I don’t fear becoming a crazy cat lady because I’m allergic

This whole being grown-up and having a real job thing is exhausting. No wonder people with careers AND families stop having sex. Wow.

But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m starting to think I need to work on my commitment-phobia. I went to the Great American Backrub today to relieve some of the stress I’ve been building up in my shoulders, and there would be a lot less New Age music involved in massages if I just had a boyfriend around.

Also, my least favourite coworker is single, and awfully bitter about it. She’s got a good thirteen years on me, but for many reasons (not the least of which is that she’s making me MENTAL), I do not want to end up like her. I am generally sure that I can have a fulfilling and interesting life as a single woman, but when faced with particular people who haven’t managed to do so, I get a little scared.

So, I think I’m going to get a pet. Like, a fish or something. I’ve managed to keep a plant alive since I moved to the city, so maybe forging a relationship with an animal is the next step.


still alive!

My week and weekend of hell are finally over! But I’m still brain-dead from it all–regular posting will re-commence tomorrow. Bate your breath!

I can’t blame my state on a hangover, sadly

My brain hurts, and it’s not because my head recently lost most of its protective covering. I had a brutal thirteen hour day today, and I’m a shell of a woman.

I did manage to go out for a few pints to celebrate my Irishness last night. Er, make that my faux-Irishness. Mainly, I was just thanking whatever gods are listening for the fact that I no longer work in an Irish pub. I met up with two guys I haven’t seen in years; we went to high school together, so naturally we compared notes on who’s gotten hitched and/or ruined their lives.

dude, where’s my hair?

So… I cut off all my hair. Sometimes I’m just impulsive like that! It’s not as short as that picture, but it’s short, all right. EEEEK.

I’m curvy enough not to be worried about being mistaken for a boy

Call me easily suggestible, but while watching this week’s America’s Next Top Model (I know, I know, but it’s one of my vices), I thought to myself, “Self, you know what you should do? Cut off all your hair!”

I love the makeover episodes, and I especially like making fun of the girl who cries because they cut off all her hair (there’s always one). Sometimes it’s a total trainwreck, but usually the girl looks amazing with her hair short. This cycle’s victim went from forgettable to STUNNING. And she cried and cried. I always sneer and go, “It’s just HAIR, shut UP! You’re getting an expensive makeover!” I think what would make ME sob is getting some kind of weave. They generally look terrible, and I imagine that maintenance is a total bitch.

Anyway, this entire weekend I’ve been toying with the idea of going ultra short. I imagine it would up my cred in the lesbian community, but the idea of cutting down on styling time in the mornings is what really appeals to me. Plus, Fo really did go from blah to FIERCE. Maybe I’m blah, and I could, too, be FIERCE.

It would be the worst thing ever to grow out if I hated it, though. Or even when I just decided to go for long hair again, it’d take forever to get out of the awkward stage. And I have just recently started having more fun with my hair (see: beehive). But my work schedule looks pretty insane for the next few months, so it’s going to be ponytails and quickie buns for weeks on end. That’s not fierce at all.

Here’s a picture I swiped from Jezebel’s post on the latest episode: hair-cut

See? FIERCE. But can I rock it? Aye, there’s the rub.

I’ll probably end up in h-e-double hockey sticks

I’ve spent a lot of time around strangers’ children in the last few days. I’ve been reverting to the type of language I used to use when I taught swimming lessons. A lot of “Oh my goodness!” -es and “Thank you, sweetie!”-es.

I wouldn’t say I generally have a potty mouth, but I do swear when the mood strikes. It often strikes when I’m trying to watch my mouth–for some reason, I’m terrible at watching my language when the kids are actually old enough to understand that what I’m saying is inappropriate, but really good at doing it when they’re too young to pick up on it.

Sadly, one of my secret wishes is to be able to swear really, really inventively. Some people just have the knack of throwing curse words together in a way that’s super descriptive and apropos. I’m told, however, that it’s unladylike. I can see the point; I don’t respect a guy who uses says fuck in all his sentences. But I also say, screw being a lady! Some times you just wanna cuss a douche out. Also, it helps relieve the road rage to yell obscenities in your car. 

But does it make much of a difference in this day and age? Would you dump someone if s/he couldn’t keep the potty mouth under wraps? Or, alternately, would you have concerns about a relationship with someone who never, ever swore? I’m just sayin’… it’d make me kind of suspicious, and probably more foul-mouthed as a reaction.

I am le tired

Well, today was my 26th birthday. I guess I’m officially a spinster now? And also apparently an alcoholic–one of my coworkers gave me a loot bag full of those mini liquor bottles, so there was a surprising amount of party going on in my purse.

I’m exhausted this week! It’s a little weird to be a productive member of society, rather than a misanthropic waitress. But so far I’m really enjoying my new job–it’s sapping my energy, yes, but in a “I accomplished stuff today!” kind of way.

However, being that I’m wiped right out, I’m leaving you with a fantastic Beatles’ song. I some how don’t have an mp3 of this, so it hasn’t been included in my usual rotation. But Charlie re-introduced me to it, and I can’t get enough of it.