I went to happy hour with some co-workers tonight. Two weeks straight now, on Thursdays we've been out drinking and eating. Tonight while sipping my pinot at the patio table in the trendy meat packing district I've realized some things. First of all we as in my coworkers and I are soooo over worked, over stressed and over worked. Second, I hate going out. The whole time there all I could think about is what's the fastest route home from 9th and Little West. I mean don't get me wrong, it was nice meeting new people but it's so much effort. Everyone was talking about what's the latest fashion trends, how stupid people are who don't drink, and all the girls were smoking like it's still a very cool thing to do. It was a little tempting to try to fit in with them, talk about all the things that I couldn't give a crap about and even pick up a cig and pretend like y'all I smoke too, like all the time.
The truth is of the handful of times that I've pretended to smoke, I've never inhaled. I totally know how to hold a cig like I smoke tho, I just don't like the smell. The truth is I've never gotten drunk in my life, not even in my college days. Buzzed a plenty but never puking drunk. I don't really like the taste of alcohol either. And I can't wear heels because they hurt my feet, my whole wardrobe is comprised of brand names like Gap, Old Navy and Target. Is that so very uncool? The truth is I hate modern art, it doesn't make me feel all emotional and happy inside. I rather go to the Met than Guggenhiam (see I don't even know how to spell it). I think Paris is overrated and don't want to spend more than $10 on dinner. I like gardening, and reading, and eating, and eating while reading. I like Martha Stewart and I really don't give a crap about developing my career path.
From now on I'm gonna stick with doing whatever makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Things that I actually look forward to doing. Like reading murder mysteries in bed.
I was looking on the web for Chelmsford, MA, trying to find my high school web site, and I came upon some interesting connections between Chelmsford and the Simpsons. Who knew? I really went to the same school that Bart goes too. Go Lions!
I spent this weekend in by myself while b was down in VA. I took some photos: 1. because I should use my camera more. 2. I was really inspired by a website of photo blog. 3. I was bored.
I don't think you can tell how skinny a model is until you see them next to you, walking like a normal person among us. But they are so not normal, and you can always tell when you see a model: super tall and super skinny. I pass by models in the hall way at the office all the time, and every time for some reason I always stare. Not because of their supreme beauty or their fashionable style, but just because they look so out of place, so out of context outside of the magazine pages and tv screens. Of course just like any normal females my age I feel a little uglier, a lot fatter, every time I zoom pass them. I did a little comparison next to one model as I passed her on my way to the restroom the other day. Her hips started half way down my rib cage, so 2/3 of me = her legs. When she turned to her side I almost lost her, I think her waist was roughly the size of my calf. Grotesque. I feel super super obese, like I can eat her for dinner. Oh Well. At least I have bigger boobs. So bring on the steak and the ice cream.
Oh Well. At least I have bigger boobs. So bring on the steak and the ice cream.
