Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Gin: I'm going to have business cards printed
And they will be blank, except for my name, and underneath:
And when people ask for my card
i will hand it to them
And they will read it
And by the time they get to "ninja"
They will look up, and I will have disappeared
And then they will know.
!THAT'S A LOT OF TACOS!: You did not just make that up.
Gin: I swear to God I did.
!THAT'S A LOT OF TACOS!: Shut up.
Gin: I PROMIS I JUST MADE THAT UP
I SWEAR ON WEE KITTEN GEORGE'S LIFE
!THAT'S A LOT OF TACOS!: You win today.
Gin: BECAUSE I AM AWESOME.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
I’ve been angry lately.
Well, it’s mostly cranky, with a thin layer of anger on top.
There are several things my mood could be attributed to, all of them poor excuses for my being such an asshole, but explanations just the same – hormones, being in a weird place at work, much-anticipated fantastic dinner party plans foiled, a dire need for a haircut, no dinner plan laid out for the week, and dirty dishes in my sink every night when I get home.
Last night I dreamt I yelled at Jamie. Like, SCREAMED at her. Y’all, I have never raised my voice in anger to my best friend – I think all of my yelling in her presence has been drunken and/or Trivial-Pursuit-related, or masked as “singing”. I woke up very upset and guilty – I’m sorry, Jamie, for being such a d-ck. If it helps at all, in the dream, after my outburst, I continued cooking you dinner in your kitchen, and no, I had not slipped anything in it (ha).
I am waiting for something to happen, something to spur me into action, something to propel me into the next phase of…something. A few weeks ago I went through this (weird) phase where I kept thinking I was twenty-five years old – for some reason my age kept coming up, and I kept thinking, “Yeah, I’m twenty-five. OH SHIT WAIT I’M TWENTY-EIGHT. I HAVE LOST THREE YEARS!”. Because nothing much has changed. And I realized that life *is* basically the same thing over and over again, but the only thing I have to mark the passage of time are my haircuts, six weeks apart. It’s depressing.
I need a change.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Dear Jackhole On The Other Side Of My Cubicle Wall,
Hey, how about actually *carrying* your cell phone with you at work, rather than leaving it on your desk, set to A Level Of Vibrate That Would Make Even Jenna Jameson Blush, and then disappearing all day, except to return briefly in order to whistle tunelessly and tap your pen on your desk for 2 minutes, then leave again in order to wander the halls in too-short khaki cargo pants (THERE IS ROOM IN YOUR GEEDEE POCKETS FOR THAT PHONE) and a white undershirt WITH NOTHING OVER IT. GROSS.
Kisses and THROAT PUNCHES,