Tales of Wit and Charm…

I have a friend who doesn’t have cable or Internet access at home. Can you imagine? I couldn’t, so I wanted to see if I could handle it. I couldn’t. At all.

Tuesday Night
7:30 Home from class.
7:32 Staring at my TV wondering what the red light on my Tivo is recording.
7:35 Still staring.
7:40 Going crazy wondering what DAMN SHOW I AM MISSING! Maybe grocery shopping will help.
8:20 Grocery shopping done. Cold cereal and cottage cheese put away. Now what?
8:24 A vodka tonic, that’s what!
8:26 Riding the elliptical.
8:36 Not riding the elliptical. Without TV to take my mind of exercising, I’m fully aware that I’m exercising. Uggg, boring.
8:45 OK, yoga. I like doing yoga.
9:00 SHIIIIITTT! I don’t like doing yoga on my own—can’t remember poses correctly. Need program from Tivo for proper workout.
9:02 I’ll catch up on some reading. I still need to finish the Obama book and there are three past New Yorkers I’ve not read yet, plus school reading. I suck.
9:03 Hmmm… What to read first. Listing pros and cons of starting with different readings.
9:08 Can’t decide. Maybe a vodka tonic will help.
9:10 Yup! Decided on magazine reading.
9:13 Phone call from hooker George. Talking super slow to take up more time. He’s Texan, he won’t notice.
9:27 Wondering if Twitter via phone counts. I really want to twitter how hard this is.
9:28 Really, it’s my phone not my computer, it shouldn’t count. Hmmm..
9:29 Should get back to reading, but my focus is gone. Way, way gone.
9:31 Putting moisturizer on my face for the fourth time tonight. If I break out I’m gonna blame my friend for putting this crazy idea into my head. He sucks.
9:32 Staring at face in the mirror watching to see if any zits surface. Consequently wondering if zits could appear that fast. Probably not.
9:34 Whew, nothing.
9:35 Damn my bathroom could use a good cleaning.
9:36 Remembering fondly the time I manipulated Ben into cleaning it for me. Hmm… Wonder when he’s back in town. I could possibly talk him into it. Wait, I have no idea when he’s back and I can’t check my email to find out.
9:37 Does phone email count? Compromising with Internet addicted self: outgoing mail is OK, past mail notsomuch.
9:40 Clock watching. How early can I go to bed without seeming pathetic.
9:45 Fuck this! I’m taking an Ambien and going to bed.

Last week a friend told me something very peculiar about his female roommate: she shaves her legs one day at a time. Yes, you read that correctly. To save time she shaves one leg, and then the next leg the following day. I was perplexed.

And admittedly, very curious.

So I tried it. I could see the appeal; I’m always late for work anyway, so less time in the shower sounded like a good idea at the time. But it so, so wasn’t.

I got to work and immediately lost my mind. I’m OCD about the weirdest things. And as it turns out, leg hair is one of those things. I need both legs to feel exactly the same, whether it’s stubby or smooth.

I canceled my lunch plans and headed straight home. I jumped in the tub, shaved one leg, and then the other. You know, for good measure–the last thing I wanted was to get back to work and be able to feel a four hour hair growth difference.

I vow to never attempt hippie grooming habits again, no matter how efficient they may be!

Letting Daisy out this morning I was stopped by two sweet looking old lakes. Except they weren’t sweet, they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, which is damn near devil status. My dog is absolutely worthless. She barks when people she knows come into the house, but outside when approached by strangers she is completely well behaved. Bitch!

She walked up to them and waited to be pet, because she is a worthless traitor dog. It was too late, I couldn’t get away at this point. Daisy was sniffing their giant old lady purses hoping to find one full of bacon treats.

Devil Woman: “We’d like to invite you to a event we’re holding tonight in honor of Jesus.”

Me: “No thanks, I’m not a big fan of Jesus.”

DW: “That’s OK. Come tonight and I guarantee you you’ll leave with a better understanding of our Lord, Jesus.”

Me: “No really, Jesus and I broke up years ago when I prayed for a sister and got a brother instead. Me and Jesus are soooo over.”

Silence.

Me: “And then there was the time I prayed to Jesus for a pony. Instead I got a stupid kitten, that I was allergic to.”

DW: “Here’s the flier, we hope to see you tonight.”

As the women walked away I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of Jesus expects single women to give up Saturday nights. I like the Mormon Jesus better; he only asks you give him Sunday afternoons.

Last night I carefully set out the four pairs of green shoes I own, so that I would have a variety of green to choose from this morning. And somehow I still managed to forget it was St. Patty’s day and wear my purple, polka-dot velvet shoes. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.

If there’s any one talent I hold it’s the ability to make a complete fool out of myself at any given moment. If that and sarcasm were an Olympic sport I would rock the gold. I’m completely self-taught. I only admit this because it reflects poorly on my mother when I fall down the same stairs on a weekly basis. She did teach me to walk. Though I am the one who felt the need to walk, talk, boss people around and text message all at the same time. No wonder I fall down a lot.

I’m used to looking like a fool. I’ve been doing it for quite some time–On my own, without any help from others.

So for example if we dated a few times and now work in the same building there is no need to make me look stupid, because chances are I’ve already done that on my own by walking down the hall with toilet paper stuck to my shoes. Twice. In one day.

Trust me, I’ve got the “looking like a buffoon” thing covered. So really there is no need to hang a column I may or may not have written about you for your co-workers to see, causing them to look at me with pity and loathing. Frankly, I’d much rather they dislike me because I accidentally shut the elevator doors on their foot, or knock them over when I trip on nothing in the hall way.

What I’m saying is I don’t need any help looking like an ass. Ever.

I detest public restrooms. The idea of communal germs completely freaks me out. My mother passed this fear down to me as a small child, producing an adult germ freak much like herself.

In addition to my germ phobia I have a wild imagination, so you can imagine my horror when I was faced with using this bathroom at a friend’s office. Needless to say I didn’t. I would have peed my pants before letting creepy heads watch me taking care of business.