Dear Mr. Miyagi

Best advice I ever received about being funny was not to try. Don’t try at all. Or maybe it was not to care?? My, how embarrassing! I’ve forgotten the best advice I’ve ever received about being funny and I was using it as the opening line. Wow.

Well anyway, moving on…Creative Me is currently pummeling Professional Me with looming mid-life crisis updates. Creative Me is largely irresponsible, love-hates everything, and pretty much considers Professional Me as a sell out. Professional Me is smug, thinks Creative needs a reality check, and has generally accepted membership in the sell out club: Chez Adulthood.

The dichoto-Me’s are in need of reconciliation.

I blame all of this on the Adderall shortage. That’s right Pfizer, this is all your fault. Make some more pills dammit! MORE PILLS!

See! I can’t even get the tangents under control. I am in need of tangent management.

So the Me’s got together and decided on a role model. Someone with an admirable blend of creative and professional. I like many but let’s face it – I’m a little sparse with the admiration, so for me to decide someone is a superior creatiprofessionalitive, well, it’s high honors. Now mentor me dammit.

Only, this person didn’t exactly apply for the job. But I’m so used to people becoming instabuddies with me; it never occurred to me that my new Mr. Miyagi might not want a grasshopper.

But here’s where I really eff’d up (which finally gets back to my opening statements) – I ended up trying AND caring what self-imposed mentor thought. So much so that I backed down from several witty and/or assertive things I would’ve put anyone else on blast about. Yeah, I know – gross.

Or maybe it’s not all that gross and just part of being a grown up. Or “adult” is what you use in place of “sell out” once you’ve hit 30. I’m leaning toward the latter. Being a grown up makes you lazy and non-confrontational. I don’t want to argue. I just want to watch the news and see what the weather will be like tomorrow.

Now that, my friends, is gross.

Anyway, I’m withdrawing my admiration from this person. I’m fairly sure they don’t want it and I’m a wee tired of giving it. I’m entirely too opportunistic to play patience. Politics, tact, and bullshit are for sad grown ups that put a positive spin on selling out by spelling it a-d-u-l-t.

I’m sorry Mr. Miyagi. It’s not you; it’s me. That is…it is you; not being like me. Visa-versa la fin.

The Apartments of Make Believe

Ok wow...it's been a crazy afternoon here at the Apartments of Make Believe!

First, Nigel somehow managed to eat the doorbell casing. The one that was 8' up on the hallway Wall when I left this morning.

Second - my neighbor died! Ahhhh! I don't have any idea who, just "a neighbor" from the other side now...you know, really on the other side.

AND, upstairs doesn't believe in me neighbor was coaxed into belief in me by his roomie who knows me. WTF?!? I have a pretty finite group of friends who all associate with believers in me, so I have NO idea who believing non-believer's roommate is.

Non-believer is named Massey. He says his roommate, Carl, believes in me because he [Carl] works at Taco Mac. Thanks non-believing Massey, that really narrowed down who Carl is. So Massey suggests that Carl stops by.

I mean thanks for converting and all, but I don't really want even the most devote to stop by unannounced. Massey points out that I do know him. No, he knows me. Maybe. I'm sure I dont know a Carl. Any Carl.

So then I have to run down to the leasing office to pick up a package from UPS that I'm fairly sure had something to do with Nigel's doorbell massacre, when who should I run into? That's right - CARL! Who is, in fact, my favorite waiter at Taco Mac! Yay!!

Jolene's Attempted 311 Intervention

Jolene: so lets talk about this 311 hatred...where did it come from all of sudden?

me: it's not all of a sudden. i have not ever liked them

Jolene: i know that, but how did it come up

me: i got all pissy b/c it was on 2 radio stations at the same time and i was lke i hate when they play the same song on two stations, they should really coordinate that better but it wasn't the same song it just sounded the same so then i was reminded that was why i hated 311and then XXXX got all pissy about it which is another reason why i hate 311 b/c people defend them like they're the greatest band on earth which is silly since thast's an opinion and you can't say greatest with an opinion like "GREEN IS THE GREATEST COLOR ON EARTH!" I don't get pissy when people don't like green. As a matter of fact maybe i do...isn't your favorite color purple? i hate you

Jolene: haha...you crack me up

me: i'm just saying, for being a bunch of supposed peace loving hippies, 311 fans can be downright assholes over criticism

Jolene: I like 311. They are going to be here next month...Robbie was like "why dont you have Jessica go with you"? I just laughed and said: "She hates them just as much as you do"

Dear Upstairs Neighbor:

Despite popular belief, your balcony was not constructed atop an abyss. Empirical evidence had proven that your balcony is, in fact, right above my patio.

Now, I understand that this is a preposterous notion. Not only am I insisting that there is life beyond the second floor, but calling into question your long-held custom of stuffing your cigarette butts down between the balcony slats in to what has always unquestionably been a bottomless pit of nothingness below.

Since I have not met you, despite the ample time you must spend chain smoking on your balcony, I decided to leave you a note. I understand that in light of these new facts about my patio not being an abyss, the very foundation of your concepts in reality may be shaken; and therefore, I tried to keep the note light and simplistic.

" I'm sure it's unintentional that you're dropping cigarette butts on my patio, because we haven't met and perhaps you were unaware I was living there. Anyway, hi and please stop. Thanks, 1301."

Obviously I had no idea that what I wrote on my lavender Post-It would be considered so blasphemous and so inflammatory as to incite a return note! On graph paper with duct tape nonetheless!

"No one lives there. Thanks, 1311.."

Well...I am just not sure how to argue with logic like that! By refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of the note; and thereby my existence, then how could there be anything but a bottomless abyss below your patio! Touche 1311, touche.

Except - I do live there. 1301 is not a bottomless abyss. In fact, it is very much bottomfull...full of cigarette butts that you, the upper-level idiots continue to stuff through the slats.

Be forewarned 1311. I will be coming over tonight. Knocking and rocking the very core of you "no one lives there" belief system.

Sincerely, The Very Real and Living There 1301

I'm Such a M*therf*cking Grown Up!

I bought a car! Yeah, I bought it all by mydamnself too! I don't know where the dickens you can buy stamps but I sure the shit know how to buy a car! I'M SO AMAZING!

I've even checked the mail every day (excluding Sundays) for the past 2 weeks. Admittedly, I haven't sent any mail because of the recent stamp crisis, but I pay everything online so really only birthday wishes are missing out. H(belated)BD!

I've gone to the grocery store without becoming entirely confused, though I still think ALL grocery stores should be set up exactly the same. Not same-ish. Exactly. And there should definitely be a stamp aisle. Preferably up front.

I've remembered to feed and walk Nigel. Likewise for Lillian. I found a new dry cleaner and picked up my stuff without 4 weeks and fashion desperation occurring. I even took some shoes that have easily been broken for a year in to get fixed. I KNOW! It is amazing.

I've gone to bed on time; started eating breakfast; killed a spider by myself; taken my diploma to be framed (in a real wooden frame...with a mat!); called my parents regularly; passed on Banana Republic sales; bought nicer beer; became cost semi-conscious; and, made friends with my neighbor.

Look upon me in awe because this caterpillar just became a motherfucking butterfly!

Afro-Chinese Photo Project

Today is an Adderall off day. Thursdays usually are, but today I’m regretting it. And so is everyone else who has had to deal with me today; particularly Karen.

It’s all this stupid Afro-Chinese Photo Project’s fault. In the most shocking development (puns included, free of charge), we’ve actually already gotten 2 cameras back! My favorite part is that the envelopes included notes – one blessing me for this opportunity and the other proclaiming 1^st place winner.

Doesn’t seem like I should be complaining? Well, wait for it…

So I wait until 8:00 for Target to open, drive my happy ass over and head to the photo center. Only the photo center is only open from noon to 6 pm on Saturday and Sunday. I don’t know either, but yes…

SO then I drive to CVS. Only there’s only one person working, a line of 30+ people and the guy at the register is paying in change.

SO THEN, having become confused and discouraged, I come back to the office. Because I haven’t taken my Adderall I couldn’t think of what to do next. It’s hard to make on-the-fly decisions without it.

Which is when the excessive amount of whining starts with Karen. Thankfully she’s currently enjoying a buzz of superiority, decides to be generous and agrees to come with me to make my decisions. I know is sounds silly, but literally I’m flat out befuddled.

SO THEN WE go to Walgreens. It’s new and fancy and they guy works there has Kid-n-Play hair. I don’t remember which one had the Hi-top fade with the step on the side (two-finger ring, ragtop on the ride, sheep skin, Kangol, acid wash, Fossil, chicken and waffles, whoa-whoa [that’s my FAVORITE song btw, but it’s not sung by KnP]). Anyway, they don’t have the machine yet to do the picture making and he tells us it’ll be 2 weeks. FTS!

SO THEN WE HAVE to go to Target. Karen then reveals to me that she’s far more in tune with her body than I’ll probably ever be. I then make the brilliant statement that I could be filled with jellybeans on the inside and not know it. Side note: Karen has classified her friends according to molecules. I’m an L1. Karen is a nerd. That Target doesn’t have a photo lab.

SO THEN WE HAVE TO go to yet another Walgreens! I know! Dammit-God-Dammit! All of it! Good thing Karen came because I’d probably still be stumped at Walgreens #1. She asked me what I wanted for lunch like 2 hours ago and I still can’t decide. Despite it seemed to be every Walgreen’s employees’ first day and the fact that I managed to step on a randomly placed spoon (like a flatware spoon, not a little plastic one), we got the cameras dropped off.

GO TEAM GENIUS! Please don’t be pictures of naughty bits.

Stress Head

My boss brought this back from a conference for me. It's one of those stress things that you squeeze. If you squeeze this one, it says stuff. And while I'm pretty sure he didn't realize this, the stuff that this little stress head says...IS THE SAME SILLY CRAP MY BOSS IS ALWAYS SAYING TO ME!

No shit, it really says:

"Let it go!"

"Put this down!"

"Think happy thoughts!"

and...

"Be optimistic!"

How in the world did he find this? It's so perfect that it can't just be by chance! If it wasn't equally implausible, I'd swear he had it custom made!

He comes into my office, drops it on my desk, and then makes some weird request for me to find chainlink fencing to decorate a room with, tells me to be positive and walks out.

Ummm...chain link fencing?

Imagine my surprise when I squeeze the little stress head and it reiterates everything he just said!

Statement of Purposeless

I have to write a Statement of Purpose. Sadly, I can't use the Personal Statement I already created for law school admissions, so I'm stuck coming up with some new, dazzling summary of myself.

The instructions are simple enough: Tell us about your background, experiences and interests. Simple.

But I'm having trouble creating a good statement, so I decided to create an anti-statement. Then I'll use antonyms to come up with brilliance. Pure genius! Please enjoy...

I was a pretty terrible student until college. There were just too many, more interesting things going on for me to be bothered with algebra, chemistry or the world's literature. So while my classmates were buckling down and doing their homework, I was breaking curfew and raising small town hell. Despite myself, I did well on the SAT, but passed on higher education in favor of paying for wheels.

I ended up at my current job by pure happenstance. I had walked out of my last job because my boss was a royal bitch, had recently begun sleeping with my coworker, and the subsequent canoodling left me opening that fucking store every Saturday morning for a whole month. And well frankly, I didn't need that shit at all.

But I did need rent, so I begged my friends to sniff out job opportunities. The most promising one, and the one I ended up taking, included the disclaimer, "You'll hate this place." And good God I did hate the place! Still do sometimes, but we'll touch on that more later...

Anyway, the reason I'm applying is to defer my loan. See, I basically get paid in maize and glass beads where I am now, so there's NO WAY that I could make this loan payment. While I knew that a graduate degree in communication was probably my most viable option, the school choice has really been based off of how pretty I thought the website was. I really dig your school colors. I know I'd look great in that sweatshirt. Holla.

Even though I hated my job, every last stinking one of my coworkers, and the rampant bureaucratic bullshit that goes on in this ivory tower, I stayed. I had become really fond of having health insurance. Trudging through the thinly veiled carnival of paper-pushery did kill my soul somewhat, but as I said - we have really good insurance. Sticktoitiveness can be fostered from minimal copays.

Eventually better coworkers came along and I hated the place less. Then amazing coworkers came along and I began to love this damn job. I even developed a passion for it. I KNOW! Crazy, right? I mean, they still did some really fucking stupid stuff, but at least now I had like-minded cohorts. We were going to change things for the better. It was like the 60's up in here. Peace, Love and still lots of paper pushing, but whatevs.

That brings us back to today. I want to get into this program because I want to defer my loan. I want a graduate degree in Communication Management because this place needs some serious help in content, production and change management, especially about what are the consequences.

I really like your school. Hope this works out. Later.

Anchor's Away!

Regardless of whether or not I attend law school next fall, I HAVE to get my ass in class by January 2012 in order to defer my student loan. It's not all that bad really...getting a Master's is a pretty decent means to deferring ends.

The problem; however, is that I don't have a flipping clue as to what I want to get said graduate degree in! It's like that damned "what do you want to be when you grow up" question that stumped me as a child. 20-something years later and I still have no idea. The Jeopardy theme is playing and I'm running out of time! I don't know! I want to be a...waitress!

I know I don't want an MBA. Yeah, it's appealing in the sense that business is, you know, everything, but it feels all half-assed to me. And I suck at math...which has also deterred me from a MPA. I cannot handle statistics. Stats are for suckers. But, if I'm throwing out the MPA, then I'll have to decline on a MPP since they are essentially the same. MPA is to MPP, as empirical is to hypothetical. Or theoretical? SEE! Those are so totally out.

There's no way I'd go for Political Science since I have zero aspirations of being a history teacher. No one (outside of history teachers) has a MPS.

What's left? MS's? No thanks. the BS in PS was about all the S I'm cut out for. For the rest of my existence, science will be something I regard as an affront to my simpleton ways. Voodoo, if you will.

Besides, the epitome of science was NASA and look at where all that education got them! Should have hired a couple of MBA's to help balance out that budget. It's somewhat ironic that the space agency suffered from shortsightedness. Maybe it's not ironic...I don't know...irony, ironically, eludes me.

Last concentration standing - MA in something. Only all the A's are in things far too daffy or asinine for my taste. Daffy asininity is bitter. With a hint of nutty aftertaste. It only seems like I should get a degree in something like creative writing. Other than the entire semester I'd spend learning about typos, I think it would be somewhat wasted. After all, I can already write...creatively even. I don't want to defer my loan that badly. Though it may provide a good opportunity for me to finally learn just what the shit is irony...

I've gone round and round with this for...well, only a week, but that's like 6 months in Jessica-years...and I'm still coming back to Full Sail's MA in New Media Journalism. And let's face it, if there was every an industry forgiving of typos, it's social media. It's like all of my favorite things rolled up into a graduate program, only with a price tag that I don't so much enjoy. Even that's putting it lightly. I loathe the cost.

But for the price of one measly year of Emory Law, I could have my Master's in time to start my JD at GSU for mere pennies. I'm no MBA, but that's pretty solid number crunching there right? Twice the degrees for a third of a T2 legal education? No, make that an !

This is a good idea.

And if not, my Plan B is to just keep going to school and get ALL the degrees in order to defer my loan until Armageddon.

You Don't Know Me But...

I was supposed to be off work today, but since I don't have internet or TV until Wednesday, I decided to grace my office with my presence. This was a decision I instantly regretted, a mere 15 minutes into my day when everything went to shit and I spent the rest of my morning cursing my poor decision making.

WHY DIDN'T I JUST STAY HOME TODAY?!? EVERYTHING IS SO STUPID!

So I get back from lunch and my phone rings with someone surely out to ruin my afternoon. I've got a terrible case of The Mondays. Grumble, grumble should have stayed home...

"Hi Jessica. My name is Bob Smith and you don't know me but..."

...grumble, grumble, grumble...

"...I was a friend of your father."

Whoa, not at all what I was expecting!

Anyway, this guy goes on to say he knew my dad from some online forum about guitars and how they just found out that he had passed away. They found the message I posted on the online memorial site, Googled me (or something) and found where I worked and called me.

It's not really creepy since it was for something nice...

Apparently this forum - of which my dad was an active member for years - feels compelled to do some sort of tribute to my dad. They came up with this plan of producing a CD with songs from some of the members and wanted to get my permission in order to start.

"Your dad really did a lot for us. He helped us in so many ways. We all became really good friends over the years. And after reading your post, and how much you loved him, it just seemed right to do this."

That's really cool right? I don't have a lot of keepsakes from my dad, so this is pretty stellar. They even offered to make me as many copies as I needed to pass out to the family and offered to hand deliver them to me. This more than makes up for the crappy morning.

Random Realizations

I'm a big believer that the first 90 minutes of a trip sets the entire tone. Why the extra 30 minutes? Why not just 2 hours? Because airport security is the first hurtle of bullshit but shouldn't be considered indicative.

This trip has been ridiculous but in small, quasi-annoying crazyish ways. I decided to carry on instead of checking my bag. In my efforts to downsize, I actually just forgot most of my stuff. It's ok. Traveling a lot makes you comfortable with the idea of being without. As long as I have my phone and laptop chargers, the rest be damned. I'll wear a "I <3 [insert city name]" t-shirt.

I don't think an inordinate amount of crazy things happen to me. The majority of my time is spent commuting, at the airport or in hotels. That's where crazy breeds! I just get to witness. It's like a crazy terrarium.

Sometimes crazy inspires random realizations:

1. Patrick Swayze is dead. I don't know if I knew this.

2. There are a lot of Spanish-language channels in FL because...OH!

3. Rock of Ages meant something before 1983. Actually, it meant several somethings before then.

4. I may never be able to spell "definitely" right without the help of spell check.

5. Why did I think that escalators were so prolific worldwide? We can thank the woman at the airport who had never seen one for this realization.

6. I'm not going to law school (good thing my mom doesn't read my blog!).

I'm Too Sick to Think of a Witty Title

I'M SICK!

It's so awful. I can't sleep. I think my eyeballs are actually swollen. I have a weird craving to chicken noodle soup. I'm grumpy. Obviously, I'm suffering from dramaticitis. And worst of all...everyone wants to talk about their feelings.

I'm glad you all are getting in touch with yourselves, but I'm in feelings remission. I don't want to talk about them - yours or mine. Right now, I just feel like snot, which isn't a good feeling, regardless of whether it's an emotional state, and certainly not something I want to focus on.

I just want to lay my head in a bowl of ice, even though it may lead to room temperature drowning.

I have to fly to Orlando tomorrow and the only thing I can think more painful than the pressure changes of takeoff and touch down will be the 300+ screaming children on the flight with me. I promise you, it's like every parent told their kids right before getting on the plane that they were going to Disney.

I dread flights to (and from) Orlando. Kids are either a fervor with anticipation or so exhausted that they experience mental breakdowns. If I'm really lucky, my ears will be too stopped up to hear the screaming. Or my eardrums will just explode under the pressure.

One day I'll make the magical journey with Lillian and it will be amazing (until the return flight) but this is a business trip, so it's going to suck dwarfs.

...I was going to get back to your feelings, but I'm really too tired. Let's table this conversation until after I've taken a nap.

Donuts

The fact that I am considered a technical wizard in my office because I can change margin sizes and know the copy/paste keyboard shortcuts is ridiculous. That being said, my small collection of charlatan skills, does actually make me a wizard by comparison to some.

 

In fact, I'm the m*therfucking Wizard of Oz to my boss, who has the technical capabilities of an Amish man from the 1800's.

 

That's right - he has the high tech gadgetry skills of those who have shunned technology, but from 200 years ago. In other words - today's Amish could probably out techie him.

 

It's ok, he knows it. We all know it and it's lighthearted fun all around. Which is what made this particular conversation so gosh darn amusing...

 

I'm talking about the "s" on "https," only I don't really know what the "http" part is for but the "s" makes it a secure site. I'm explaining this to other coworker as we're checking out of a hotel after a conference. Boss walks up and says, "You know Jessica, you really shouldn't just drop your room key in the little basket at checkout. It has all of your personal information on it and someone could steal it and then have your identity."

 

Apparently someone has been watching Dateline!

 

He goes on to say, "You should ask them the clear the key card in front of you so that you know your credit card information is deleted."

 

I am amused and insulted at the same time. So I say, "Or you can just rub it up against your cell phone like you've been trying to avoid doing over the last couple of days because it scrambles up the imprint. Besides, you booked the rooms for this trip, so...it's your credit card info anyway."

 

Sometimes I wonder if he has any idea what I do. Then he confirmed that he really didn't by saying...

 

"You also shouldn't use the computers in hotels' business centers because there are some web sites that track what you're doing with this special software."

 

Der...behavioral advertising...skip tracers...etc.

 

"And you have to be careful because it collects all your donuts and keeps a record of where you've been."

 

....wait...what? Did he just say donuts? What? Donuts? Donuts that track your....OH!!

 

"I think you mean cookies."

 

"No. Donuts."

 

"No...cookies. Cache files. Browsing history. But not donuts."

 

"Really Jessica, you should Google it. It'll scare you how much information is out there."

 

"I'll sure do that. Sounds scary."

 

And then I told him about Spokeo.

 

 

**DISCLAIMER**

Apparently there has been some confusion over the right to say "Don't blog about (me/this)." Really only my mom is allowed to say it, even then I (obviously) don't always listen, but she makes me Thanksgiving dinner and holds the power to will her estate, so...

The rest of what gets posted is at my sole discretion.

But I recognize that this might make some, if not actually all, of you uncomfortable. So here are the points to keep in mind. Please don't interpret them as binding. After all, this is my blog.

1. I try not to blog about my immediate family. For example, I have never written about John, except for that one time but that was 3 years ago. Other than that one, the one about my mom's answer for world hunger and some intermittent woes Lillian puts me though, it's been largely strangers, casual acquaintances and/or friends. This has proven to be a really good decision on my part.

2. I'm not a moron. If you're crying while telling me something, I probably won't write about it. Hard to feel inspired by your tears. Not to mention, we aren't really a teary group, so if some are being shed, it's a heavy topic already. Again...not a moron.

3. I subscribe to self-preservation. I'm not going to get myself fired. Or you. But I can only be responsible for my own actions. If you get all fussy and ridiculous, that's on you. It's hard to be off the cuff funny and mitigate potential fussy.

4. The spell check on Blogger sucks! Yes, I can spell pretty well already but I'm not a dictionary. Which really wouldn't even help since a lot of it includes neologisms. So lay off with the typo comments.

5. You reading this doesn't make us best friends. I love you. I do, but my really personal details are not put on this blog. Or are really even told to the besties...it makes them nuts...but the point is, let's not assume that your ability to find a URL makes us go way back.

Again, love you all but learn your place.

Balloon Buddy

My alarm goes off, I hit snooze my standard 6 times, finally decide to get up, actually get up, and run straight into a balloon.

I don't know what kind of encounters you've had with a balloon in the complete darkness of 5:45 AM, but I've had a grand total of zero until this morning so I had no idea what the dickens it was. For all I knew it was an terrifying, albeit buoyant,  murderer. Then I find myself tangled in its excessively long string. Oh look, the balloon murderer brought something to tie me up with!

I have to turn on the light to free myself from its shiny iridescent grasp, which in turn wakes up Nigel, my ever faithful guard dog who has managed to sleep through the balloon's onslaught until this point.

Thing is - Nigel is terrified of balloons. TERRIFIED! If you ever want to break into my house, just bring a balloon. Tie it to your wrist like your mom used to do with the balloons you got as a kid and Nigel will run and cower whilst you clean out my belongings.

Only this morning, that isn't what happened. Perhaps his pride was so insulted by the fact that this balloon had managed to not only get into the house undetected by him, but then hover over us while we slept. Whatever it was...Nigel went fucknuts.

Ideally, 3 things need to happen before I can handle any early morning crisis: 1) Glasses, 2) Shower, and 3) Coffee. But I had none of these and instead of Nigel fleeing to the safety of the bathroom while I hid the balloon from him, he started growling, barking and some sort of bobbing and weaving, zig-zag pattern. If it wasn't so loud and annoying, it would have been funny.

So now I'm screaming at Nigel to shut up so he doesn't wake up the kiddo (ironic, yes), and he seems to only get more insulted that I am not accepting of his protection. Again, funny in hindsight.

I grab the balloon and take it into the bathroom with me while I shower. It floats around on the other side of the glass shower door. All very whimsical and innocent. I get out of the shower, and as I'm drying off...I hear the sniffing.

Nigel is on the other side of the bathroom door with his nose pressed against the crack at the bottom, literally sniffing the bejesus out of the air. Poor dog. He spent the last 15 minutes thinking that I had met my doom by a latex assailant. He was so excited when I opened the door I thought the would wag his tail off.

And then he saw the balloon again.

I know that people personify their pets, but really, if you've ever met Nigel, you would agree he is the most emotionally expressive dog ever. When Nigel saw that balloon, his sweet fuzzy face fell and he then gave me the most eat shit look I've ever seen, as if to say, "You have betrayed me."

But as soon as I closed the bathroom door he forgot all about it. Yay dogs!

Kept Woman

Recently, I've been faced with some pretty significant price adjustments in my lifestyle. It will sucks too because the choices are hard.

For example - I am now faced with whether I like having pretty hair or soft and supple toilet paper for my bum. See, it costs me $230 every 6 weeks to get my hair done and my preference for fancy, double-rolled ultra bear-endorsed toilet paper is in direct competition with that. Along with my insistence on using only the weensiest pint of organic half & half, even though I drink it like a full-on junkie. I merely splash coffee in my half & half.

Do I really need to have internet and TV? Hmmmm...there's some "Alone in the Wilderness" part of me that says no. I have internet at work and the only thing I'm totally committed on TV is also streamed online and my phone can act like a hotspot, so given the right amount of patience, I could swing it.

Hahaha, yes I do know how completely stupid that sounds! I'll never make it...but one can dream. Maybe that's what I'll do instead of watching TV. I'll day dream.

Actually, given my spring semester timeline for grad school, I'll at least need internet and I will be asking Santa to bring it to me. And TV would probably interfere with that, so it'll be stellar. Day dreaming ahead...

I need to give up junk food, which is more expensive than fresh foods so that'll probably work out. Not organic food though. Pesticide free is only for rich people. Poor folks eat chemicals. Except for Keith Richards. He's rich and ingested chemicals. But I don't want to live like him.

I have good insurance. My savings account is pretty robust. This is gonna be gravy.

Gravy of some sort since that's about all I can afford.