What I’m listening to: “Another Song/All over again” by Justin Timberlake on repeat.
Why? because it makes me feel mushy and it feels like he’s singing to me on behalf of all the idiot men that owe me a ,”Lynne, you were right… you were everything…I’m an idiot.” Not that I want any of them back. I just want them to admit that they were idiots.
The New Guy better not be an idiot. Not that he’s shown any symptoms yet. But today he flew to Hawaii to burn vacation days with an old frat brother. Doesn’t that just sound like trouble??? Not neccessarily, I suppose, but being the girl I am, doped up on all those pms hormones, it sounds like trouble.
I’m just hoping he’s on an island full of fat chicks. The last few friends that have returned from Hawaii have commented to me, “Everyone looks like Lynne…but FATTER.” Maybe it’ll make me look slimmer when he gets back. But with my luck, the beach he’s hanging out on will be covered with scantilly-clad, gorgeous women that look like me in complexion, but way more gorgeous than I’ll ever be, and then I’ll just be a disappointment when he gets back. Especially because I’ll be bundled up like an Eskimo in my coat and scarf and hat and gloves, and the only skin visible on me is between the tip of my nose and my eyebrows.
Its hard to look sexy in the winter. I see some girls do it, and between the low-cut sweaters and high-heeled boots, I am given yet another reason to scorn my cold, windy walk home or to the bus stop. Cute outfits are just not MARTA appropriate. MARTA = Metro Atlanta Regional Transit. First of all, walking in Atlanta requires flat shoes, if not sneakers. Secondly, the wind tunnel known as Peachtree Street does not play friendly with skirts. Third, cute outfits leave you vulnerable to being hit on at the Marta station, multiple times. Not that everyone on Marta is creepy. There are decent, hard-working people who ride Marta, as I am one of them. Its just not always convenient, being hit on at the end of a long day, or first thing in the morning on the way to work.
Its kind of a relief to be so bundled up that you feel like a warm marshmallow and appear 20 pounds fatter. People don’t hit on you. You don’t have to respond politely to men who are too old, too young, too ugly, too ‘hood, or too espanol. This week, a 17 year old young black man asked me if I had a boyfriend. After verifying his age, I asked him how old he thought I was, and he was sorely disappointed that I was 25 and a half. Yes, I count the “half.”
Today is Leah’s birthday. She is 21 for the fourth time, as she says it. I was an idiot and called her a day early to wish her happy birthday. I’m an idiot. So I marked my 2008 calendar and found out her birthday falls on a Saturday. Lucky Dog.
December is just around the corner. Time is flying, and I have 3 weeks until xmas vacation. I am supposed to be done with my applications and portfolio by then. Yuck. I still haven’t started. I’ve been busy at work, busy working out, busy trying to get my identity safe from a potential thief. Its been fairly productive.
Its not like I’ve been hanging out 24/7 with the New Guy. He’s too busy to hang out most of the time. Between his trip to Hawaii and my multiple trips to Florida, we’ll share only a single day on which neither of us is working this month of December. Just one day. It makes me sad to think about how we barely get to spend time together, and when we do, we’re both so tired and worn out from the day. We’re both wanting and trying to make it work, but December is going to be a challenge…..