before it was fully charged and just left it plugged into the wall.
It was an hour and a half later when he came up for air . . . and that was only because he had to go to the bathroom. He tried to get my brother D. to play the game while he was "away" but my brother wouldn't go for it. We had to pry his little hands off it at 1 a.m. so he would go to bed. If it had been fully charged, I'm sure he would have slept with it . . . lovingly cradled in his arms while it played that annoying music over and over.
In the morning, the adults discovered the "joy of headphones" and he was jacked in until he had to shower. Unfortunately, he smarted off to his mother about not doing karate moves in the shower so there is no Gameboy for a whole week. Of course, while he was back talking to his mother, my brother was playing Jedi Clone Wars downstairs. So my brother and his best friend (who bought one for himself for Xmas) now get to play Gameboy with each other for a whole week without an eight year old hissing "give it back! It's MINE!" while Z is off visiting relatives.
My mother has already started knitting with the sock yarn I got her and my father is unsure about the ipod . . . it's still in the box and will remain there until we go to the Apple store tomorrow and touch all the other kinds. My other brother, J, almost had him convinced to open the box but I still have to go early tomorrow and touch the ipods. This would be much more fun if I hadn't agonized over this purchase for two weeks. I've already been to the Apple store. I've been to more than one Apple store. I have touched all the ipods. Stroked them lovingly and decided on a black Nano in the last second . . . and bought the second to last one in the store. It's wafer thin . . . (should be said with a British accent, a la Monty Python)
My brother J was amazed that I found a Nano on the day before Xmas Eve and then was even more amazed that there are Apple stores that you can walk into and touch stuff. I then pointed out to my father that we could just go to the Apple store and exchange the Nano for something bigger, if that was what he wanted, and he too was amazed that there was an Apple store that you could walk into and touch stuff. I am amazed that the two most technologically advanced geeks in my life DON'T GET OUT MUCH . . . and don't know what stores are in the mall. My brother owns, like, four ipods and he didn't know there was a store. (we will not go into why my brother has four ipods or where the hell he gets them, it's too painful for my head)
So my holiday was absolutely lovely. Hope yours was too. Say a little non-denominational prayer for me . . . I'm going to the mall in 6 hours.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
High School Reunion
Went for a drink with my friend E1 at the Box Bar in Plymouth . . . it was high school reunion night. Of course, the Box Bar is high school reunion central on any given night, but the night before a holiday is just jammed packed with fun and people you didn't bother to keep in touch with.
As an aside, I have this neurotic twitch that causes me to actually say "hello" to people I haven't seen in years, which usually causes the awkward and untruthful "we should get together . . . call me sometime" conversation when we all know that no one is going to call anyone, ever. If we had wanted to stay in touch, we would be all going together to the Box Bar . . . not just running into each other. This twitch combined with the fact that I remember every face and name makes me dangerous. Very dangerous. I don't know why E1 chooses to hang out with me.
When we walked in the door, I waved casually to Mike Moore. I haven't seen Mike in ten years but I'm waving at him like I saw him yesterday, cause I'm an idiot. I'm sure this causes Mike to think "who is that idiot waving at me?" because he doesn't know who I am. It's been ten years for God's sake.
In a moment of growth on my part, I don't go over to say "hello" nor do I go anywhere near his table for the rest of the night. But the biggest moment of grown up Emily . . . I walked out of the bar, saw a pseudo-ex-boyfriend and did not say ANYTHING. No casual "Oh. Hi Mark." No wave. No acknowledgement whatsoever. Mark is one of those people from my past that gave me just enough attention for me to be like a puppy around him but then treated me like crap most of the time, which made me even more like a puppy -- pleaselikemepleaselikemePLEASE! So I just looked him straight in the face and thought, "oh, that's Mark" and then kept walking.
I did say to E1 "I think that was Mark T*&h" loud enough for him to hear and turn his head to make sure it was him . . . so I'm still a neurotic idiot, but not as much as before when I would have babbled at him. I then continued, "I would say hello to him if he wasn't such a dick . . . " which I may or may not have said loud enough for him to hear. But hell, it's true. Sorry, Mark, I'm sure you are nice to other people but you weren't very nice to me most of the time.
So it's nice to be home for Christmas and even nicer not to acknowledge parts of your past. I don't know why my high school bothers to have reunions when you can just go to the Box on a Friday night.
As an aside, I have this neurotic twitch that causes me to actually say "hello" to people I haven't seen in years, which usually causes the awkward and untruthful "we should get together . . . call me sometime" conversation when we all know that no one is going to call anyone, ever. If we had wanted to stay in touch, we would be all going together to the Box Bar . . . not just running into each other. This twitch combined with the fact that I remember every face and name makes me dangerous. Very dangerous. I don't know why E1 chooses to hang out with me.
When we walked in the door, I waved casually to Mike Moore. I haven't seen Mike in ten years but I'm waving at him like I saw him yesterday, cause I'm an idiot. I'm sure this causes Mike to think "who is that idiot waving at me?" because he doesn't know who I am. It's been ten years for God's sake.
In a moment of growth on my part, I don't go over to say "hello" nor do I go anywhere near his table for the rest of the night. But the biggest moment of grown up Emily . . . I walked out of the bar, saw a pseudo-ex-boyfriend and did not say ANYTHING. No casual "Oh. Hi Mark." No wave. No acknowledgement whatsoever. Mark is one of those people from my past that gave me just enough attention for me to be like a puppy around him but then treated me like crap most of the time, which made me even more like a puppy -- pleaselikemepleaselikemePLEASE! So I just looked him straight in the face and thought, "oh, that's Mark" and then kept walking.
I did say to E1 "I think that was Mark T*&h" loud enough for him to hear and turn his head to make sure it was him . . . so I'm still a neurotic idiot, but not as much as before when I would have babbled at him. I then continued, "I would say hello to him if he wasn't such a dick . . . " which I may or may not have said loud enough for him to hear. But hell, it's true. Sorry, Mark, I'm sure you are nice to other people but you weren't very nice to me most of the time.
So it's nice to be home for Christmas and even nicer not to acknowledge parts of your past. I don't know why my high school bothers to have reunions when you can just go to the Box on a Friday night.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
BLISS
It is officially "Holiday" break.
It has become holiday break for three reasons . . .
First, someone made the comment "What? Are you Jewish?" in an awful sarcastic tone towards me. So for the time being, if they will adopt me, I've decided I am.
Second, there seems to be this current PC backlash (at least where I frequent) with people saying "Merry Christmas", which is totally fine, and then following it with a angry monologue about how being Christian is part of who they are and they should be able to say Merry Christmas because it's an expression of their faith and WHO THEY ARE DAMNIT. The angry monologue is not fine. I can do without the speech. Just say "Merry Christmas" and be done with it.
Third, I hang out with the social studies teachers. They even let me sit at their table these days. And four out of four social studies teachers agree (and two English teachers and two math teachers) that we work in a state run institution and there should be separation of church and state. AND that we should admit there are some other religions other than Christianity.
So it is an hour and eighteen minutes into holiday break and I've already done a load of laundry. I'm off to a great start. I'm dressed . . . I'm not hungover . . . I haven't slept past noon. All great accomplishments. I have some light plumbing plans for the week, maybe stop the toilet from running at random intervals, fix the leaky faucet in the bathtub.
The problem with light plumbing jobs is that they could very easily become MAJOR plumbing jobs . . . and major plumbing projects mean turning off the water. I like having water . . . at a moment's notice. Which is why I think so much about projects and never actually DO them. So the two goals are the faucet and the toilet . . . even if I have to buy a new toilet from Canada and sneak it over the border. (everything is low flow here . . . yes, I know it is more environmentally sound . . . but having your toilet clog all the time is not personally environmentally sound, now is it?)
So have a great holiday!
It has become holiday break for three reasons . . .
First, someone made the comment "What? Are you Jewish?" in an awful sarcastic tone towards me. So for the time being, if they will adopt me, I've decided I am.
Second, there seems to be this current PC backlash (at least where I frequent) with people saying "Merry Christmas", which is totally fine, and then following it with a angry monologue about how being Christian is part of who they are and they should be able to say Merry Christmas because it's an expression of their faith and WHO THEY ARE DAMNIT. The angry monologue is not fine. I can do without the speech. Just say "Merry Christmas" and be done with it.
Third, I hang out with the social studies teachers. They even let me sit at their table these days. And four out of four social studies teachers agree (and two English teachers and two math teachers) that we work in a state run institution and there should be separation of church and state. AND that we should admit there are some other religions other than Christianity.
So it is an hour and eighteen minutes into holiday break and I've already done a load of laundry. I'm off to a great start. I'm dressed . . . I'm not hungover . . . I haven't slept past noon. All great accomplishments. I have some light plumbing plans for the week, maybe stop the toilet from running at random intervals, fix the leaky faucet in the bathtub.
The problem with light plumbing jobs is that they could very easily become MAJOR plumbing jobs . . . and major plumbing projects mean turning off the water. I like having water . . . at a moment's notice. Which is why I think so much about projects and never actually DO them. So the two goals are the faucet and the toilet . . . even if I have to buy a new toilet from Canada and sneak it over the border. (everything is low flow here . . . yes, I know it is more environmentally sound . . . but having your toilet clog all the time is not personally environmentally sound, now is it?)
So have a great holiday!
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Guinness up my nose
Last night at the Front I tried to breathe some Guinness. It worked out eventually, after I started breathing again but not before I sounded like a dying caribou . . . no wonder I never pick up any guys. There was that split second when I couldn't cough or breathe where I wondered how they would explain this to my parents and how my father would keep giggling . . . cause she died from beer. But I rallied and horked it up. It was incredibly unattractive.
Off to go buy a starter skateboard. How ironic is it that my parents would NEVER let me have a skateboard . . . but then voted for it during the "What should I get the child?" poll yesterday. The skateboard has won out over the Gameboy . . . but I can't buy just any skateboard due to my unfortunate knowledge of bearings and how they work. The skateboards at Target have really crappy bearings, which mean the wheels don't roll very well. From a mother's perspective, this would be a good thing . . . if the skateboard doesn't move very well, there are less broken things. From an Auntie perspective, non-rolling skateboard seem like no fun. So off to Modern Skate and Surf. Maybe I'll get a discount because of the hair.
Off to go buy a starter skateboard. How ironic is it that my parents would NEVER let me have a skateboard . . . but then voted for it during the "What should I get the child?" poll yesterday. The skateboard has won out over the Gameboy . . . but I can't buy just any skateboard due to my unfortunate knowledge of bearings and how they work. The skateboards at Target have really crappy bearings, which mean the wheels don't roll very well. From a mother's perspective, this would be a good thing . . . if the skateboard doesn't move very well, there are less broken things. From an Auntie perspective, non-rolling skateboard seem like no fun. So off to Modern Skate and Surf. Maybe I'll get a discount because of the hair.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Update a la matchdotcom
So I emailed that guy . . . and casually, as could possibly be, brought up the whole "not interested in dating" thing. It was just too good not to bring up.
I deleted the part about "or not interested in dating me" because he hadn't come out and said it . . . and low and behold, he had a whole paragraph about it in the reply email. Including the line "I'm not attracted to you, so I'm not interested in dating you." Lovely, let me get right back to you on that asshole. He then goes on to mention that my profile is one of the few that mentions the possibility of a "non-romantic" relationship and that he thought he would email me to see what's up.
I MEANT non romantic relationship after I rejected YOU . . .
So do I want a shallow friend, who wants to meet me to date my cuter friends? Makes me feel all warm inside . . . yes, indeed it does. Hmm, wonder why he's "currently separated"? Boy, it makes one love a delete button.
I deleted the part about "or not interested in dating me" because he hadn't come out and said it . . . and low and behold, he had a whole paragraph about it in the reply email. Including the line "I'm not attracted to you, so I'm not interested in dating you." Lovely, let me get right back to you on that asshole. He then goes on to mention that my profile is one of the few that mentions the possibility of a "non-romantic" relationship and that he thought he would email me to see what's up.
I MEANT non romantic relationship after I rejected YOU . . .
So do I want a shallow friend, who wants to meet me to date my cuter friends? Makes me feel all warm inside . . . yes, indeed it does. Hmm, wonder why he's "currently separated"? Boy, it makes one love a delete button.
Jamie the Snowman
Ain't he cute? He has a bow-tie and everything. I will be sad when the squirrels come and eat his eyes . . . but that's the chance you take when your eyes are made of Reese's peanut butter cups because your creator didn't want them tempting her in the refrigerator anymore. But until then, he's stylin'.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Huh!?! What were you saying?
So I just received an email titled "Barbie is Satan". I believe this is in response to my matchdotcom profile title of "The Anti-Barbie" but let me assure the Mattel company and all of it's affiliates that I do not believe that Barbie is the actual Anti-Christ. She's just several conjoined pieces of plastic . . . she can't even walk without shoes, and high heeled shoes at that. I think that Satan would choose to be more mobile and choose a head that tears off less easily.
Back to the email . . . matchdotcom boy took the time to email me to let me know that he did NOT want to date me. I'm not sure where he was trying to get with that. I do have something in my profile about the interconnectiveness of the world and how it might not work out but I have lots of single friends . . . but that was supposed to be a scenario for AFTER you met me. This one has decided that he doesn't want to date me before he's even met me. Do I just look like I have cute friends? Do I have an asshole magnet tied to my person?
His actual words were "I'm not interested in dating" . . . so you're on matchdotcom because you like to throw money at the internet? Couldn't you throw money at the internet in much more personally fulfilling ways? (I'm thinking about charity . . . get your mind out of the gutter) (actually, MY mind was in the gutter but this is a family show, folks)
The rest of his email was very nice, to his credit. But now I have to email him back and suppress the question: So not interested in dating or not interested in dating me? Hmm . . . yeah, not going to ask that, but so want to, don't you?
And this is why I don't give out the blog address to the matchdotcom boys anymore. It's working out spectacularly.
Back to the email . . . matchdotcom boy took the time to email me to let me know that he did NOT want to date me. I'm not sure where he was trying to get with that. I do have something in my profile about the interconnectiveness of the world and how it might not work out but I have lots of single friends . . . but that was supposed to be a scenario for AFTER you met me. This one has decided that he doesn't want to date me before he's even met me. Do I just look like I have cute friends? Do I have an asshole magnet tied to my person?
His actual words were "I'm not interested in dating" . . . so you're on matchdotcom because you like to throw money at the internet? Couldn't you throw money at the internet in much more personally fulfilling ways? (I'm thinking about charity . . . get your mind out of the gutter) (actually, MY mind was in the gutter but this is a family show, folks)
The rest of his email was very nice, to his credit. But now I have to email him back and suppress the question: So not interested in dating or not interested in dating me? Hmm . . . yeah, not going to ask that, but so want to, don't you?
And this is why I don't give out the blog address to the matchdotcom boys anymore. It's working out spectacularly.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Shiny Keys
I wrote this great snide entry yesterday, which will not see the light of day . . . or the blog for that matter. Let's just say there's a part about George Bush and should be a part about being distracted by shiny keys but I'm told that it will offend "people". And by "people" I mean one person, who doesn't even read my blog. But things get back to people.
Somehow the world is falling to pieces and I've simply taking the stance that I don't care . . . I told someone to basically lower their expectations today because it simply wasn't going to get any better. How much does it suck to hear that? How much does it suck when you figure out that it came out of YOUR mouth?
So I'm going to distract myself with some knitting and maybe some shiny keys. I have two meetings tomorrow with teaching and a company Christmas party in between. I had to buy food for the latter meeting, even though we will all be coming from the Christmas party where they will give us food (but not good food, because of these hard economic times . . . they stated this on the invitation). I have to get up at 5 a.m. to get to the first meeting.
Just look at the shiny, shiny keys . . .
Somehow the world is falling to pieces and I've simply taking the stance that I don't care . . . I told someone to basically lower their expectations today because it simply wasn't going to get any better. How much does it suck to hear that? How much does it suck when you figure out that it came out of YOUR mouth?
So I'm going to distract myself with some knitting and maybe some shiny keys. I have two meetings tomorrow with teaching and a company Christmas party in between. I had to buy food for the latter meeting, even though we will all be coming from the Christmas party where they will give us food (but not good food, because of these hard economic times . . . they stated this on the invitation). I have to get up at 5 a.m. to get to the first meeting.
Just look at the shiny, shiny keys . . .
Monday, December 12, 2005
Distracted by Brian Williams' Tie
I was watching Brian Williams' interview with George Bush while talking on the phone. "I'm distracted by Brian Williams' tie. Who wears a bright pink tie to interview the President?" "You can't tell me that you like George Bush." was offered up in the conversation and then hackles were raised with the answer. Why do people do that? Did you want me to lie?
So I asked if it was really important . . . what did my opinion about George Bush have to do with anything? And he argued that it WAS important . . .
Why is it that people can say that they are all tolerant and stuff but as soon as it is something that they don't agree with, suddenly they are down your throat. "How can you believe that?!?"
And he was serious . . . and when I tried to change the subject, he wouldn't.
My feelings about the current government are not important to any of my current relationships. I don't care about what people do the in privacy of their own bedrooms or in their voting booth. I do care when they try to make me feel shitty about my beliefs simply because they don't exactly match their own. You didn't change any of my opinions, however, I did choose not to SHARE some of my opinions with you. So what was the point? Oh, and I eat meat too . . . lots of meaty meat.
He finally stopped pressing when I pointed out that I spend all day with social studies teachers and if I wanted to have a political discussion I could have it with them . . . cause they let me sit at their table and everything.
Did I mention that I also eat meat? I mean the killing animals kind?
So I asked if it was really important . . . what did my opinion about George Bush have to do with anything? And he argued that it WAS important . . .
Why is it that people can say that they are all tolerant and stuff but as soon as it is something that they don't agree with, suddenly they are down your throat. "How can you believe that?!?"
And he was serious . . . and when I tried to change the subject, he wouldn't.
My feelings about the current government are not important to any of my current relationships. I don't care about what people do the in privacy of their own bedrooms or in their voting booth. I do care when they try to make me feel shitty about my beliefs simply because they don't exactly match their own. You didn't change any of my opinions, however, I did choose not to SHARE some of my opinions with you. So what was the point? Oh, and I eat meat too . . . lots of meaty meat.
He finally stopped pressing when I pointed out that I spend all day with social studies teachers and if I wanted to have a political discussion I could have it with them . . . cause they let me sit at their table and everything.
Did I mention that I also eat meat? I mean the killing animals kind?
Sunday, December 11, 2005
So This is What Happens . . .
We went to one of the many waterfront bars on that side of town last night. I had not been to this particular place but figured it was the same frat boy, wanna be glam, "oh, you know, Kid Rock hangs out there" kind of place.
Instead it was Sugar Daddy divorcee cheese-fest, with expensive tiny drinks and a dance floor. The interior was done in college dorm room with shitty loft decor, which was an odd juxtaposition against the clientele. We knew the D.J. by coincidence, which meant all my requests were played. Very fun how he fit The Smiths into the seventies dance mix.
Desperation was shaking her booty on the dance floor and with a liberal tossing in alcohol it was an engrossing scene. Very much like a car crash or murder scene photos. It got wilder as the night went on . . . forty and fifty year olds who don't have much to lose know how to party.
No, I did not pick anyone up. Nor did anyone really hit on me, though I was oogled on my way to the bathroom several times and some woman was rubbing her butt up against mine but that was just because she wanted the chair and she was so distracted about reeling in this guy that she didn't look to see that I was in the chair.
It seems to be a very regular crowd. The men all knew each other. We were new "meat" so they just sniffed at us, leery. Thank goodness. Because they were creepy.
So last night made me appreciate the matchdotcom thing much more. It works about as well but I don't have to get all smoky, leered at and leaned upon. Watching a whole night of women throwing themselves at anything was a good reality check too. When I get all depressed that things aren't moving, I need to remember that they could move to dancing with a drunk sixty year old guy with an alcohol problem and a bad toupee.
Instead it was Sugar Daddy divorcee cheese-fest, with expensive tiny drinks and a dance floor. The interior was done in college dorm room with shitty loft decor, which was an odd juxtaposition against the clientele. We knew the D.J. by coincidence, which meant all my requests were played. Very fun how he fit The Smiths into the seventies dance mix.
Desperation was shaking her booty on the dance floor and with a liberal tossing in alcohol it was an engrossing scene. Very much like a car crash or murder scene photos. It got wilder as the night went on . . . forty and fifty year olds who don't have much to lose know how to party.
No, I did not pick anyone up. Nor did anyone really hit on me, though I was oogled on my way to the bathroom several times and some woman was rubbing her butt up against mine but that was just because she wanted the chair and she was so distracted about reeling in this guy that she didn't look to see that I was in the chair.
It seems to be a very regular crowd. The men all knew each other. We were new "meat" so they just sniffed at us, leery. Thank goodness. Because they were creepy.
So last night made me appreciate the matchdotcom thing much more. It works about as well but I don't have to get all smoky, leered at and leaned upon. Watching a whole night of women throwing themselves at anything was a good reality check too. When I get all depressed that things aren't moving, I need to remember that they could move to dancing with a drunk sixty year old guy with an alcohol problem and a bad toupee.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
How Soon Is Now?
"It's a club and you've got to go . . . you could meet someone who really loves you . . ." -- The Smiths
So I'm going out tonight with M2 and maybe Princess, if she decides to be my friend again (I was off the list and perhaps still am). It's my turn to go to their side of town. While that side of town has places to go, they are much more, umm, let's say "frat" than this side of town, though where I live has it's share of them.
I tried to flip my hair out, which right now seems unsuccessful, and am late as I was already supposed to be there. It just seems so futile. We never meet anyone. No one ever talks to us. We never talk to anyone. Three Rolling Rocks and then I go home (after waiting the amount of time I need to drive, really officer, I mean it).
I suppose I should take the attitude that I get to hang out with two fun people that I like. We do have a good time. But if I was just going to hang out with M2 and Princess, why do we get dressed up? Why do I worry about the outfit and the makeup? Because we are looking and some of us are in our thirties and wondering if the fates really do have a plan or maybe if the plan is that we are supposed to be alone and the lady with the cats (which couldn't be me . . . with all of the allergies and all).
Yay . . . I have such a good attitude tonight. Hopefully I'll improve it by listening to The Smiths in the car on the way to that side of town. Yippee.
So I'm going out tonight with M2 and maybe Princess, if she decides to be my friend again (I was off the list and perhaps still am). It's my turn to go to their side of town. While that side of town has places to go, they are much more, umm, let's say "frat" than this side of town, though where I live has it's share of them.
I tried to flip my hair out, which right now seems unsuccessful, and am late as I was already supposed to be there. It just seems so futile. We never meet anyone. No one ever talks to us. We never talk to anyone. Three Rolling Rocks and then I go home (after waiting the amount of time I need to drive, really officer, I mean it).
I suppose I should take the attitude that I get to hang out with two fun people that I like. We do have a good time. But if I was just going to hang out with M2 and Princess, why do we get dressed up? Why do I worry about the outfit and the makeup? Because we are looking and some of us are in our thirties and wondering if the fates really do have a plan or maybe if the plan is that we are supposed to be alone and the lady with the cats (which couldn't be me . . . with all of the allergies and all).
Yay . . . I have such a good attitude tonight. Hopefully I'll improve it by listening to The Smiths in the car on the way to that side of town. Yippee.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Sometimes They Will Melt You
Heard in my class during a serious discussion: "Yeah, but this class is like a family."
Now how can I not be proud of that?
Now how can I not be proud of that?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Dump Trucks and Sassiness
Every so often I say something that makes so much sense to me that I don't realize that no one else in the room has any idea WHAT I'm talking about . . . Case in point, I now have to stand up in front of all my colleagues and field questions. Simple enough. Except that when I answer the questions, according to my partners in crime, I make no sense to anyone who is not well versed in Emily-isms.
What I was trying to say: That won't work because that is not how the computer application works. You, as a teacher, use one software program and they move that information (or export) into another software program in order to use the information or data. (Except that I knew that no one would understand that)
What I said in front of sixty people: Well . . . it's kinda like your grades go into a dump truck . . . and the dump truck dumps those into SASIness . . . (SASI being a school information software program)
I thought I was making perfect sense. The crowd was smiling politely and nodding their heads softly as though they understood. I was making a great metaphor about data and a dump truck, something tangible that you could picture in your head, until . . . I heard whispering next to me. "Did she really just say dump truck and sassiness?"
"What? They get it." I whispered back. "Nooooooo, they don't." was the reply. Of course we are acting like there isn't an audience of sixty people . . . or pretending we are in a cone of silence. I look back at the person who asked the question and say "You get it? Right?" She smiles, even more politely if that were possible, and nods her head . . . yes . . . and then no . . . and the no shaking is stronger. "I have no idea what you are saying, dear." she says.
Evidently, according again to my partners in crime, I do this all the time. It made perfect sense to me.
What I was trying to say: That won't work because that is not how the computer application works. You, as a teacher, use one software program and they move that information (or export) into another software program in order to use the information or data. (Except that I knew that no one would understand that)
What I said in front of sixty people: Well . . . it's kinda like your grades go into a dump truck . . . and the dump truck dumps those into SASIness . . . (SASI being a school information software program)
I thought I was making perfect sense. The crowd was smiling politely and nodding their heads softly as though they understood. I was making a great metaphor about data and a dump truck, something tangible that you could picture in your head, until . . . I heard whispering next to me. "Did she really just say dump truck and sassiness?"
"What? They get it." I whispered back. "Nooooooo, they don't." was the reply. Of course we are acting like there isn't an audience of sixty people . . . or pretending we are in a cone of silence. I look back at the person who asked the question and say "You get it? Right?" She smiles, even more politely if that were possible, and nods her head . . . yes . . . and then no . . . and the no shaking is stronger. "I have no idea what you are saying, dear." she says.
Evidently, according again to my partners in crime, I do this all the time. It made perfect sense to me.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
"But I can't bend my arms"
I went walking tonight . . . in 10 degree weather, with a wind chill of - 10 bazillon or some such nonsense. In preparation for the walk I put on a parka over my patagonia fleece which was already over my jean jacket and a sweater which was over my current favorite T-shirt (Lucky Brand Year of the Pig shirt . . . super sale, cause who wants a shirt with a pig on it, or admit that yes, you were born in the year of the boar or pig?).
When I was done I couldn't bend my arms. Add the scarf, hat and mittens, and I didn't look human. Dogs went to the other side of the sidewalk, unsure of what to make of me.
It now gets dark here at 5 p.m. and I am never, ever home before 6. Lately, it's been more like eight with the meetings upon meetings I've been "invited" to. So I’m always walking in the dark. I am lucky enough to live in a good neighborhood and I live on a busy street . . . though a "serial killer" van drove by tonight and I was very leery. You know that white van (they are always white for some reason) with no windows and rust . . . so usual that it's unusual. And it's hard to carry a four-D cell Mag light with mittens. Fleece is slippery. No, I don't use it for light. That would be expensive . . . so many batteries. The Mag light is to possibly hit attackers. A six-D would be better but the 4-D I have is pretty and blue.
So mostly I stick to the main road. It has an amazing amount of police traffic, being the border of two municipalities with neither police force having anything to do. They just roam up and down my street, pulling people over in a constant speed trap. I feel amazingly safe. Last night, they even checked me out for walking on the street. Shined me with their brights to make sure I wasn't riff-raff or the like. I would have waved . . . but that whole not being to bend the arms thing. It would have looked like I was trying to flag them down or something.
The real problem with wearing three coats is tying your shoe. Make sure your sneakers are double-knotted before you start because it's hard to tie without bending your elbows. Or freezing your fingers, as it's 10 degrees.
Did I mention I should probably join the Y?
When I was done I couldn't bend my arms. Add the scarf, hat and mittens, and I didn't look human. Dogs went to the other side of the sidewalk, unsure of what to make of me.
It now gets dark here at 5 p.m. and I am never, ever home before 6. Lately, it's been more like eight with the meetings upon meetings I've been "invited" to. So I’m always walking in the dark. I am lucky enough to live in a good neighborhood and I live on a busy street . . . though a "serial killer" van drove by tonight and I was very leery. You know that white van (they are always white for some reason) with no windows and rust . . . so usual that it's unusual. And it's hard to carry a four-D cell Mag light with mittens. Fleece is slippery. No, I don't use it for light. That would be expensive . . . so many batteries. The Mag light is to possibly hit attackers. A six-D would be better but the 4-D I have is pretty and blue.
So mostly I stick to the main road. It has an amazing amount of police traffic, being the border of two municipalities with neither police force having anything to do. They just roam up and down my street, pulling people over in a constant speed trap. I feel amazingly safe. Last night, they even checked me out for walking on the street. Shined me with their brights to make sure I wasn't riff-raff or the like. I would have waved . . . but that whole not being to bend the arms thing. It would have looked like I was trying to flag them down or something.
The real problem with wearing three coats is tying your shoe. Make sure your sneakers are double-knotted before you start because it's hard to tie without bending your elbows. Or freezing your fingers, as it's 10 degrees.
Did I mention I should probably join the Y?
Monday, December 05, 2005
Random Chatter
I have painted my nails a color that reminds me of nude pantyhose.
I haven't worn "nude" colored pantyhose since, like 7th grade.
I hate pantyhose.
Do men who lie about their age on the internet realize that we know they are lying?
Why don't they just use an old picture from the age they want to be . . . then we would have no idea.
It would be a secret, until the obligatory Starbucks date.
I just wanted to use the word obligatory.
The new Fiona Apple album is all bouncey . . . like a Broadway show or something.
Who calls them albums, except me?
I forgot I was going to make chili this evening and so I scarfed some mac n' cheese.
Now I have to make chili anyway and just eat it tomorrow . . .
I have meetings after school and won't want to for the next couple of days.
Which means the meat and tomatoes will go bad.
I wore my new skull sneakers to school and probably shouldn't have.
But I had on pants that were too long, so no one saw them.
They have red laces, that were not included.
Z did not want a pair.
I feel like he has forsaken me, in the junior goth department.
My siblings are not being wrangled very well in the parent gift discussion.
I feel like a cat herder with my brothers.
It is hard to herd cats, even with 31 years of mutual baggage and dirt.
I want an Emily the Strange T-shirt for Xmas.
I haven't worn "nude" colored pantyhose since, like 7th grade.
I hate pantyhose.
Do men who lie about their age on the internet realize that we know they are lying?
Why don't they just use an old picture from the age they want to be . . . then we would have no idea.
It would be a secret, until the obligatory Starbucks date.
I just wanted to use the word obligatory.
The new Fiona Apple album is all bouncey . . . like a Broadway show or something.
Who calls them albums, except me?
I forgot I was going to make chili this evening and so I scarfed some mac n' cheese.
Now I have to make chili anyway and just eat it tomorrow . . .
I have meetings after school and won't want to for the next couple of days.
Which means the meat and tomatoes will go bad.
I wore my new skull sneakers to school and probably shouldn't have.
But I had on pants that were too long, so no one saw them.
They have red laces, that were not included.
Z did not want a pair.
I feel like he has forsaken me, in the junior goth department.
My siblings are not being wrangled very well in the parent gift discussion.
I feel like a cat herder with my brothers.
It is hard to herd cats, even with 31 years of mutual baggage and dirt.
I want an Emily the Strange T-shirt for Xmas.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Shoveling Penance
Last night M2 came over and we walked to the nearest bar . . . about three blocks. The bar was okay. Nothing to write home about. Would have been better without the obnoxious DJ trying to play top 40 in a tiny local grandpa bar. It was starting to snow as we walked there and by the time we left . . . three beers and some onion rings later . . . it was really snowing. So I was looking forward to some snow shoveling in the morning.
Now you're thinking, "Emily? Looking forward to shoveling?" I hate shoveling but I figured it would burn off some calories and I wouldn't then have to do the "walking in the cold" thing that I'm loathing almost as much as shoveling. I slept in . . . put on my flannel lined jeans and layers, opened the door and . . .
Someone had done all my shoveling for me. It's like the snow elves came with their tiny shovels and cleaned my walk during the night. Not a bit to shovel. I was almost disappointed.
I do not know who the mystery shoveler is, but he or she did not do my neighbors walk. My neighbors are in their eighties, so as penance for somehow being lucky enough to have snow elves or gnomes or what-have-you, I shoveled their driveway and sidewalk instead.
That not really being all that much of a workout, I then walked to Starbucks to read the paper. It was warm for snow, must have been in the forties, and I considered just wearing long underwear and a jean jacket. Luckily, the mother voice (you know, when her voice pops involuntarily into your head . . . ) won out and I wore a coat because as I was wandering aimlessly around Barnes and Noble picking at Arvo Part CDs (bought another one and it's still not the one I heard in NYC . . . crap I'm going to have to call him just for that) the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. Suddenly what was melting and slushie was frozen again and the wind was very unfun to walk into. I really wished that I had a friend in Royal Oak that I could call and have them pick me up so I wouldn't have to walk home.
I made it home, before dark and everything. And I walked faster than usual, which MUST be better, right? Off to grocery shop, do laundry, clean out the refrigerator and take out the trash . . . oh, the joy in the mundane. I'll keep an eye out for the snow elves too.
Now you're thinking, "Emily? Looking forward to shoveling?" I hate shoveling but I figured it would burn off some calories and I wouldn't then have to do the "walking in the cold" thing that I'm loathing almost as much as shoveling. I slept in . . . put on my flannel lined jeans and layers, opened the door and . . .
Someone had done all my shoveling for me. It's like the snow elves came with their tiny shovels and cleaned my walk during the night. Not a bit to shovel. I was almost disappointed.
I do not know who the mystery shoveler is, but he or she did not do my neighbors walk. My neighbors are in their eighties, so as penance for somehow being lucky enough to have snow elves or gnomes or what-have-you, I shoveled their driveway and sidewalk instead.
That not really being all that much of a workout, I then walked to Starbucks to read the paper. It was warm for snow, must have been in the forties, and I considered just wearing long underwear and a jean jacket. Luckily, the mother voice (you know, when her voice pops involuntarily into your head . . . ) won out and I wore a coat because as I was wandering aimlessly around Barnes and Noble picking at Arvo Part CDs (bought another one and it's still not the one I heard in NYC . . . crap I'm going to have to call him just for that) the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. Suddenly what was melting and slushie was frozen again and the wind was very unfun to walk into. I really wished that I had a friend in Royal Oak that I could call and have them pick me up so I wouldn't have to walk home.
I made it home, before dark and everything. And I walked faster than usual, which MUST be better, right? Off to grocery shop, do laundry, clean out the refrigerator and take out the trash . . . oh, the joy in the mundane. I'll keep an eye out for the snow elves too.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Really?!?
This summer I made a sweater . . . simple enough, yarn from the Superbowl Sale at the yarn store in Howell (only go there for that sale, much too crowded otherwise), pattern from Stitch and Bitch, lots of days with little to nothing to do . . . Voila! sweater.
It's still a little rough around the edges. I wanted the sleeves to be long, so they would go over my hands, but now they are a bit too long so some unwraveling is in order. I still have to weave in some ends (I hate that . . . I need some man to live at my house and do dishes AND weave in ends). But it's COLD here and for some reason I hate wearing coats so I just layer well. Yesterday, I wore the sweater to school. (hee, hee, this is a line from one of my favorite songs)
Now the sweater has a skull and crossbones on each arm . . . too cool for school but I was just wearing it into the building and then taking it off. As I was coming in, several teachers commented on it and I would say "Thanks, I made it." Every response was . . . "Really?!?"
How do you answer that? "No, actually I just wanted to tell you a made it to impress you . . . I actually have this man I paid ten dollars an hour to do dishes and make me sweaters . . ." Fast forward to the end of school and leaving with the social studies teachers. Put the sweater on to go outside.
"Cool sweater."
"No really, really cool sweater, love the Jolly Rogers . . . where did you get it."
"I made it."
"Really?!?"
So either the sweater is so impressive that it couldn't possibly be handmade or no one has any confidence that I could actually knit a sweater that cool. Not sure which. They see me knit at every faculty meeting. They see my silly hats. And yet, they are incredulous about a sweater. Really?!?
It's still a little rough around the edges. I wanted the sleeves to be long, so they would go over my hands, but now they are a bit too long so some unwraveling is in order. I still have to weave in some ends (I hate that . . . I need some man to live at my house and do dishes AND weave in ends). But it's COLD here and for some reason I hate wearing coats so I just layer well. Yesterday, I wore the sweater to school. (hee, hee, this is a line from one of my favorite songs)
Now the sweater has a skull and crossbones on each arm . . . too cool for school but I was just wearing it into the building and then taking it off. As I was coming in, several teachers commented on it and I would say "Thanks, I made it." Every response was . . . "Really?!?"
How do you answer that? "No, actually I just wanted to tell you a made it to impress you . . . I actually have this man I paid ten dollars an hour to do dishes and make me sweaters . . ." Fast forward to the end of school and leaving with the social studies teachers. Put the sweater on to go outside.
"Cool sweater."
"No really, really cool sweater, love the Jolly Rogers . . . where did you get it."
"I made it."
"Really?!?"
So either the sweater is so impressive that it couldn't possibly be handmade or no one has any confidence that I could actually knit a sweater that cool. Not sure which. They see me knit at every faculty meeting. They see my silly hats. And yet, they are incredulous about a sweater. Really?!?
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Retraction
My sister has pointed out that I bought the goofy "in shower" moisturizer at the good sale Target in Wixom, while I was with her . . . not the German Thanksgiving guests. Sorry, Mere. It had been a long day.
And for all of you that gave me crap today about shopping at the evil Walmart and spending money there which supports their evilness . . . it turns out I didn't. I spent the money at Target, with their happy red shirts and khaki pants and their clearance end caps. I hope you'll sleep better with this news.
I'm missing ALIAS again and I have to go for a walk out in the freezing rain (well . . . not really HAVE to, more like, if I don't I'll feel like crap and I don't want to feel like crap). It's enough to make you go spend money for a membership at the Y. However, the Y is just close enough to my house that I would feel guilty for driving and yet just far enough away when it's really cold. I'll just go put on my flannel lined jeans and do it. I'll hope my father DVR'ed the adventures of Sydney and Jack.
And for all of you that gave me crap today about shopping at the evil Walmart and spending money there which supports their evilness . . . it turns out I didn't. I spent the money at Target, with their happy red shirts and khaki pants and their clearance end caps. I hope you'll sleep better with this news.
I'm missing ALIAS again and I have to go for a walk out in the freezing rain (well . . . not really HAVE to, more like, if I don't I'll feel like crap and I don't want to feel like crap). It's enough to make you go spend money for a membership at the Y. However, the Y is just close enough to my house that I would feel guilty for driving and yet just far enough away when it's really cold. I'll just go put on my flannel lined jeans and do it. I'll hope my father DVR'ed the adventures of Sydney and Jack.
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