I used to love book reports. Oh, how I loved book reports. I was a fast reader and a good writer, so I could crank out the reports like nobody’s business. In first grade, I ran through the year’s reading program twice as quickly as I was “supposed” to, so my teacher assigned me a daily book report. I loved it. I only got worse from there. Of course, back then, it wasn’t cool to be smart so I did what I could to hide it. In fact, even today it embarasses me when someone points out that I’m smart. I went out with one guy and on maybe the third date, he told me he could already tell I was one of the smartest people he had known. I just said “thanks” and let it go. I mean, I can play Trivial Pursuit like nobody’s business but there are plenty of people who know more than me, or are more ambitious, or just get more done. I ain’t no genius, that’s fo sho.
But on to my original point, the book report. Sometime around last Valentine’s Day, a friend sent me a link to this website, Quirkyalone. The suggestion to read it went over like a ton of bricks, as I had been dumped about two weeks prior and was in the throes of a sinus infection brought on by a week of not taking very good care of myself. (I still laugh at my friend Debby forcing me — me! — to eat Dairy Queen because I had eaten roughly one meal in three days. Ha! That’s an image for the ages.)
I somehow stumbled across this book at the library the other day after I paid my embarassingly gargantuan fine of $18.50. I’ve skimmed through it, but I can think of at least a few people who read this blog who would like this book. I like that you can be quirkyalone or quirkytogether, because Lord knows, I do not want to spend the rest of my life with my cats as my only companions. I have aspirations to be a quirkyslut, but that seems like it would take a lot of work. Anyway, the point of the book is basically to be true to yourself, don’t feel bad if you aren’t in a relationship, and it’s ok if you are in a relationship and don’t want to lose yourself in it. Not surprisingly, that was my biggest fear when I got married — losing my identity.
“quirkyalone” by Sasha Cagen — which is funny, because my little brother, who isn’t so little as he turns 25 today, used to call me Sasha when he was 2 or 3. It may be difficult to believe, but I was a pretty mean older sister. I’m nearly seven years older than him, so (a) I was used to being princess of the house when he came along and (b) he was annoying. I had to babysit him from the time he was 3 FOR NO PAY and let him follow me EVERYWHERE. The twirp used to hide a walkie-talkie under my bed so he could listen in on my illicit phone conversations with boys (I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16). But he’s turned into a good guy.
I watched a football game tonight because I wanted to. Repeat: I wanted to. Not just because it was on, or because the man o’ the house, were he to exist, wanted to watch it. No. Me me me me me me.
Spartans. Notre Dame.
For so long, it was so good.
Then my Spartans fucking fell apart.
Sadly, chanting, “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” during one Notre Dame touchdown run didn’t take any of the sting away.
In the end, I watched football for 3 1/2 hours, only to see Notre Dame win by 3.
That’s why I don’t like sports. I can’t handle the heartbreak. Each game turns into a second-season episode of ER. Although I was too pissed to end up in tears tonight.
Fret not, there will be no Saturday afternoon dancing here. Nobody wants that. I’m the girl who was confounded by a metronome during my piano-lesson years. But I bet there’s a whole lot of rhythm over here.
BE, shockingly, won’t load my rental stats. I think today’s the last day of the campaign, but I’m not sure. So my post title may or may not make sense. And I can’t berate you for not looking at my renter’s site, so I’ll assume that you haven’t. GO VISIT! It’s the polite thing to do. Don’t make me talk again about how much more polite Canadians are than Americans. One thing that always surprised me about Canada were the small differences. Like, diet Pepsi tastes different there. And they drink at 8 a.m. Nah, that’s just a joke. Although they may.
I broke down and bought a Panasonic DVD Recorder from Amazon. I think I almost know how to operate it.
Take care.
Love Dad
What, like he is the last on his block? God, I want to be retired, where my only concern is which fucking DVD RECORDER to buy.
I gave a good game,
Second interview Oct. 3.
Now I have to prep. : (
A party tonight.
I think the girl of the hour
Was flirting with me!
Today was my first interview for the internal position I applied for in my department several weeks ago. The other candidates will have a phone interview, but I had the luxury of an in-person meeting … with my boss and two of the co-workers I work closest with. It was kind of awkward, but I did my best to hit on all of the important points, despite being more casual than I normally would be, if I hadn’t worked with these people every day for 2 to 3 years. I asked my boss to list her ideal skill set for this position and aside from having actual industry experience, I fit all of her qualifications, and told her so and told her how. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more comfortable tooting my own horn, so to speak. If I move on to the next round, the interviews will be the week after next …
On to the asshat … I mentioned the other day that this guy I went out with 3 or 4 times in Jan. 2005 e-mailed me over the weekend. Things fizzled out, and on his end, it ended up being because he was seeing someone else, decided to become exclusive and didn’t know how to tell me. What-evah. That point aside, I wasn’t too irked because, hell, it was two years ago. At my mother’s urging — and hell, what good ever comes of listening to my mother — I e-mailed him back. He replied today.
Now, mind you, I got the impression he was looking for a hook-up. I didn’t put out then and I had no intention of doing so now. But I am a hell of a charming dinner companion and shoot, a free dinner is a free dinner. And honestly, I didn’t remember much about him. Anyways. In my e-mail to him, I said, “So I guess things with that other girl didn’t work out, huh?” It seemed cute at the time, ok?
Ok. Here’s the first part of his e-mail.
“I am still dating her actually. Lately I have been really close to ending it so I have been keeping my options open. Don’t get me wrong I am not one to date around or cheat behind someone’s back but if it gets to the point I want to date someone else I would definitely let her know. I figure talking to others is ok.”
I have been keeping my options open? You don’t “keep your options open” after dating someone for that length of time. You fix the relationship or you break up. Oh my god. I have no idea what he remembers about me that makes him think I’d be down with this. And “talking to others is ok”? I don’t think the ladyfriend would appreciate him going through his e-mail address book to find old “friends.”
And this totally creeped me out — he asked if I still lived in the same apartment complex! Ummmm yeah. We’ll just act like this never happened and I never got any of his e-mails and maybe he’ll just go away ….
I bet I could find a pithy response somewhere on the web … at my renter’s, perhaps? Do pay him a visit. He’s Canadian. They are a very polite people, as a rule. When I was in Toronto years ago, I was lost — and a man in a shop gave me directions. Accurate, safe directions. More than 10 years later, I’m still marvelling at the experience. And wondering why Molson taste better up north.
Today I was perusing the internal job postings on my company’s intranet, and came across a posting for a trainer in another division. It sounded interesting and I read through the listing. Eh, I could do this, I thought — and then. And then. AND THEN I saw who the position reported to:
My fucking ex-husband.
Yeah, HR probably wouldn’t let that one fly.
One co-worker commented that he’d probably interview me, just to see me, and that I most likely still could walk all over him.
Another co-worker thought that the “history” between the ex and I would provide amusement for a whole new audience in that division.
I thought about submitting my resume just to be a jackass. Our last names aren’t the same anymore, so the recruiter wouldn’t know right off the bat that I was being a jackass. Ha, I still might, if I’m feeling saucy this week …
In other news, I have a preliminary interview tomorrow at 1 p.m. with my boss and my two co-workers for another position in my department. My boss encouraged me to apply, and my co-workers are all for it, so hopefully this interview will be more conversational and less awkward. On one hand, I can’t bullshit, like I could with someone who didn’t know me, but on the other, I know all three think I would be a good fit for the position, although I’m not a perfect perfect candidate …
I’m minding my own beeswax, reading my latest Blender magazine, when I stumble across the most horrifying information ev-ah …
It can’t be true.
Apparently — allegedly! — my beloved Paul Westerberg, lead singer of the Replacements, has contributed a number of songs to … the soundtrack of … a children’s film.
What. the. fuck.
You think I’m overreacting? Here’s a song title for ya: “Right to arm bears.” Yeah, read it again. Oh, so clever. GAH.
I repeat: What. the. fuck.
Ok, I realize parents my age don’t want to realize how we’re all unhip and shit, but come on. We are. I’m almost 32. I admit it. I realize the tragedy that is putting “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” by the Clash in a movie trailer for children, just to appease their parents.
Christ. I need a drink.
Read about the horror here.
Which reminds me. Be a punkin’ and visit my renter, ‘k? Tnx.
SlightlyDrunk could have described me last night after two chocolate decadence martinis, but I’m really talking about my new renter …
I used to read this site all of the time, but somehow lost the link between switching between bloglines and blogrolling and excuses excuses excuses … I was pleased as punch that he bid on my site! There’s a post about places in Newfoundland that are well, basically pornographic sounding, as well as his sister’s plot to extort $3750 from him in order to send their parents to Europe for a month for their 53rd anniversary. He, on the other hand, insists that anniversaries start over after 50 yrs and the gift, in fact, should be leather … Much funnier than I can make it sound!
Visit SlightlyDrunk today!
Inspirational, no?
“I’m gonna make like a nail and press on” was part of the big ending song of the delightful play I saw last night, “The Great American Trailer Park Musical.”
We were a little disappointed in the crowd, as it was more mainstream than usual at this theater, but the play was a peach. I laughed, I cried (from laughing so much) and I was only a teensy bit antsy to sit still for so long.
Beforehand, we had drinks at a favorite restaurant … obviously the last time I was there, I wasn’t buying, as the chocolate decadence martinis (with a hint of raspberry) are a whopping $9.75 each. But what the fuck, I had two. Add in my appetizer of calamari and poof! $37 down the drain, including tip. Owing to our advanced ages (nearly 32 and 36), my companion and I were pooped after the show and the thought of going out to da clubs made my head hurt more than the ragweed in the air. (Wow, if that’s not a candidate for that “worst opening sentence” contest, I don’t know what is.) Anyways. I even had on a delightful new dress which my companion described to another friend, over the phone as, “It’s really nice, actually.” The “actually” earned him a punch in the arm. He blamed it on his two Hypnotiq passion martinis lol.
Oh. I thought of one more person to add to the “alumni week” post from yesterday: As I was waiting at the light nearest my apartment complex, I looked in my rearview mirror and two cars behind me, in a big ol’ red pick-up truck, was, I believe, the young then-virgin Republican I went on two dates about this time last year. He was barely 24 or 25 at the time. His date seemed much more age-appropriate than I … probably a good 10 years younger than me. He was a good date for the story I got out of it — liberal Democrat divorcee dates conservative Republican virgin/squirrel hunter — but that was about it.
