Maddie and I went to see “Sex and the City” for a second time over the weekend at Brewvies. Of course we stopped by the sex store afterward. Of course we picked up a present for Rlo. Of course I forgot to take said present out of my bag. And finally, of course, I pulled it out of my bag in the middle of math class while rooting around for a pencil.
Luckily it was just this:
But still, slightly embarrassing.
I drove to the country for the day to help celebrate my grandpa’s 80th birthday. Of course, I had to drive by my old stomping grounds. I saw this and couldn’t help but laugh. I wonder how much the prom dates are being sold for. I’d love to get Arlo one for his birthday.
I’m in a bad mood today. While I don’t have one specific reason, I have dozens that would suffice. Though for the sake of your sanity, I’ll list the top four.
Winter: I’m so over it! I’m sick of being cold; I’m tired of wet shoes and pants; I’m annoyed there is no decent parking because of snow drifts the size of my car.
Construction: The office suite next to mine has been in a state of construction for what feels like an eternity. It’s loud; It’s distracting; It’s dirty; It’s loud; I can’t walk down the hall without having someone in my way and also being in their way; Oh, and it’s LOUD!
Burns: I have a burn on my hand from attempting to make bread pudding. DISASTER! This was over a week ago and the burn is only getting worse. And yes, I’m applying Neosporin ALL THE TIME, but it’s still getting worse. I suspect I contracted a flesh eating disease from either a) the construction disaster or b) God.
Math class: Really, do I need to explain this? The fact I can’t log into the class because I own a Mac computer. How can an institution of higher education not have a system in place for both a Mac and PC. Totally and completely fucking retarded. I can say fuck, I’m in a bad mood. In fact, I can yell it loudly, but you wouldn’t hear me because of the construction.
And yes, Mom, I know you raised me better, but frankly fuck being raised better.
Working full-time, going to school full-time and making time to watch Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood doesn’t leave me with a whole lot of free time. Fitting in daily tasks such as grocery shopping, sleeping and working out has been a challenge.
Yesterday, while lunching with a co-worker, we decided to try and fit in a liquor store run. The weekend is nearly upon us and I was completely out of wine. Unacceptable. The trip was a complete success; my favorite Shiraz was on sale. Getting into his car to head back to work I heard my mother’s nagging “Buckle-up, Sarah, safety first.” So I did.
A couple of blocks from the office a SUV next to us forgot to check lanes before moving over. (Is it really that difficult?) The vehicle nearly hit us and it was that moment I realized I’d buckled the wrong seat belt.
I am not a morning person. This is a well-known fact among my friends and previous bosses. I cannot function properly until after ten. This sucks for any of the clients I do work for, but…
I’ve tried everything: going to bed earlier, tripling my morning dose of coffee, massive does of morning meth and still nothing works.
Over the past year I’ve started turning into my mother by forgetting things right and left. Mornings are by far the worst time for remembering any details. I’m not talking about complicated details, just the basic essential items…like getting dressed. I’ve left the house and headed to the office in slippers multiple times in the last few months. Luckily it’s been cold so I’ve remembered pants–no one wants a frozen hiney.
As I’ve mentioned here and here, I’ve started leaving myself reminder notes on my front door to ensure some things aren’t forgotten. Today’s is by far the worst of the bunch:
If I have to remind myself why I’m leaving the house it might be time to admit defeat and just stay home.
I had a math test last night. In a frantic rush to get out the door I didn’t take the time to look for my cute Hello Kitty pencil Mrs. Ak brought me from Japan, instead just grabbed the first pencil in my junk drawer. I tossed it and a calculator into my bag and was off.
It wasn’t until half way through the test when I needed to erase something that I noticed the penis pencil topper. I’m not in the habit of adding extra male anatomy to already semi-phallic items–this was all Quinn-diesel’s doing. Last year when he spruced my my pen and pencil jar I laughed and shoved in in a drawer, forgetting about it until today.
As silly as I felt I still scored my highest thus far. Now the debate begins: do I take my good luck pencil back next week, or pass the good luck on and stash it in a co-workers office?
