Prepare yourself for some peacegrrl bitching. So I went on Blind Date # 2 for this fall on Saturday night. Some of you may be familiar with the fate of my last blind date. I'll bring the new folks up to speed: I met the guy for an hour of drinks and conversation, and was impressed. Unfortunately, he was not. I never heard from him again. I didn't even get the "gee thanks, but..." phone call. So unless the guy was hit by a bus, which I highly doubt, I was so unimpressive that further contact was deemed an unnecessary and unenjoyable waste of time. Oh well, his loss, right? RIGHT???
A little bummed, but not to be defeated, I dusted myself off and prepared to get back into the ring. I did some de-stressing, got a haircut and some cute shoes, and read He's Just Not That Into You for perspective. Then I was inspired to do a little housecleaning in the relationship realm. "I've been holding back because of The Boy debacle," I told myself. "Time to move on and see what happens." Now I was ready to get out there again.
If you've never had a blind date, it might not be easy to understand how complicated these things really are. First, there are the false hopes that you've built up based on the great rapport you've built with the person via your witty e-mail banter or even wittier phone banter. This is why I suggest doing the face-to face as early as possible, to minimize attachment before chemistry blows everything to hell. Then you have the safety factor-meet in a public place, don't have him pick you up. Keep it to coffee and drinks--this way if he's a freak, you're not stuck with him for a whole meal. And give yourself an out through the "courtesy page"--have a friend of yours call your cell about halfway through the date. If it's going well, you do the whole "Yes, yes, I'll call you back later" thing. If it's a fucking disaster, you say "Oh no! I'll be right there!" and make up some kind of emergency. Anyway, so your hopes are built up, you've taken precautions in case he's a serial killer, and now you get to deal with your own self- doubt. What if he thinks you're ugly? What if you arrive too early--he'll think you're overeager. Or you might be late, and he'll think you don't care. Or the scenario that I have nightmares about: he never shows up, meaning he either forgot, or took one look at you and ran like hell. All in all, blind dating is a miserable leap of faith that I try my best not to think about as I dive into the things one after the other.
Anyway, getting back to my point, Blind Date #2 started out badly. He was early and waiting for me, and I guess his expectations were high, because when I said hello and introduced myself, I swear I could FEEL the disappointment coming off of him. Really. This is not just my low self-esteem talking. It was palpable. We didn't even shake hands. And as soon as we got in line to order coffee (I paid for my own, by the way, which I've never done on a blind date), he says, "Just so you know, I need to leave in about an hour to go work out." Okay, it's 8pm on a Saturday night, and he's telling me he needs to go work out? This must be his version of the "courtesy page," and he's already invoked it. Ouch. Clearly this would be an evening to endure, not enjoy.
Surprisingly, although we did stumble around a bit during the first few minutes of small talk, it did get better. I guess I redeemed myself through intelligent chit-chat and observations about movies and my maniac residents, because at around 8:30, he stretches out and says, "I think I'll skip the workout tonight. It's too late anyway." And we continued our conversation, which was rather pleasant. We like a lot of the same things, we both have disfunctional families, he's a young 30 and I'm an old 25, and we're intellectually on the same page. But when I got home, the "will-he-call" dance was inevitable. Obviously I'm not attractive enough, otherwise he wouldn't have pulled that shit in the first five minutes. He was cute enough for me, but maybe I'm not as picky as some. Would this share the same fate as the last "date?" I got a "nice to meet you, have a good Thanksgiving if I don't talk to you before" e-mail today. I guess this means I got a decent grade? Will we meet up again, or is this it? How long until my next dunk in the blind-date swamp?
My point in all of this, faithful half-dozen readers, is that I'm sick of this game. And since I'm in my childbearing years and the biological clock is ticking and I'm surrounded by sub-teenagers and I want to find somebody to settle down with, I'm doomed to play it indefinitely. Blind-dating is probably not the best approach, but it's the only one I can see--it makes no sense to sit around and wait for him to find me, because the only people I come into contact with on a daily basis are eighteen-year-olds and coworkers (and though coworkers are fun to fantasize about/have illicit affairs with, we all know what a bad idea THAT turns out to be. Plus I'm in so much awe of the one I really like that I wouldn't DREAM of telling him in a million years!). This sucks! I'm starting to sound like Charlotte from Sex and the City, "I'm exhausted! I've been dating since I was 15! WHERE IS HE?" Where is that guy who likes curly hair, wicked curves, and baked goods? Who doesn't mind that I swear sometimes and don't like household chores? Who thinks the idea of a knitting feminist is adorable? Who will buy me Honey Brown when my supply runs out, watch lousy movies with me, and take me to concerts? Blehhhhh.... Yes, I'm a professional career-minded women. I realize there is more to life than men. I mean, really, I'm well aware.
It's just cathartic to bitch about what I don't have. In five years or so when I've settled down and started having kids, I'll probably bitch about how much I miss being single.
-pg
Monday, November 22, 2004
Thursday, November 18, 2004
I wish I could be deep
Really, I do. I blog about whatever nonsense happens to be in my head at the moment. Then I read these other live journals where people are all profound and what not, with their poetry and their flowery descriptions of everyday life. I'm one of those creative writing people, too, but every time I try to get wordy and obscure, I think my stuff sounds stupid. Oh well.
Today is the day of the Great American Smokeout, and guess what? I'd really like a cigarette. Really, I'm doing fine since I quit for the fourth time--I think i'm at 9 weeks or something. I don't even think about it, until someone REMINDS me, and of course the American Lung Association or whoever is doing an excellent job of that today. Damn. At least we're about to put all these smoking restrictions on the campus buildings, where you can only smoke at one exit. It's a good reason not to start again, since our "smoking door" is as far as possible from my apartment. Not that the whole money and health thing isn't a good deterrant, too. It's just that old-fashioned laziness is the best aversion therapy I can think of!
New subject. Why are my residents so bad? Why do I have over sixty write-ups in the last two months? Granted, once they meet with me they rarely get into trouble again, but why are they getting into so much damn trouble in the first place? And when did I, the rebel, the pain in the ass, the one who has always questioned and defied authority (often to my detriment), become "the man"? I'm the bad guy! I'm the one who sits across the desk, frowning and asking for explanations and handing out sanctions. I'm the "complaintant" at the judicial hearing. Holy hell. What's happened? I don't want to be a responsible authority figure. I want to go back to my happy days as a screw-up. I'm getting old, I'm losing my tolerance for stupidity, and I find myself sounding more and more like my mother. Bleh. Adulthood blows.
Let's talk about a few happy things, like the fact that tonight is Apprentice night, and last night's Jack and Bobby was fabulous, as always. When did I start watching all of this damn TV? Oh, and Modest Mouse on Saturday Night Live last week kicked ass. I'm contemplating my next CD purchase (I don't do the download thing...mainly because I still haven't gotten the internet set up in my apartment. But I like to pretend it's because I care so deeply about the rights of recording artists. Actually, most of the bands I like these days probably need every $12 CD sale they can get, so really I guess I'm doing the right thing. But that's fodder for another post.) Will it be Rufus Wainright? I'd also really like to pick up something by that Nick Drake, he's pretty cool. Or will I go for some earlier Modest Mouse? Or go mainstream and grab the new U2? And then again, my favorite Counting Crows CD was in a tragic accident involving being on my dashboard in the Texas heat. So will I instead re-purchase "This Desert Life"? Decisions, decisions. My mom has always held a general rule that you shouldn't buy yourself anything after the beginning of November, because Christmas is coming. I'm too selfish for all of that. So does anybody have any suggestions? New bands I should investigate? Or does anybody just want to declare their love for Peacegrrl by sending me a CD? Feel free to share...
So I think I've exhausted my random topic quota for the day, so I will close. Happy Thursday to all.
-peacegrrl
Today is the day of the Great American Smokeout, and guess what? I'd really like a cigarette. Really, I'm doing fine since I quit for the fourth time--I think i'm at 9 weeks or something. I don't even think about it, until someone REMINDS me, and of course the American Lung Association or whoever is doing an excellent job of that today. Damn. At least we're about to put all these smoking restrictions on the campus buildings, where you can only smoke at one exit. It's a good reason not to start again, since our "smoking door" is as far as possible from my apartment. Not that the whole money and health thing isn't a good deterrant, too. It's just that old-fashioned laziness is the best aversion therapy I can think of!
New subject. Why are my residents so bad? Why do I have over sixty write-ups in the last two months? Granted, once they meet with me they rarely get into trouble again, but why are they getting into so much damn trouble in the first place? And when did I, the rebel, the pain in the ass, the one who has always questioned and defied authority (often to my detriment), become "the man"? I'm the bad guy! I'm the one who sits across the desk, frowning and asking for explanations and handing out sanctions. I'm the "complaintant" at the judicial hearing. Holy hell. What's happened? I don't want to be a responsible authority figure. I want to go back to my happy days as a screw-up. I'm getting old, I'm losing my tolerance for stupidity, and I find myself sounding more and more like my mother. Bleh. Adulthood blows.
Let's talk about a few happy things, like the fact that tonight is Apprentice night, and last night's Jack and Bobby was fabulous, as always. When did I start watching all of this damn TV? Oh, and Modest Mouse on Saturday Night Live last week kicked ass. I'm contemplating my next CD purchase (I don't do the download thing...mainly because I still haven't gotten the internet set up in my apartment. But I like to pretend it's because I care so deeply about the rights of recording artists. Actually, most of the bands I like these days probably need every $12 CD sale they can get, so really I guess I'm doing the right thing. But that's fodder for another post.) Will it be Rufus Wainright? I'd also really like to pick up something by that Nick Drake, he's pretty cool. Or will I go for some earlier Modest Mouse? Or go mainstream and grab the new U2? And then again, my favorite Counting Crows CD was in a tragic accident involving being on my dashboard in the Texas heat. So will I instead re-purchase "This Desert Life"? Decisions, decisions. My mom has always held a general rule that you shouldn't buy yourself anything after the beginning of November, because Christmas is coming. I'm too selfish for all of that. So does anybody have any suggestions? New bands I should investigate? Or does anybody just want to declare their love for Peacegrrl by sending me a CD? Feel free to share...
So I think I've exhausted my random topic quota for the day, so I will close. Happy Thursday to all.
-peacegrrl
Monday, November 15, 2004
Bridget Jones has nothing on Peacegrrl
So okay, I'm a thick chick with an appreciation of British humor, so obviously I really enjoyed the first Bridget Jones. Then I went to see the second, and while I was entertained and dug the happy ending, I've had some time to reflect on my life as it compares to Bridg's. I've concluded that I think I really should be with Colin Firth. I mean, I'm way less nuts than Bridget, I'm definitely smarter, and while even the "chubby" version of Renee Zellwegger is a little less zaftig than me, I've definitely got better hair and a good complexion. I'm quirky! I say silly things in public! Where's my sexy British lawyer boyfriend?
Seriously, as I continue to navigate the "single young professional" battlefield, I wonder how valuable it is to be yourself. That's my credo when it comes to men. I don't really bullshit around, my online personal ad is as honest as I could make it (and back off, online personal ads are not indicative of desperation! YOU try working on a college campus and trying to meet men!), and when I go out on a date, I tell the truth. I'm told that all of this straightforwardness is eventually going to pay off, and movies like Bridget Jones reinforce the notion that the ticket to true love is be who you are. But then sometimes I look at myself and I think that what I see as quirky is probably more likely to be construed as ridiculous...and while that might work for Renee masquerading as a basket case, I'm not so sure it translates particularly well into reality.
But let's look at the upside. I'm a smart girl, I've got a good career going (even if it is a little stressful), I'm working the new short hairdo, and I have excellent taste in music. And while I may have a few more curves than some, I think I know how to put them to their best use. One thing that's nice about not being supermodel-beautiful is that you don't end up dating as many disaster areas. Usually when I go out with a guy, he's got some depth to him, which I suppose makes up for the fact that I'm not getting asked out every five minutes. (Way to put a positive spin on my lackluster social life!) I imagine it's better to spend a little bit of time with a few good guys than to waste hours upon hours on a bunch of losers.
My point, anyway, is that me and the thousands of other fairly average, curvacious, career-focused women out there are the real Bridget Jones's. We don't have to scarf down calorie-augmented diets to fill out our skeleton-thin bodies and get boobs--we were born with 'em. And while the sexy lawyer types don't always drop into our laps, the important thing is to realize that we deserve them, and if we quit settling for the leftovers and telling ourselves we should take what we can get, a hot guy with a brain must be out there waiting for us somewhere.
At least that's what I keep telling myself... :-)
-peacegrrl
Seriously, as I continue to navigate the "single young professional" battlefield, I wonder how valuable it is to be yourself. That's my credo when it comes to men. I don't really bullshit around, my online personal ad is as honest as I could make it (and back off, online personal ads are not indicative of desperation! YOU try working on a college campus and trying to meet men!), and when I go out on a date, I tell the truth. I'm told that all of this straightforwardness is eventually going to pay off, and movies like Bridget Jones reinforce the notion that the ticket to true love is be who you are. But then sometimes I look at myself and I think that what I see as quirky is probably more likely to be construed as ridiculous...and while that might work for Renee masquerading as a basket case, I'm not so sure it translates particularly well into reality.
But let's look at the upside. I'm a smart girl, I've got a good career going (even if it is a little stressful), I'm working the new short hairdo, and I have excellent taste in music. And while I may have a few more curves than some, I think I know how to put them to their best use. One thing that's nice about not being supermodel-beautiful is that you don't end up dating as many disaster areas. Usually when I go out with a guy, he's got some depth to him, which I suppose makes up for the fact that I'm not getting asked out every five minutes. (Way to put a positive spin on my lackluster social life!) I imagine it's better to spend a little bit of time with a few good guys than to waste hours upon hours on a bunch of losers.
My point, anyway, is that me and the thousands of other fairly average, curvacious, career-focused women out there are the real Bridget Jones's. We don't have to scarf down calorie-augmented diets to fill out our skeleton-thin bodies and get boobs--we were born with 'em. And while the sexy lawyer types don't always drop into our laps, the important thing is to realize that we deserve them, and if we quit settling for the leftovers and telling ourselves we should take what we can get, a hot guy with a brain must be out there waiting for us somewhere.
At least that's what I keep telling myself... :-)
-peacegrrl
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Peacegrrl's Law
Shit never works out the way I want it to.
I had this epic decision-making moment last week involving a on-again, off-again toxic relationship. I wrote this fabulous letter (yeah, by hand, on PAPER) because I felt I needed to mail it off into the universe and seal the relationship's fate instead of relying on impersonal e-mail. Then I forgot to mail the letter. Then the guy came online and wanted to chat, and I mentioned that I had made the afore-mentioned big decision regarding our future. So he wanted to know what the deal was, and rather than belabor the point I started to explain it over IM, and then he had to go. Of course by this point I'd already started to get to the point, and then I got cut off, and then I felt stupid. So I ended up e-mailing the damn letter after all. What was going to be this cathartic, somewhat romantic step forward for me was reduced to a really akward conversation and a letter that looked good on paper and sounded really dumb in a yahoo e-mail message. That's what I get for being such a drama queen.
But really, I'm telling myself that moving on is a good thing. Cleaning out the closet, dusting off those things we hang onto even though they don't fit anymore or we realize that they never did--it's a good thing. Nobody wants to toss our their skinny jeans, because we just know, deep inside, someday the damn things are going to fit. And the same applies to men. Nobody wants to let go of their version of The Boy--that guy we love so much who will never, ever get a clue and love us back the way we deserve. Because then we've just given up, and who the hell wants to give up? But comes a time when you realize that the skinny jeans are just taking up space and holding you back--you don't look for anything better because you've already got something, and even though it doesn't fit you or your life, damn it, you put some time into it! And you still believe that eventually it's going to work out!
I don't want to take my silly metaphor too far. Really, I didn't say goodbye forever. I just laid down the law a little bit (Thanks so much, "He's Just Not That Into You.") But I know that on some level I've finally given up on the skinny jeans in my relationship closet. Who knows if I've made room for something better, or if he's going to wander back new and improved and ready to devote himself to me. But I'm not being fair to myself or anyone else I meet in the meantime if I don't move on and grow up. It sucks, but it's reality.
And in the interest of ending on a happy note, I'm glad to say that there are some really good guys out there--like the one I met a little too late, after I'd already decided to move away. Maybe he's the post-Boy guy for me, and the timing will eventually work itself out. Or maybe I keep stumbling into doomed "relationships" because the right one is still waiting up ahead somewhere. Who knows. It's not like me to be optimistic, but maybe there's something to it.
-an oddly introspective peacegrrl
I had this epic decision-making moment last week involving a on-again, off-again toxic relationship. I wrote this fabulous letter (yeah, by hand, on PAPER) because I felt I needed to mail it off into the universe and seal the relationship's fate instead of relying on impersonal e-mail. Then I forgot to mail the letter. Then the guy came online and wanted to chat, and I mentioned that I had made the afore-mentioned big decision regarding our future. So he wanted to know what the deal was, and rather than belabor the point I started to explain it over IM, and then he had to go. Of course by this point I'd already started to get to the point, and then I got cut off, and then I felt stupid. So I ended up e-mailing the damn letter after all. What was going to be this cathartic, somewhat romantic step forward for me was reduced to a really akward conversation and a letter that looked good on paper and sounded really dumb in a yahoo e-mail message. That's what I get for being such a drama queen.
But really, I'm telling myself that moving on is a good thing. Cleaning out the closet, dusting off those things we hang onto even though they don't fit anymore or we realize that they never did--it's a good thing. Nobody wants to toss our their skinny jeans, because we just know, deep inside, someday the damn things are going to fit. And the same applies to men. Nobody wants to let go of their version of The Boy--that guy we love so much who will never, ever get a clue and love us back the way we deserve. Because then we've just given up, and who the hell wants to give up? But comes a time when you realize that the skinny jeans are just taking up space and holding you back--you don't look for anything better because you've already got something, and even though it doesn't fit you or your life, damn it, you put some time into it! And you still believe that eventually it's going to work out!
I don't want to take my silly metaphor too far. Really, I didn't say goodbye forever. I just laid down the law a little bit (Thanks so much, "He's Just Not That Into You.") But I know that on some level I've finally given up on the skinny jeans in my relationship closet. Who knows if I've made room for something better, or if he's going to wander back new and improved and ready to devote himself to me. But I'm not being fair to myself or anyone else I meet in the meantime if I don't move on and grow up. It sucks, but it's reality.
And in the interest of ending on a happy note, I'm glad to say that there are some really good guys out there--like the one I met a little too late, after I'd already decided to move away. Maybe he's the post-Boy guy for me, and the timing will eventually work itself out. Or maybe I keep stumbling into doomed "relationships" because the right one is still waiting up ahead somewhere. Who knows. It's not like me to be optimistic, but maybe there's something to it.
-an oddly introspective peacegrrl
Friday, November 05, 2004
Let's get happy again
Really, I guess it's not that bad. As a friend said the other day, "look on the bright side! Bush only has four more years to screw us!" I hope that we democrats don't get all bent out of shape and stop caring. Now, more than ever, we need to keep bitching and writing letters and generally making nuiscances of ourselves. And let's face it, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's being a big pain in the ass. That's what activism is really all about, isn't it?
So I'm gearing up for a big trip to Cleveland! Ok, I know, Cleveland is only about forty miles away from me, but still. I've never been, and I'm sorta excited. We're staying at a nice hotel, going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and technically it's a work thing, so it's all FREE! At the very least it means I won't be at work on Monday and Tuesday, and that's reason enough for some enthusiasm. Maybe I'll meet some hot Res Life professional who will sweep me off of my feet. Uh...yeah...I know most of the males in my field are gay, married, or scary, but a girl can dream. I'm getting so sick of meeting Mr. Not-Quite-Right, or Mr. Not-Right-Now. Or Mr. Never-Calls. You'd think I'd give up on the idea of men altogether. But when it comes to the opposite sex, I manage to dig out the little bit of optimism that I've got. To my detriment, of course.
Well, there are only two and half hours left in my workweek, so I guess I'd better make them count. I'll be sure to report next week on my Cleveland adventure. Until then...
-pg
So I'm gearing up for a big trip to Cleveland! Ok, I know, Cleveland is only about forty miles away from me, but still. I've never been, and I'm sorta excited. We're staying at a nice hotel, going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and technically it's a work thing, so it's all FREE! At the very least it means I won't be at work on Monday and Tuesday, and that's reason enough for some enthusiasm. Maybe I'll meet some hot Res Life professional who will sweep me off of my feet. Uh...yeah...I know most of the males in my field are gay, married, or scary, but a girl can dream. I'm getting so sick of meeting Mr. Not-Quite-Right, or Mr. Not-Right-Now. Or Mr. Never-Calls. You'd think I'd give up on the idea of men altogether. But when it comes to the opposite sex, I manage to dig out the little bit of optimism that I've got. To my detriment, of course.
Well, there are only two and half hours left in my workweek, so I guess I'd better make them count. I'll be sure to report next week on my Cleveland adventure. Until then...
-pg
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Shit.
Well, it's over. What the hell will I rant about now? And I'm so pissed off at Ohio. We not only passed an amendment to ban gay marriage and eliminate domestic partner benefits, we let our state fall to Bush by less than 200,000 votes. What the fuck? Sorry for the profanity, but really. WHAT THE FUCK?
And don't even get me started on the "youth vote." Once again, the 18-30 age group proved themselves to be the lazy-asses that we are and showed up to the tune of 17%...that's right. After the huge increase in voter registration, you'd think we'd improve over our performance in 2000, but guess how many 18-30-year olds showed up four years ago? 17 fucking percent. No difference whatsoever. All the yelling and blogging and Michael-Moore-underwear-giveaways couldn't get young people to exercise the right that people fought long and hard for. Oooh, it's raining, we can't go outside! Oooh, there's a line, I can't possibly wait that long, I have to get back to sitting on my ass and watching daytime TV! It's pathetic, and sad, and I'm just so depressed right now I can barely BREATHE!
I guess now would be a good time to stop looking at the big picture. Focus on the depressing aspects of my little life instead of thinking about the problems of our country. Or maybe use this election as the motivation for a career change. I think I should go to law school and enter the political arena. Any thoughts? Does the illegal activity I may or may not have engaged in while pursuing my postsecondary education disqualify me? Hmmmm.....
Well, I guess I'd better fix up the blog a little...take off the John Kerry and ACT stickers, anyway. I suppose all is not lost, since Barak Obama did win the senate position. But between the republican domination, the passage of Ohio Amendment 1, and the succesful gerrymandering of Texas districts (I know, I moved, I shouldn't care)....it's just not a happy day for peacegrrl...or for peace in general, when you think about it.
-A very disillusioned peacegrrl
And don't even get me started on the "youth vote." Once again, the 18-30 age group proved themselves to be the lazy-asses that we are and showed up to the tune of 17%...that's right. After the huge increase in voter registration, you'd think we'd improve over our performance in 2000, but guess how many 18-30-year olds showed up four years ago? 17 fucking percent. No difference whatsoever. All the yelling and blogging and Michael-Moore-underwear-giveaways couldn't get young people to exercise the right that people fought long and hard for. Oooh, it's raining, we can't go outside! Oooh, there's a line, I can't possibly wait that long, I have to get back to sitting on my ass and watching daytime TV! It's pathetic, and sad, and I'm just so depressed right now I can barely BREATHE!
I guess now would be a good time to stop looking at the big picture. Focus on the depressing aspects of my little life instead of thinking about the problems of our country. Or maybe use this election as the motivation for a career change. I think I should go to law school and enter the political arena. Any thoughts? Does the illegal activity I may or may not have engaged in while pursuing my postsecondary education disqualify me? Hmmmm.....
Well, I guess I'd better fix up the blog a little...take off the John Kerry and ACT stickers, anyway. I suppose all is not lost, since Barak Obama did win the senate position. But between the republican domination, the passage of Ohio Amendment 1, and the succesful gerrymandering of Texas districts (I know, I moved, I shouldn't care)....it's just not a happy day for peacegrrl...or for peace in general, when you think about it.
-A very disillusioned peacegrrl
Monday, November 01, 2004
I am getting old.
I am very aware of this fact at the present because this morning, when I walked into my office after one of the biggest party weekends of the year and found a stack of discipline slips in my box, I didn't think to myself, "those crazy kids, I bet they had some good times!" That's more than likely what the 22-year-old version of peacegrrl, new to the student affairs field and fresh from four years of undergrad partying, would have said. But the older, more crotchety peacegrrl looked at the 32 write-ups, with offenses ranging from dangerous levels of intoxication to sex in public, sighed, and thought, "What the hell is wrong with this generation? They're a bunch of hoodlums, I tell you!"
What a day. I guess I get to be the bad, mean authority figure for the next few weeks as I try to round all of these folks up for discipline meetings. Now more than ever it is SO super-important that I get a life outside of work. And look for a nice, suitable guy to provide companionship and good lovin'. And take time to list off the positive, great things about my job. Otherwise I really am going to shrivel up and turn into some demented version of the asshole guidance counselor in The Breakfast Club.
Ah, well, all is not lost. I had a good weekend, bought that new "He's Just Not That Into You!" book and tried to delve into the mysteries of the male psyche. Jammed to the Garden State soundtrack, which will definitely go down as one of the better investments I've made in the past few months. And I did what any normal stressed-out, weary, plagued-with-guy-troubles-or-depressing-lack-thereof girl always enjoys: bought some shoes. I have located the closest DSW Shoe Wearhouse, and my meager budget will suffer for it, I can tell you. But it's nice to know that as I ponder the next stages of my life, I can take comfort in my new brown leather boots. See? I'm so stressed I'm getting shallow....
-pg
What a day. I guess I get to be the bad, mean authority figure for the next few weeks as I try to round all of these folks up for discipline meetings. Now more than ever it is SO super-important that I get a life outside of work. And look for a nice, suitable guy to provide companionship and good lovin'. And take time to list off the positive, great things about my job. Otherwise I really am going to shrivel up and turn into some demented version of the asshole guidance counselor in The Breakfast Club.
Ah, well, all is not lost. I had a good weekend, bought that new "He's Just Not That Into You!" book and tried to delve into the mysteries of the male psyche. Jammed to the Garden State soundtrack, which will definitely go down as one of the better investments I've made in the past few months. And I did what any normal stressed-out, weary, plagued-with-guy-troubles-or-depressing-lack-thereof girl always enjoys: bought some shoes. I have located the closest DSW Shoe Wearhouse, and my meager budget will suffer for it, I can tell you. But it's nice to know that as I ponder the next stages of my life, I can take comfort in my new brown leather boots. See? I'm so stressed I'm getting shallow....
-pg
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