July 27, 2006
I slightly updated Buzz-Wear, so y'all can mosey over there and marvel at my ridiculous saleswoman skillz. I also speak in the Royal We like none other.
I took off work today because I felt really sick. Remember how I'm always nervous that people think I'm lying about everything, when I never am? Calling in sick is my least favorite thing to do.
I hate sounding pathetic on the phone to anyone but my friends and family (lucky you guys!), so when I call in sick, I automatically force myself to sound fine. This is a defense mechanism built in by my father who raised me like a boy and taught me to never let anyone see you weak. He's the same type of guy who, if you showed him your arm bone sticking out of your skin, he would tell you to walk it off.
So, when I call my bosses to inform them that I'm sick, I actually sound a lot better than when I'm healthy. Then I catch myself and worry that I should sound sicker, but then I just sound shifty.
Sometimes I wonder if it would be worth avoiding all that just forcing myself to go into work feeling like crap.
July 25, 2006
I saw two men walking down the street carrying a huge plate-glass mirror today. I really expected to see a guy with a fruit cart walk by, and then a high-speed car chase fly down the road and crash into the mirror. None did, but it was a really quick stoplight, and it could have happened right after I left.
Melissa, Traci, and Justin took me out for my birthday to the Melting Pot. It was a delightful evening, and I have once again single-handedly made my friends poor. Nice job, Lauren.
Also, I have vowed to lose some weight before my friend Kameron's wedding in August, so I can look like the other stick bridesmaids, maid of honor, and bride. If you know me, you know that normally I am vigorously against watching what you eat, so I must really care about this chick. Actually, I just don't want to be the "one of these things is not like the others" girl who the mother of the bride hides the 5-tiered wedding cake from.
I will let you all know how my exciting life of Performing Arts Camp this was another day. I just wanted to see if I could write the most boring post ever, containing 4 paragraphs of 3 sentences each. And I've succeeded!
July 19, 2006
I just remembered that I share a birthday with dooce, which I forget every year and then discover it and think it's awesome.
Holidays always make me think back and reflect on the meaningfulness of the passing of the years or some crap. I also think by this time, I'm supposed to start lamenting about getting old or something. I know I'm going to probably sound like one of those self-deceiving grannies who wear red hats and say they're 80 years young, but I honestly don't feel very old.
I'm not sad to be turning 26. I'm not sad that I'm close to 30. I don't feel like I need to get married or have babies or ride a donkey to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I feel that there's plenty of time for all three. In one day, if I can plan it right.
My assistants at camp used to bust my chops because they were all 19-21 and I was an elderly 25 and used phrases like "bust my chops," but it never got to me. I'm glad to not be 19-21. I was a moron when I was 19-21. And now I'm only slightly less of a moron. Very slightly less.
For example, I just paid off my car loan today. It was supposed to be until October of '08, but I've been overpaying for a few months, and I finally paid the last one today. The check's memo was "YEAH, BABY!" and on the back of the envelope, I drew confetti and a party hat.
Then I mailed the letter with a stamp that hasn't been used for six months, so I guess it will either come back to me or make the street lunatics who go through our mail very, very happy.
Happy Birthday to me!
July 15, 2006
I thank my parents for the weirdness they gave me, and it constantly amuses me when I do some quirky family thing and the people around me laugh hysterically / look at me funny / back away from me slowly.
I haven't had too many other families, but how many 10-minute conversations do most people have with their moms about whether or not a squirrel could use his tail to slap a chipmunk? (My mom insisted that one could.)
There are some conversations, though, where I have to be a detective to involve myself in their conversations. I talked to them both yesterday while I was driving home from work and had the following conversation.
Dad: So we saved a day of fireflies today.
This statement could mean a few things, none of which makes any sense. There are fireflies out in Pittsburgh, so my instinct was that they had caught a day's worth of fireflies in a jar. Okay, maybe that's my weirdness coming through, but I enjoyed the mental image of my parents skipping through a field with a huge net.
Mom: You know, like that movie everyone likes?
Okay, so I figured out that they were talking about "saving" something on their DVR, but I'm still a little lost.
Mom: It was one of those things where they have it on all day.
Me: A marathon?
Mom: Yeah.
So much additional information, so not even remotely closer to understanding what's going on. The only logical thing I can think of is that some channel inexplicably showed some movie called "A Day of Fireflies" over and over again.
Dad: You know -- that movie "Serendipity"?
Me: Oh...yeah?
I do know the movie "Serendipity." From what I can recall, it was some sappy chick flick starring John Cusask. Can anyone see through my parents' insanity at this point to tell what they're actually talking about?
Mom: Come ON! The movie "Serendipity"? "The Fireflies"?
I finally discover that what they're ACTUALLY talking about is the critically acclaimed Joss Whedon series "Firefly," which spawned the movie "Serenity."
On one hand, it was so hilarious to hear them referencing a show that only the hippest hip kids know about, and on the other hand, it's sort of cool that they're hip enough to know about it. Sort of know about it.
Now, if only I can get them to watch "Buffy."
July 04, 2006
Jordan and her mom (my aunt, for those playing at home) surprised my mom and I by showing up at camp yesterday. I was especially surprised because I didn't have my glasses on and Jordan dyed her blond hair black, so when I saw her from afar, I was like, "Hey...you!" until I realized it was her, and we both hopped around in a circle like girls.
Unfortunately, she could only stay for about 12 hours, as she had to get back to work by Wednesday, so we had to cram in a whole lot of Funnenizing into a short time. So, naturally, I spent the evening showing Jordan the World of Warcraft.
Today, however, she took me up on my offer to take me clothes shopping, which I had suggested long ago as something that I knew I probably should do, but didn't actually want to do. Actually, that doesn't lend itself to hilarious analogies, so let's say it was a lot like surgically grafting real angel wings on my back. It was something I thought I would look better by doing, but knew that it would probably be expensive, a little painful, and would make me feel like everyone was looking at me funny.
We walked into a mall, and the first store we walked into was apparently The One. A ravenous salesgirl descended on us, which is kind of understandable, because we looked like the perfect mark -- One girl with a cute body and total sense of style, meaning she likes to buy, and one girl who has no sense of style whatsoever and who desperately needs EVERY PAIR OF JEANS IN THE STORE AND MAYBE SOME FROM A FEW OTHERS.
The salesgirl immediately started speaking an alien tongue to Jordan who picked it up and responded. I don't remember a whole lot from that point on because I was literally being ushered to a dressing room by the salesgirl who informed me that she would find me a pair of jeans that day. As the room spun around me, I recall muttering something to the effect of how I didn't want jeans, and that I liked my Target brand jeans just fine and I really just wanted some shirts that didn't say "Nintendo" on them.
The woman asked me what size pants I wore, and considering the last time I went pants shopping was in high school, I blurted out that I was a 10, which I know now is a hilarious, hilarious joke that I may use someday in my stand-up. I am apparently a smidge larger than I was in high school. If you're wondering how I found Target brand jeans to fit me, I simply told a worker, "muy grande," and they brought those over to me. So, anyway, like all stores, this place likes to translate actual sizes into imaginary numbers that coincide to their own store, so of course 10 really meant 30, 12 meant Q, and my size meant Eleventy-Five. The dressing rooms don't have mirrors, so I guess Jordan and the saleslady took my hilarious laughter of trying to get the jeans zipped up as "A Perfect Fit!" Then I would sheepishly waddle out to a mirror and they would inform me that skin-tight was way in this year. I would inform them that I was losing circulation in my legs, and could they possibly sew two pairs of jeans together to fit me?
I finally found a pair that I could breathe in and that looked like they had been stylishly ripped and urinated on, and luckily I have enough fashion sense to know that urine is the new acid wash, so I put them in the Buy pile. The pushy saleslady from Planet Zargoff was breaking out into a sweat trying to trolley shirts and shoes for me to try on, and I was sort of wondering when the part of shopping where I actually got to shop was. But I guess it made me feel like one of those trendy stores in Beverly Hills where the salespeople kiss your ass and then cover it with a cute little suede number, so I kept my mouth shut.
So I modeled for Jordan and Pushy Lady a bunch of stuff that I thought looked like lingerie, looked like something my grandmother donated to a thrift store, and looked like a t-shirt that had accidentally got caught in a misaligned glitter press, but I actually agreed on about 7 clothes items and a pair of stylin' flip flops.
I liked the shoes because they looked good with every outfit, but I didn't notice until a little later that the neat-looking slab-of-wood motif making up the flop part *was* indeed an actual slab of wood. Lesson for today: slabs of wood are not comfortable to walk on.
Lesson #2: I am glad I have health insurance, because I am going to break my ankle on a high-heeled slab of wood. Also: why does a person that's 5'7" *need* high heels, you ask? Apparently there wasn't enough embarrassment in my childhood of being taller than every guy in my grade. At least now I can do it with a fashionable slab of wood!
So, I am $200 poorer and I hope $200 more stylish. I was going to end by saying that I am sprucing up the rest of my wardrobe by urinating on it, but I thought that was really gross, so I won't say it.