So there's this guy...

(It always starts the same way, doesn't it?)

He and I have history... a couple years of it, in fact. Which is a rarity among my dating time line: I tend to have brief, one-to-two month flings that turn into blips on the radar, funny stories to be recounted at another time (i.e. the guy who talked to his stuffed frog, the one who thought he was 21st century Oscar Wilde, etc.)

So after college graduation, and our penultimate argument, this guy went to work in Europe. Last time we saw each other was in April, when he and I met up in France, went to London, before I left for Barcelona on my own.

And now, he's back. Same continent, same country even. To put an even finer point on it, he and I are currently in the same state and tomorrow will be in the same area code.

cue Ludacris ... sorry just had to.

Anyway, I sent him a message on gchat yesterday saying welcome to NY, and if you're around or interested, I'll be in the city Wednesday morning and afternoon. I know he got the first part, because he responded to that directly, but then my computer froze.

Did he get the message? Does he know I'll be all of 10 minutes away? And, if he does, does he even care, does it matter? Do I remind him again? Ask if we're getting coffee? WTF?

I am unusually insecure about this, and worried about looking desperate. I'm not desperate. Just curious. Wondering if he'll take the bait.

What would NPH do? Hmmm...

PS Thanks to all my cyber-supporters; you guys (and your blogs) rock!

Don't hate the player...

I think I speak for a lot of other bloggers when I say, "what's up with the haters?"

Seriously, if you don't like me and/or my blog, why waste any of your seemingly precious time commenting on my views and making fun of others? You have nothing better to do? Sad.

Didn't your mother teach you well?

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Or at least say it with wit.

Otherwise, go fug yourself. I'm probably hotter than you anyway.

Tagged: Seven Random Things About Brett

From Allergic Girl - thanks for the tag!

Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share seven random and/or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag seven people at the end of your post and include links to their blog.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

So, without further adieu, seven weird/random things about me:

1. I can only eat organic apples and pears. Otherwise my teeth and throat start itching.

2. I can't stand Woody Allen. He may be the most annoying person to have ever lived (or made a movie). Somehow I was able to get through Annie Hall. Though I did want to kill him.

3. I find cooking, particularly grilling, very relaxing.

4. I couldn't tell you the last day I went without a glass of wine.

5. I used to highlight my hair blonde, a la Britney Spears in Slave 4 U. Can you see it?

6. My eyes are actually dark green, if you look very close. I swear!

7. I'm not a klutz- reflexes of a cat- but I'm always bumping into things.

Here's who I'm tagging:
Jamie at Farm Fresh Meat
Capitol Hill
I-66
Kalyn at Kalyn's Kitchen
Food Rockz Man

You're it!

The Lady Sans Lunch

My friend emailed me the other day to inquire how I was enjoying the life of leisure, now that I've been paid out through my official resignation date. Was I lying in the sun with margaritas, flipping through Vogue and mentally cataloging the new looks for Spring?

To which I replied: The life of leisure? More like the life of terror.

I am a type A, which means that I don't do well with idle hands. Sleeping late for me is 8; really sleeping in ends at 11. Throw in a cold, terrible allergies and a bruised tail bone (I literally fell on my ass last Saturday night), and you've got a recipe for cabin fever. I couldn't bend down, let alone exercise, and besides could barely focus on anything thanks to the combo of antihistamines and Tylenol AM.

It was beautiful out, so to pass time I walked two miles plus to and from the doctor, the pharmacy, the farmer's market, really anywhere I could. Luckily I had plans Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings, otherwise I'd probably still be walking and sniffling in the 80 degree sun.

But now the weather's turned nasty, it's Monday, and everyone's back at work. Who am I supposed to talk to, interact with? I'm either applying for jobs or surfing the net. I've already reorganized my closet- twice. (Space Bags are ingenious, btw.) I saw a movie by myself yesterday. Which is fine, but certain comedies beg a companion to laugh with.

I have the odd interview here and there; the fact that I have so much time to think about my lack of prospects is only feeding the anxiety. And thanks to my drunken clumsiness, I still can't work out to release the stress.

I always secretly longed to be a lady who lunches, gossiping over the latest school board scandal and toasting to the sans souci lifestyle with a glass of champagne at the Ritz. But this bitch's got ambition... she just needs somewhere to put it.

Two Week (Paid) Vacation

Today I walked into Boss lady's office for our 3pm department meeting. In our coordinator's chair was the head of HR.

I was informed by le pumpkin head that since we had completed the Awards dinner, there was no reason for me to "be taking up space" any longer. I would be paid out until May 2, my official resignation date.

No "thank you for all of your hard work" or "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

More like, sorry, you're now shut out of your email and could you pack up your stuff and go?

It was a bit of a slap in the face, sure, but truly a blessing in disguise. Now I have entire days to sleep in, work out, drink margaritas in the sun and relish in the fact that as a smart, young, ambitious woman, I have a feeling good things are coming my way.

And all that's coming her way is her continued anxious existence, her e-Harmony matched husband, and the inevitable bite in her Caché-clad ass we like to call karma.

I hear it's beautiful this time of year

Introductions at party, Saturday night

Me: Are you from Spain?

Foreign woman: Clau-dia.

Chuck You

Last night I did it.

I dumped the scale.

I got home, looked at its fugly self taking up needed space on my bathroom floor and decided our love affair was decidedly over. It was bound to happen, and in truth was long overdue. Did I really need to let numbers dictate my life? I was pissed. I stepped on it one last time. And then I stomped on it. Kicked it, hard. "Fuck you. You've ruled my life for too long. I'm fucking done with this piece of shit."

I picked it up, marched to the trash room, and listened to the satisfying clangs of it banging down the chute.

I wiped my hands together and toasted liberation with a glass of wine on the roof. It was a beautiful night.

Low like Flo (Rida)*

I did something stupid this morning.

After an evening of some wine, a martini, and a (shared) lavendar margarita- which I ordered specifically so that I could nibble on the heavenly lavendar salt around the rim- followed by a nutritiously sound dinner of red peppers, chocolate pudding and Fiber One, I decided to weigh myself.

I gave up on the daily scale routine last year, but not without much coaching and pleading from my therapist. I have now picked one day a week to subject myself to the mental torture that is my Tanita See Your Body Better™ Dual Memory Body Fat/Water Scale.

See your body better? More like see your state of mind crumble thanks to the weight you've gained and the blob you have become seemingly overnight.

See your body better? I'd probably see me and my body a whole lot better without a number flashing in my head each time I look in the mirror, or at food, and not waste my day sitting here feeling like I'm a failure and I've let myself go.

Sure I know it's probably water weight from the alcohol, the excess amount of fiber and those (delicious) nibbles of salt. I can rationalize it down to that. I just need to make myself believe it.


*Just noticed his name is a homynym for Florida state. Heh.