Damn It!

Recently, I decided at the ripe age of 25, I would work really hard to get long-term financial plans in order. Nearing the quarter-century age can do that to a single girl. I took a leap and decided to invest some money into a mutual fund. In less than five days, I have already lost more than $40. In my lifetime, I have never lost that much money. My father assures me that when investing, and investing wisely, I will net a much bigger gain by diversifying. I think he is a fat liar, and I intend on making him recoup this bad, horrible idea if it doesn't net SOMETHING soon. I cannot stand to lose money. I'm not a gambler, unless it's someone else's money, but even then it still hurts me; although, a part of me is thinking to truly "diversify," I should buy a couple more mutual funds, right? But who has that kind of dough? (Don't feel obligated to answer that question.) I could end up tripling my losses. This is such a horrible thing to encourage a person to do. You would think I grew up in the Depression if you really knew me. So far, I make more money from my Discover Card than I do my IRA.


I Can't Make This Stuff Up

I can smell an envelope and tell you which customer's it is. Is that crazy? I can literally smell the customer on it.
Craving the Distraction

For reasons unknown, I have a hard time kicking habits. I get things in my system, and I seem unable to control the need for them. There are times when I can sense the addiction forming, and I have to turn away early, before the taste of it corrupts me. People can hit me like that. I've been having recurring dreams of someone close to me, and it leaves me thinking of them the next day. And usually because they're in my cache, I dream of them over and over, and then I get weak, and that addiction starts to tap at me. It makes it harder to walk away when you can't even control your brain.


Jeni, Meet Jenny

I just hung up the phone with a customer who sang me a song. Well, sang may be a bit of a stretch. I called to confirm a transfer for him, and he immediately started rhyming on me. I didn't know what to do. He's an older, fiery type of gent, and quite frankly, I never know what he's going to do or say. If he yelled at me, I think I could produce immediate tears though. He's sharp like that. When I met him, and he shook my hand, I thought when we released one another, my hand would still be in his.

Anyway, the song had my name in it. He said a couple of verses. Something about Jenny (I'm assuming the spelling there) was 22 and decided getting a husband was the thing to do. She made up her mind and then something about her getting a husband that wasn't hers to which I cracked up laughing. He went on to tell me another verse where Jenny decided she was going to outlive everyone else, but then something about gin entered the rhyme, and Jenny kicked the bucket. He told me I needed to go get the song and "stick out your [my] chest" and says 'That's me!'


Tachy and Brady

Congratulations to my lazy butt for working out. I did way more than I thought I would have been capable of hours before going. By the way, I think one of two things happened tonight. (A) I discovered two brand new, broken treadmills with whacked heart monitors; or (B) I suffer from heart arrhythmia. My heart rate went from 160 to 110 to 142 to 170 to 135 in a matter of seconds...on both machines. It changed as fast as I typed those numbers.

I flashed back to the fitness test I took in college. As I peddled away on my bike, the guy asked me if I felt okay. I responded that I did, and he told me my heart rate was dropping. He said if I felt light-headed or dizzy that I should stop, but that never seemed to be the case.
The Layers to this Reno

Today, I brought my Powerbook to work because of a meeting I'll be in later. Everyone has walked into my cube in awe of it. I have my I-Tunes playing and my audio visualizer on (which I think is coolest thing about a Mac). One of my co-workers just came in and said, "13 Ways to Bleed on Stage?" I told him that was the name of the album, but it was a really good band. He just looked at me with confusion and then said, "You don't look like a girl who would listen to something entitled 13 Ways to Bleed on Stage." I think he said it with a slight bit of disgust too.


Almost, But Not Quite

I just deleted some spam mail entitled "She will call you THE MAN" at a domain from Wow-Huge.com.
My hands smell like rubber or like a skunk. Smelling one always reminds me of the other. And no, I don't know why I decided that was worthy of putting on my blog.



I think I bruised my cheek--the kind of bruising you get from getting too vigorous with the toothbrush, where it suddenly decides to jab the inside of your mouth. I keep exercising the bruise too, and I'm not sure why that seems to be human nature. The more something hurts, the more we seem to be content on running our fingers or tongues over it or moving to feel the pain. (I'm sure you're going to take that sentence somewhere else.)

"...That little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't."



I have the bestest best friend that any girl could ever ask for, and I mean that.