met her on a monday

Now that the crazy busy portion of the year is just about behind me, I think it is time I did something about what's behind me.

Namely, my behind.

Turns out that two months of not exercising and eating delicious turkey-and-bacon clubs on toasted marble rye makes one really embarrassingly grateful for elastic-waist pants.

I do this sort of research, folks, so you don't have to.

So I was out eating lunch one day last week with a cute guy-friend, flattering myself --hilariously, in retrospect -- that I was looking semi-cute too, when in walked some skank ho in low-cut chinos with a penchant for twitching her bony little ass all over the place. I think she was applying for a job, although her size zero chinos cost more than a waitress there would make in a month. What do I know. Maybe she was just chatting up the line cook.

Anyway, old bonybutt is waving her freak flag out by the fry station and my buddy and I are transfixed by the frequency with which she is flexing and twitching her good thing, which she CLEARLY thinks is one heck of a GREAT thing.

My boy opines that it ain't that great of an ass. Unconvincingly, I might add.

But I am looking at it and I suddenly know with perfect clarity that both of her pale, pimply white cheeks could fit into one of my stretch denim hip pockets and still have room for a flirty little twitch every time some sexy line cook happened by. I look glumly down at my lunch -- yet another bacon-centric sandwich -- and know the game is up.

It is time to return to the gym. And make out with the salad bar.

AND LO. I stayed up an extra half hour laying out my slimmingest spandex ensemble and my treadmill-friendly sneakers so I could get up a half-hour earlier and haul my ladylike saddlebags into the widening bucket seat in my car and drive to the Y for a little jaunt on the treadmill.

THEY ARE CLOSED FOR CLEANING ALL THE WEEK LONG. AND IT IS RAINING.

You see? You see what fickle fate deals me on a regular basis?

What am I supposed to do? Pretend bacon just DOESN'T EXIST all week?

planning, onomotopoetically.

I'm really inordinately happy about it being Friday night, like let's have a goddamn party muthaf***ers happy.

This is the first weekend since The Big Event that I have felt fully recovered, like I can actually enjoy the weekend, rather than use it as a desperately needed chance to catch up on sleep. And I want to party!

What I'd really like to do is go cd shopping, then get some nasty-ass chinese take-out, come home and dance around like a goombah to all the awesome new tunes whilst slurping noodles and mauing on fried egg rolls.

Doesn't that sound like fun? Like the only good, honest, and appropriate thing to do?

mau mau mau mau mau.

money: it's a hit

I am thinking about going back to graduate school. For an MBA.

Did I really say that?

Is this really me, seriously weighing the pros and cons of Harvard Business School (full-time, two years, omychristharvard) over Boston University (nite school, two years, wellBUisnicetoo) as compared with Babson (weekends and online, 18 months, nice campus)?

Much like my dear friend So-and-So from college who was unhappily working at a chamber of commerce outside Portland, Oregon, for about 20K one day, and suddenly found herself attending law school at UVA and leading the debate team and is now THE West Coast expert on Gay and Lesbian Family Law AND RAKING IN THE DUCATS, I find myself wondering how, HOW has it come to this.

More precisely, why, WHY didn't I think of this sooner?

Am I really ready to throw off the mantle of my adorable little liberal arts degree and instead shrug my padded shoulders into the pinstripes of power?

Not really, since I still want to keep my job and stay in my field (non-profit). In fact, getting an MBA would make me considerably more kick-ass at my present job. And you know, much like that FANTASTIC Johnny Damon, I do look mighty good in pinstripes...

So the idea is to somehow manage to find an MBA degree program that would allow me to keep my job, not take forever to finish the degree, and not die of exhaustion in the process. And also? I could really use a full scholarship.

Sadly, I think they only offer that degree at the University of Magical Rainbow Ponyland.

And that is one hell of a commute from here.

boom

I am reading an absolutely fantastic book that takes place during the Blitz in London. I am almost at the end, and there is quite a lot of bombing going on. People are getting blown to bits, literally.

Oil bombs and incendiaries all over the place. Shelters full of Londoners taking direct hits. The city skyline aglow from the massive fires and explosions.

One of the characters is in prison, and feels trapped.

One of the characters is an ambulance driver, and just found out her block was hit and demolished by a direct hit, along with her lover.

I am loving this book, it is by one of my favorite authors, and I am deeply, deeply engrossed.

However, as of about ten minutes ago, I suddenly leaped off the couch, opened the curtains, and peered anxiously around the street. I am now agitated, restless, and totally, if irrationally, terrified.

Stupid fireworks.

auto erotic

It's a beautiful summer day! Fuck the beach! Let's go to the car wash!

O how I love the car wash.

I shiver with anticipation:



All signs point to yes:



and to hell yes:



oooh that feels good



mmm baby yeah



a little to the left



that's the spot



maybe I need to get out more



or maybe I just need to get laid.

...in bed

OK then. The only thing I can say without totally blowing my anonymity is wow that was one hell of a weekend and man am I tired.

Work is a lot of work sometimes.

But it's all over now and I have my first honest-to-god day off in three weeks tomorrow.

Three. Weeks.

I just wanted to check in and say hi.

And that I should be able to post with more regularity again now that that weekend is behind me.

And to let you know that if you need me, I'll be in bed. For a few days.

The good news is that I seem to be back in my biannual cycle of nightly vivid and awesome mm--chika--mm-mm dreams. So I got that to look forward to.

What the hell am I doing still awake with that to look forward to?

Let's get this (imaginary) party started!

Woo!