Isn’t it funny how hearing a song can bring back memories? Just recently, I was listening to a song (by the Goo Goo Dolls, for pete’s sake) and one line jumped out at me. My stomach flip-flopped, and I remembered that someone no longer in my life said the same words to me: Take what you need. Afterwards, I could only laugh at my visceral reaction to the song.
Anyway. My point is that today I heard a God-awful, sappy song and it instantly took me back nearly 20 years. Remember “Somewhere Out There” by James Ingram and Linda Ronstadt? Of course I was reminded of a boy. His name was Jason, just like every third boy back then. Our last names were close alphabetically, and we were in the same homeroom in seventh grade. We also had science together that year and maybe a few other classes. He was sooo cute and he liked me, too. He’d take my books, my pencils, all that annoying shit that 12 and 13 year old boys do.
I wasn’t the type of girl that “went” with boys, most likely because I didn’t get asked. But Jason and I talked all the time and, from what I remember, our science teacher separated our seats more than once, but we’d just talk across the room.
Once we got to high school, he started smoking and hanging out with the “burnouts,” as we called them back then, while I was off doing newspaper and debate-related things. I don’t remember ever really seeing him. My neighbor was a year younger and also ran with the burnouts. He came over one day after school, dying to tell me that Jason had asked about me. My neighbor was baffled, wondering how Jason and I knew each other, as I was totally a goody two shoes. My neighbor, under the guise of being helpful — but he was in the middle of one of his crushes on me, as we both kinda liked each other for years — told Jason, “Monique would never be interested in a guy like you!”
Alas. I’d like to say the neighbor wasn’t right, but he was. I was 15 or 16, I was snobby and too concerned with what everyone else thought.
But back to the song. At first I couldn’t remember why that horrid song reminded me so strongly of Jason. Then I remembered that we danced together to that song at a 7th grade dance. He was tall. It was nice. I’m sure I was terribly giddy and embarrassed. It’s nice to have a memory of an adolescent crush that is still sweet and fresh.
In a fit of creativity/energy yesterday, I decided to move some furniture around. I’m still not thrilled with it. Well that’s only because I want a much larger TV. I had been using a coffee table as a TV stand because once I got my large, sectional couch, the table no longer fit. I like the piece, but it just doesn’t work for me right now. I moved the TV on top of the matching end table, which actually doesn’t look too bad next to my (as yet) minimally used desk. I still have to find a new spot for the sunflower painting, which was done by a family friend (I collect sunflowers).
Before:
After:
If you look closely, you can see I have not one, but two, rows of smutty romance books on the bookshelf.
So, a strange man tried to get into my apartment tonight.
Oh yeah, big fun.
I have a second-floor apartment with a front door on the first floor. My doorbell rang and as I was walking downstairs, I heard and saw my lock turning. WTF. I opened the door and said, “May I help you?” in most Miss Monique voice. He asked if I was so-and-so. I wasn’t. Then he took off! He was an older guy, in his 60s. Not at all who I expected to bust on in.
So I called the apartments, but they already had closed. So I called the police. Then I called maintenance. The cop just stopped by, and is back out in his car, waiting on the maintenance guy to show up so he can talk to him. My concern — and the cop’s — was that a master key is missing. Hopefully that’s not the case.
Soon I’ll have a new lock, but I’m sure I’ll still be jacked up tonight. When shit like this happens, I really don’t like living alone …
But wait, there’s more …
Young (and cute) Office Friendly stuck around (in his car, alas) until the maintenance guy came by with a new lock. The super-creeptastic part, as Office Friendly eagerly conveyed to me, is that my apartment complex doesn’t use master locks. The maintenance guys have to get the specific key, which is coded — i.e. the key to my unit does not say “Miss Monique’s Abode” on it. So everyone was all freaked out. But now I have new locks. And a glass of wine.
In other news, my massage was super fab. It was a bit chilly in the room — and I was in a communal room, although back in a dark corner — so I was cold when I wasn’t covered up, but the girl did a great job. I like firm pressure and that was her style. All for $35 — and no tips accepted! Score. I will definitely make that a regular part of my “maintenance.”
I also went to the car wash and Super Tar-Jay, and ended up moving a whole bunch of furniture around in my apartment. I still need a home for the second litterbox. The mysterious, missing “brush brush” still hasn’t turned up. I guess I’ll have to buy a new one tomorrow. Yay, PetSmart on a Saturday. Good times lol.
I love a vacation day taken for no apparent reason. Tomorrow morning I’m meeting a friend at Starbucks, then heading over to the local college de beaute for a massage. Ah. Believe it or not, I have never had a massage. I’ve always been too self-conscious. I figure for the price — $35 — I can get over myself.
I’ve been hit by a wave of nostalgia as of late. Usually when I feel like this, I’m also down in the dumps, but not so this time. It’s actually a bit confusing.
My new phone is so thin that I can’t tell when it’s vibrating — so I was surprised when I had a missed call while I was at the grocery store.
I was sitting in traffic, listening to the message, my hand over my mouth in shock.
It was my ex-therapist. AGAIN. (Read the awkward last conversation here.)
Oh my God. She left me this long-ass message, like two minutes, the gist of it being that if I don’t want to continue on with therapy — uh, no thanks — that she’s really like the opportunity to sit down with me one last time, blah blah blah.
I can see her point. But it’s really not worth my $40 co-pay to rehash my personal growth.
Gah.
I got Reggie all excited by saying, “Brush brush!” which is what I call his — wait for it — brush.
But I can’t find it!
He probably dragged it somewhere. But he looked at me all pathetic and sad. He does like his brush brush.
Look at the poor despondent punkin’:
I worked out tonight. For the first time in … I don’t want to say how long. I was trucking along, six days a week, until the dread tonsillitis struck (quit snickering, it sucked) and my doctor forbade me to do anything strenuous until I had been off my antibiotics for a week. Ok, that was like 3 weeks ago.
So. My plan was to get up at 6 a.m., do an exercise DVD and slowly ease back into the 5 a.m. wake-up calls my morning workouts require.
Yeah. Not so much.
About 20 snooze-slaps later, it was after 7 by the time I got out of bed. I am a lazy biatch. But I am tired of hitting the afternoon slump and my Starbucks habit is getting a bit pricey. After work, I did an exercise DVD that I used to be able to do easily. Fuckin’ A, it kicked my ass. The thought of getting back to my a.m. 3-4 mile walk makes me want to weep. And eat ice cream.
If you have a blog, you probably spend too much time online — so why not spend more????
Come on over to the forums at Did I Say That – all the cool kids are doing it! Right now we have 113 registered users and over 34,000 posts.
I currently have Big Pimpin’ status and am well on my way to being a Super Slut. Jealous? You know you are.
- Hearing “Don’t forget me when I’m gone” by Glass Tiger on my drive home from work. The memories, the music, the backing vocals by Bryan Adams …
- Deciding to take Friday off for no reason at all.
- Finding out that the Tide pen stain remover actually will remove coffee from my white shirt.
- Wondering what I should do for my birthday, then finding out my peeps already were planning a little par-tay for me.
- The bordering-on-obscene banner NYC Watchdog made for me after my hissy fit.
I went to an open house today, hosted by friend/realtor in waiting (for when I finally decide a. where I want to live and b. how much I can afford to spend). It was a fab condo, 2,700 sq ft, priced at over $300,000. Neighborhood is a bit dicey, but all right. Her words of wisdom? “We need to get you into a place like this. Except smaller. And a hell of a lot cheaper.”
Sigh.
Anyone wanna buy me a condo? I can smile pretty. And I have big boobs. I’ll be your trophy blogger …. Wink.
