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You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for the ‘tellin secrets’ Category


Thursday, May 22nd, 2014

I ordered some pants from J Crew recently. (I cannot say enough good things about the Campbell capris, if you like pants that show your ankles. I love pants that show my ankles, they make me feel like Audrey Hepburn. I am not the first person to say that, I’m completely sure.)

Aside: I wear a lot of J Crew. I just checked my spreadsheet and the last work day that I was NOT wearing anything from J Crew was May 7th. The last work day that EVERYTHING I wore was from J Crew was May 1st. J Crew neither knows nor cares about this.

Aside aside: Yeah, I track my clothes on a google doc. I have a tab that has my whole wardrobe along with the date purchased, the suggested price, and how much I actually paid (almost exclusively less than the suggested price, whatup yo). The tracking tab references the wardrobe tab, so the wardrobe tab also has a price per wear column. It’s a serious problem. I only use it for stuff I wear to work, because my nighttime clothes are basically one pair of jeans and ten dollar tee shirts.

So these pants I ordered have a seam that’s unraveling, and due to a recent debacle in the changing room of my local J Crew (nothing to see here, move along folks) I don’t want to return them in store. I’m mailing them back tomorrow. (Yes, it was a debacle worth the $5.95 they’re going to charge me in return shipping. Still not talking about it.) I found an appropriately sized box, wrapped the pants up, and then went looking for a pen to fill out the return form.

I have no pens. Or pencils.

The only writing utensils I have anywhere in my apartment are a relatively sharp green crayon and a flat topped blue crayon.

That is not an adult way of life.

I have shame.

it’s an early to mid thirties party up in here

Sunday, May 18th, 2014

I am 33  years and four months old, and I just started a new job, broke up with my boyfriend*, and moved into a one bedroom apartment with my two dogs.

That reads like the beginning of a novel with high heels and a bouquet on the front, doesn’t it? ‘Emma thought she had it all together, and then everything changed in the blink of any eye. Can Dumbface, the guy who is probably from work that she probably thinks she hates because that’s how these things go, make her world whole again?’

You know what makes my world whole?

Repeated watchings of Melissa McCarthy movies (especially Heat, can that movie get some more love like RIGHT NOW??? I made my mom and brother watch it and I’m pretty sure they weren’t just laughing because I was threatening violence if they didn’t). Also Bachelorette which I am slowly coming to believe is better than Bridesmaids. Also, Heathers. Because if you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.

(Ok, yes, there are other things. Dogs, friends both new and old, family, etc. But Mel and the Sands (that’s what Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock will like me to call them when we all start hanging out), that girl from Party Down who’s name I can’t currently be bothered to google, and old, crazy-ass Christian Bale are pretty solid.)

*I’m worried this sounds sad. It isn’t. Crockett and I are hanging out, all is well with the universe, I LOVE my new job so much that people are getting tired of hearing about it.

** The chicas say hi all. This was Easter, mom and dad were over, and I think I was doing math because I LOVE MY NEW JOB.

***There very definitely is no Dumbface at work.


Monday, March 11th, 2013

Today my dear friend Star is losing her very very good dog. It makes me sad for her, and sad for him – I hope that he’ll feel better, though, because he’s having a hard time. It also makes me very sad for Clo. I miss her a lot, and I wish Star didn’t have to go through the same thing.

That is all.

more of the same

Thursday, February 2nd, 2012

Is it possible to cure writers block by writing something that isn’t what you started out trying to write? (Even if that thing that you write is a run on sentence that requires several seconds to parse.)

I am writing words now, so technically, yes, it does seem to be true, but the true test will come momentarily when I return to the thing I actually need to be writing.

The thing that I need to be writing has the potential to be sort of a big deal (to me) and I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet, but it’s taking up all of my time.

Oh, also? I applied for a professor job at a community college today. That I am willing to talk about, but I find myself with very little to say. I filled out an application, wrote a page about why I’d be good at the job, a page about my teaching philosophy, and then submitted the whole shebang along with my resume and transcript. It was very exciting – but it’s possible that I’m letting Community cloud my judgement. Anyway, even if Jeff Winger doesn’t show up, I think it’s a job I would both enjoy and perform well.

That is if psychic detective is completely off the table.

P.S. Our toilet is bound and determined to run, and it’s going to drive me fucking insane. In my townhouse the toilet ran but a) you could fix it by jiggling the handle and b) I always blamed it on the ghost that lived there with me, so it never really affected my life. This? This is either my fault, Crockett’s fault, or no one’s fault, and when one is faced with a running toilet, one does not simply blame no one. And the handle jiggle is completely useless. It’s very irritating.


Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

When things are going badly for me (as they are right now in school), I have dreams about going to Europe.

Not daydreams of walking through Parisian streets – actual dreams in which I’m part of some group that has a trip planned.

In these dreams, I never even make it on the plane, much less all the way to Europe.

In last night’s version, I packed a bag but forgot pants, and then followed a GPS thing to the airport and ended up in Colorado Springs – more than 100 miles from DIA.

Sometimes I arrive at the airport and can’t find a place to park. Sometimes the airport is a maze.

Sometimes, I have an out of body experience where I watch everyone else milling around the gate, getting on the plane (which is always luxurious), and generally not caring where I am.

I can’t imagine what these dreams might mean.

Maybe I should just go to Paris.