LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re dealing with relationship issues with a new determination — you might force your mate or kids to sit down and hear you out, or you might seek out a new partner through new means.
Laura’s Log:
So I’m suddenly single again and everyone else is coupled up. Well, not everyone. Mom couldn’t help herself, throwing out recommendations at brunch yesterday. It’s her view that the best way to get over a guy is to find another guy with due speed. Good thing Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts; otherwise, I think she may very well have been a dating slut.
She chimed in early. “I keep telling you that Betty Ng’s son is available. I don’t think he has a phone because of some charges he’s disputing, but why don’t you give his mother a call? She always says how cute you are.”
Marella stuffed a scone in her mouth to suppress the snicker. Betty Ng’s son—his name was Henry, wasn’t it?—was just the type to have an exorbitant Telus bill. Good bet he was a porn addict.
When I held firm with No Comment on Betty Ng’s son, Mom went back to her ol’ standby. “I don’t know why you ever broke up with Harvey Burns. You know he’s never gotten over you. I’m sure that’s why he’s getting divorced. Well, that and his wife’s nasty gambling habit. He’s broke and broken. Now’s your time to swoop in!”
And with that, Marella spit blackberry scone bits all over the table. Even Gretel had the sense to be repulsed.
After brunch, I checked voicemail. Nadia was inviting Gabriel and me to join Bradley and her for a night of bowling. It stung. I hated bowling. Who wants to put on clown shoes that a thousand people have already sweated in? I hated creepy, rude Bradley even more. Go figure that calling to say “No thanks” hurt so much. I should have been thanking Gabriel for sparing me a night of misery. Oh, there was still gloom—just on my own. It’s true what they say: misery loves company.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
B/F ONLINE DATING, THERE WERE THOSE PHONE CHAT GROUPS ADVERTISED ON LATE NITE TV. REMEMBER THE BLEACH BLONDES W/BIG BREASTS LYING SEDUCTIVELY ON A BED? “OOH, CALL ME. GIRLS LIKE ME ARE WAITING.” YEAH, RIGHT. SOME PREGNANT SINGLE MOM W/4 KIDS AND THREE FRONT TEETH KNOCKED OUT FROM A RECENT CAT FIGHT @ THE LOCAL BAR WAS GETTING PAID TO SAY THINGS LIKE, “OOH, I BUSTED ANOTHER VIBRATOR. THE THINGS JUST CAN’T KEEP UP WITH ME.”
WEB DATING SITES ARE A VARIATION ON THE SAME JOKE. GOTTA BE. I GET NO RESPONSES WHEN I SEND A WOMAN A MSG & NO ONE IS INITIATING THINGS W/ME. IF IT’S NOT A JOKE, THEN I’M EVEN MORE OF A LOSER THAN I THOUGHT.
HMM, MAYBE THERE’S JUST A DEFECT W/MY INBOX.
Showing posts with label online dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label online dating. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
FEELING THE COLD
February 24, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Nothing new happens today, even if you're pining for some action -- so relish what you've got! It's a good time to stick with what you know and double down on projects that have already paid off.
Laura’s Log:
Day Three at Deer Lake Auto Shop and The Cold War continues. I arrived at work to find a legal pad on my desk with two pages of notes on things I needed to do. Old-fashioned email. Unfortunately, I can’t read most of the handwriting. When I asked Sergi if they were his notes, he turned and walked with urgency to straighten the thingamajigs on the window aisle. Rita, Andrei and Karl responded similarly. The displays will be immaculate by the time I’m done here.
I called Lucy during my coffee break—obviously, chitchatting with my colleagues was out of the question—and she’s apparently still miffed that I’m not praising and rallying behind her protest efforts. She hung up after I said, “Hi Lu—.” Naturally, I assumed we’d been cut off so I immediately called back. She managed to cram five expletives in a single sentence, serving as the noun, the verb and a superfluous string of adjectives. Then, the dial tone. Definitely a problem with the connection—familial, as opposed to technological. Seems like I’ll have to wait this one out. Lucy tends to devote her rage toward one family member at a time. I’m betting Mom or Marella will draw her ire before week’s end. In the meantime, we’re in a holding pattern. Then we can go back to dancing around our contrasting existences.
Dinner tonight at Hon’s with Tamara. She’s still seething over Andy’s comment at brunch on the weekend when he butted into our group commiserating session and asserted she should follow Bradley to Edmonton. He actually used the phrase “stand by your man” and there wasn’t a trace of jest in his voice. Even Nadia winced before shifting the conversation to those cute Canada toques on sale at The Bay, proving yet again the value of an adaptable fashion accessory.
Sergi, Lucy, Tamara,…seems I’m immersed in a world where the best I can do is negotiate temporary cease-fires. How do I phrase that on my résumé?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I DON’T SEEM TO HAVE CURED MY OBSESSIVENESS. I’VE MERELY TRANSFERRED IT FROM CLARA TO THE WOMEN WHO IGNORE ME ON THE PLENTY OF FISH DATING WEBSITE. WTF?! IT IS GOOD TO REALIZE I HAVEN’T HAD A THOUGHT ABOUT CLARA IN ALMOST A WEEK THOUGH. OLYMPIC FEVER IN VANCOUVER HAS HELPED. BUT NOW I FIND MYSELF CHECKING THE POF SITE MULTIPLE TIMES EACH DAY TO SEE IF KITSKAYAKER, WESTENDRUNNER OR MKWLADY—WHATEVER “MKW” STANDS FOR—HAS REPLIED TO MY WARM, WITTY OPENING MESSAGE. NYET. I SUPPOSE THERE’S A FINE LINE B/W WARM/WITTY & DOWNRIGHT ICKY. I SEEM TO CROSS IT TOO OFTEN. WHERE CAN I FIND A DATING COACH?
FOR NOW, I’M JUST GOING TO TUNE OUT MY UNLUCKY IN LOVE NICHE & TUNE IN TO CANADA-RUSSIA HOCKEY.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Nothing new happens today, even if you're pining for some action -- so relish what you've got! It's a good time to stick with what you know and double down on projects that have already paid off.
Laura’s Log:
Day Three at Deer Lake Auto Shop and The Cold War continues. I arrived at work to find a legal pad on my desk with two pages of notes on things I needed to do. Old-fashioned email. Unfortunately, I can’t read most of the handwriting. When I asked Sergi if they were his notes, he turned and walked with urgency to straighten the thingamajigs on the window aisle. Rita, Andrei and Karl responded similarly. The displays will be immaculate by the time I’m done here.
I called Lucy during my coffee break—obviously, chitchatting with my colleagues was out of the question—and she’s apparently still miffed that I’m not praising and rallying behind her protest efforts. She hung up after I said, “Hi Lu—.” Naturally, I assumed we’d been cut off so I immediately called back. She managed to cram five expletives in a single sentence, serving as the noun, the verb and a superfluous string of adjectives. Then, the dial tone. Definitely a problem with the connection—familial, as opposed to technological. Seems like I’ll have to wait this one out. Lucy tends to devote her rage toward one family member at a time. I’m betting Mom or Marella will draw her ire before week’s end. In the meantime, we’re in a holding pattern. Then we can go back to dancing around our contrasting existences.
Dinner tonight at Hon’s with Tamara. She’s still seething over Andy’s comment at brunch on the weekend when he butted into our group commiserating session and asserted she should follow Bradley to Edmonton. He actually used the phrase “stand by your man” and there wasn’t a trace of jest in his voice. Even Nadia winced before shifting the conversation to those cute Canada toques on sale at The Bay, proving yet again the value of an adaptable fashion accessory.
Sergi, Lucy, Tamara,…seems I’m immersed in a world where the best I can do is negotiate temporary cease-fires. How do I phrase that on my résumé?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I DON’T SEEM TO HAVE CURED MY OBSESSIVENESS. I’VE MERELY TRANSFERRED IT FROM CLARA TO THE WOMEN WHO IGNORE ME ON THE PLENTY OF FISH DATING WEBSITE. WTF?! IT IS GOOD TO REALIZE I HAVEN’T HAD A THOUGHT ABOUT CLARA IN ALMOST A WEEK THOUGH. OLYMPIC FEVER IN VANCOUVER HAS HELPED. BUT NOW I FIND MYSELF CHECKING THE POF SITE MULTIPLE TIMES EACH DAY TO SEE IF KITSKAYAKER, WESTENDRUNNER OR MKWLADY—WHATEVER “MKW” STANDS FOR—HAS REPLIED TO MY WARM, WITTY OPENING MESSAGE. NYET. I SUPPOSE THERE’S A FINE LINE B/W WARM/WITTY & DOWNRIGHT ICKY. I SEEM TO CROSS IT TOO OFTEN. WHERE CAN I FIND A DATING COACH?
FOR NOW, I’M JUST GOING TO TUNE OUT MY UNLUCKY IN LOVE NICHE & TUNE IN TO CANADA-RUSSIA HOCKEY.
Friday, February 5, 2010
JENNY FROM THE BOG / THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARIBETH
February 5, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
DON’T STRESS, ANDY RICHTER! IT’S NOT WORTH THE WRINKLES.
January 26, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): The roadblocks have fallen away, and you’re finally making up for lost time.
Laura’s Log:
Roadblocks. I suppose they’re all around me at work. I can’t connect with any of my coworkers. They’ve all judged me, wrongly of course, but judgment ultimately comes from within and I can’t change their minds. They don’t want to be changed. Ernesto is, with good reason, the tyrannical, ranting boss who must go. When you nix a talk show, you don’t just axe the host; the sidekick must go, too. I’m the Andy Richter.
All I can do is focus on my work, plop what I’ve finished on people’s desks or into their email accounts and move on. I can work around them. I have no choice. Had that epiphany yesterday at 1:08 as the girls sauntered en masse back into the office after lunch. They were loud, even obnoxious, sounding like a drunken posse, whooping it up for the sake of solidarity, daring Ernesto to lay into any of them about punctuality. To see me crumble in front of them would only be a bonus.
Reminded me of sixth grade when Lanie Robinson decided my shoes were an embarrassment to the group and, just like that, I no longer existed to her, Meredith, Melanie or Grace. We never spoke again—except when clueless Mr. Gates forced us together for the occasional group assignment. Back then, it nearly killed me. I’m not going back to sixth grade at my thirty-two. My current desk and chair are way more comfy.
Brought my iPod to work today. Adele and Duffy are rockin’ workmates.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
OLYMPICS LESS THAN 3 WKS AWAY. STREET CLOSURES ARE POPPING UP, BUT NOT MUCH OF AN INCONVENIENCE YET. TIRED OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHINING TO THE PRESS. IT’S THE OLYMPICS, PEOPLE. ONCE IN A LIFETIME. CAN YOU CHILL?
OUR NEW DEVELOPMENT IN BURNABY SEEMS TO FINALLY BE A GO. CLEARED THE BIGGEST HURDLES @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. STILL MORE RED TAPE, BUT I THINK CONSTRUCTION WILL BEGIN IN APRIL. THIS ONE IS MY BABY. WON’T MAKE ME SET FOR LIFE, BUT I’LL BE A HOT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPMENT COMMODITY FOR YEARS TO COME. IT’S FREAKIN’ EXCITING!
WISH MY PERSONAL LIFE WERE LOOKING AS PROMISING. SET UP AN ONLINE PROFILE LAST NIGHT ON PLENTY OF FISH. PROBLEM IS I DON’T HAVE ANY PICS OF MYSELF TO POST. CLARA’S IN THEM ALL AND CROPPING HER OUT DIDN’T HELP. THAT MYSTERIOUS ARM AROUND ME CAN’T PASS FOR A SCARF. TRIED TO TAKE SNAPS OF MYSELF BUT THEY MADE ME LOOK LIKE A DORK…WITH A TON OF WRINKLES ON THE FOREHEAD. HOW’D THEY GET THERE ANYWAY?!
I’M TAKING SARA OUT FOR DINNER TONITE. SHE’S NOT BAD W/THE CAMERA. I NEED HER TO WORK A LITTLE MAGIC. FIRST IMPRESSIONS COUNT, RIGHT?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): The roadblocks have fallen away, and you’re finally making up for lost time.
Laura’s Log:
Roadblocks. I suppose they’re all around me at work. I can’t connect with any of my coworkers. They’ve all judged me, wrongly of course, but judgment ultimately comes from within and I can’t change their minds. They don’t want to be changed. Ernesto is, with good reason, the tyrannical, ranting boss who must go. When you nix a talk show, you don’t just axe the host; the sidekick must go, too. I’m the Andy Richter.
All I can do is focus on my work, plop what I’ve finished on people’s desks or into their email accounts and move on. I can work around them. I have no choice. Had that epiphany yesterday at 1:08 as the girls sauntered en masse back into the office after lunch. They were loud, even obnoxious, sounding like a drunken posse, whooping it up for the sake of solidarity, daring Ernesto to lay into any of them about punctuality. To see me crumble in front of them would only be a bonus.
Reminded me of sixth grade when Lanie Robinson decided my shoes were an embarrassment to the group and, just like that, I no longer existed to her, Meredith, Melanie or Grace. We never spoke again—except when clueless Mr. Gates forced us together for the occasional group assignment. Back then, it nearly killed me. I’m not going back to sixth grade at my thirty-two. My current desk and chair are way more comfy.
Brought my iPod to work today. Adele and Duffy are rockin’ workmates.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
OLYMPICS LESS THAN 3 WKS AWAY. STREET CLOSURES ARE POPPING UP, BUT NOT MUCH OF AN INCONVENIENCE YET. TIRED OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHINING TO THE PRESS. IT’S THE OLYMPICS, PEOPLE. ONCE IN A LIFETIME. CAN YOU CHILL?
OUR NEW DEVELOPMENT IN BURNABY SEEMS TO FINALLY BE A GO. CLEARED THE BIGGEST HURDLES @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. STILL MORE RED TAPE, BUT I THINK CONSTRUCTION WILL BEGIN IN APRIL. THIS ONE IS MY BABY. WON’T MAKE ME SET FOR LIFE, BUT I’LL BE A HOT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPMENT COMMODITY FOR YEARS TO COME. IT’S FREAKIN’ EXCITING!
WISH MY PERSONAL LIFE WERE LOOKING AS PROMISING. SET UP AN ONLINE PROFILE LAST NIGHT ON PLENTY OF FISH. PROBLEM IS I DON’T HAVE ANY PICS OF MYSELF TO POST. CLARA’S IN THEM ALL AND CROPPING HER OUT DIDN’T HELP. THAT MYSTERIOUS ARM AROUND ME CAN’T PASS FOR A SCARF. TRIED TO TAKE SNAPS OF MYSELF BUT THEY MADE ME LOOK LIKE A DORK…WITH A TON OF WRINKLES ON THE FOREHEAD. HOW’D THEY GET THERE ANYWAY?!
I’M TAKING SARA OUT FOR DINNER TONITE. SHE’S NOT BAD W/THE CAMERA. I NEED HER TO WORK A LITTLE MAGIC. FIRST IMPRESSIONS COUNT, RIGHT?
Monday, January 25, 2010
PLACE SPITTLE HERE
January 25, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Sure, it looks obvious on the surface. But look closer. You’re missing something.
Laura’s Log:
In the words of Karen Carpenter, rainy days and Mondays always get me down. And today’s looking like a rainy Monday. How fitting.
It’s always hard to wake up at six in the morning after getting to sleep in until a totally indulgent 7:10 a.m. on weekends. (That’s as long as Tupper can hold out. Walkie calls. Hydrants to mark anew!) Still, last Monday it didn’t seem as hard. What a difference a week makes. I’ve gone from an office peon to the office whore.
Of course, no one calls me that to my face. They call me nothing. They say nothing. I had more stature as a peon. Now I don’t exist, aside from being the object of the Daily Scowl from Ann-Marie and Mrs. Melaney. (Yes, Mrs. Melaney scowls at everyone—even people on the phone—, but mine have gotten more demonic.) The good thing about work used to be that time passed so fast it always felt that lunch and the end of the day snuck up on me by surprise. Now it seems I can hear every tick of the second hand on the institutional clock hanging above the lunch room.
I walked an extra block with Tupper just to delay getting ready. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. No, a brick with thorns poking out. (OK, I’ve never seen such a thing, but then I’ve never felt this way either. No nausea, just acute AND chronic pain.) Of course, when I got back into the apartment, I was in a frenzy, running late. Oh, how they’d silently chastise me if I strolled in even a minute after 8:30!
Wouldn’t you know it, my blouse still a trace of that curry stain I’d pointed out to the dry cleaner, but I didn’t notice until I was grabbing my keys and tossing Tupper an extra biscuit. No time to change. Surely with no one paying a bit of attention to me, the stain would go unnoticed. Gotta search for the perks, right?
Yep, Mondays suck. Dodger was working, but didn’t even notice me. He was grinding pound after pound of coffee and someone named Sugar took my latté order. She leaned forward like she was going to kiss me. I pulled back and conked the gentleman behind me. “Do you have a baby, ma’am?” Sugar asked. I don’t know what startled me more, the baby comment or “ma’am”. I couldn’t respond. Didn’t matter; she elaborated: “Seems you’ve got some spittle on your shirt.”
Sugar,…such a sweet thing. Tuesday—no, Saturday—can’t come soon enough.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
WENT AHEAD AND LEFT A MSG W/DEE DEE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, SAYING I HAD A GREAT TIME AND ALL. NO DOUBT, SHE WAS SCREENING. NO SURPRISE, SHE DIDN’T CALL BACK. WHAT THE HELL. FIRST WEEKEND IN A LONG TIME I DIDN’T COMPLETELY OBSESS OVER CLARA DUMPING ME. FRESH ROUND OF REJECTION PROVED GOOD FOR SOMETHING.
SARA KEEPS SAYING I NEED TO TRY ONLINE DATING. GAVE ME A WHOLE LIST OF SITES A FEW WEEKS AGO. STUFFED IT IN A DRAWER SOMEWHERE. THOSE EHARMONY ADS ON TV LOOK CREEPY. TOO PERFECT. LIKE THE GIRL FROM THE OLD IVORY SOAP COMMERCIALS MTG THE GUY FROM THE IRISH SPRING ADS. WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US?
GLAD I DIDN’T GET MY BACK WAXED B/F DATE W/DEE DEE. WASN’T THAT OPTIMISTIC. (CLARA MADE ME DO IT ONCE. WORSE THAN WHEN I HAD MY WISDOM TEETH YANKED W/O A SEDATIVE.)
LOTS OF SINGLE WOMEN IN VANCOUVER, RIGHT? WHERE ARE THEY? ALL I SEEM TO RUN INTO IS RICH OLD WOMEN WHO PAINT ON GOBS OF LIPSTICK AND THROW ON THEIR ENTIRE JEWELRY COLLECTION JUST TO BUY TUMS @ THE CORNER STORE. OH, AND YOUNG MOMMIES OBSESSED W/STROLLER MARATHONS AND VENTI DECAFS.
WHERE ARE THE REAL WOMEN?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Sure, it looks obvious on the surface. But look closer. You’re missing something.
Laura’s Log:
In the words of Karen Carpenter, rainy days and Mondays always get me down. And today’s looking like a rainy Monday. How fitting.
It’s always hard to wake up at six in the morning after getting to sleep in until a totally indulgent 7:10 a.m. on weekends. (That’s as long as Tupper can hold out. Walkie calls. Hydrants to mark anew!) Still, last Monday it didn’t seem as hard. What a difference a week makes. I’ve gone from an office peon to the office whore.
Of course, no one calls me that to my face. They call me nothing. They say nothing. I had more stature as a peon. Now I don’t exist, aside from being the object of the Daily Scowl from Ann-Marie and Mrs. Melaney. (Yes, Mrs. Melaney scowls at everyone—even people on the phone—, but mine have gotten more demonic.) The good thing about work used to be that time passed so fast it always felt that lunch and the end of the day snuck up on me by surprise. Now it seems I can hear every tick of the second hand on the institutional clock hanging above the lunch room.
I walked an extra block with Tupper just to delay getting ready. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. No, a brick with thorns poking out. (OK, I’ve never seen such a thing, but then I’ve never felt this way either. No nausea, just acute AND chronic pain.) Of course, when I got back into the apartment, I was in a frenzy, running late. Oh, how they’d silently chastise me if I strolled in even a minute after 8:30!
Wouldn’t you know it, my blouse still a trace of that curry stain I’d pointed out to the dry cleaner, but I didn’t notice until I was grabbing my keys and tossing Tupper an extra biscuit. No time to change. Surely with no one paying a bit of attention to me, the stain would go unnoticed. Gotta search for the perks, right?
Yep, Mondays suck. Dodger was working, but didn’t even notice me. He was grinding pound after pound of coffee and someone named Sugar took my latté order. She leaned forward like she was going to kiss me. I pulled back and conked the gentleman behind me. “Do you have a baby, ma’am?” Sugar asked. I don’t know what startled me more, the baby comment or “ma’am”. I couldn’t respond. Didn’t matter; she elaborated: “Seems you’ve got some spittle on your shirt.”
Sugar,…such a sweet thing. Tuesday—no, Saturday—can’t come soon enough.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
WENT AHEAD AND LEFT A MSG W/DEE DEE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, SAYING I HAD A GREAT TIME AND ALL. NO DOUBT, SHE WAS SCREENING. NO SURPRISE, SHE DIDN’T CALL BACK. WHAT THE HELL. FIRST WEEKEND IN A LONG TIME I DIDN’T COMPLETELY OBSESS OVER CLARA DUMPING ME. FRESH ROUND OF REJECTION PROVED GOOD FOR SOMETHING.
SARA KEEPS SAYING I NEED TO TRY ONLINE DATING. GAVE ME A WHOLE LIST OF SITES A FEW WEEKS AGO. STUFFED IT IN A DRAWER SOMEWHERE. THOSE EHARMONY ADS ON TV LOOK CREEPY. TOO PERFECT. LIKE THE GIRL FROM THE OLD IVORY SOAP COMMERCIALS MTG THE GUY FROM THE IRISH SPRING ADS. WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US?
GLAD I DIDN’T GET MY BACK WAXED B/F DATE W/DEE DEE. WASN’T THAT OPTIMISTIC. (CLARA MADE ME DO IT ONCE. WORSE THAN WHEN I HAD MY WISDOM TEETH YANKED W/O A SEDATIVE.)
LOTS OF SINGLE WOMEN IN VANCOUVER, RIGHT? WHERE ARE THEY? ALL I SEEM TO RUN INTO IS RICH OLD WOMEN WHO PAINT ON GOBS OF LIPSTICK AND THROW ON THEIR ENTIRE JEWELRY COLLECTION JUST TO BUY TUMS @ THE CORNER STORE. OH, AND YOUNG MOMMIES OBSESSED W/STROLLER MARATHONS AND VENTI DECAFS.
WHERE ARE THE REAL WOMEN?
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