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I Really Didn't Mean to Make This Post All About Me

So, tonight, I returned to a semi-urgent message on my machine. I returned the phone call even though it was late only to hear that one of my closest friends has done The Deed: she's gotten engaged. After about fifteen minutes of conversation, she informs me that the wedding will most likely be in the end of January. Holy crap. Could that be any sooner? Is she going to sprint down the isle?

I called my other closest friend to tell her the news. As our discussion carried on, I suddenly started to realize I am most likely going to have to be a part of this planning, and be, like, in the wedding. I hate weddings. I can't stand the very idea of them. The planning, the dress, the people, the showers, blah, blah, blah. Someone kill me now. About the only thing that I have ever enjoyed in a wedding is the CAKE. Cake interests me. In fact, that's really all I'm thinking about when I go to a wedding. I am careful to linger long enough to get the cake, and then, I like, totally jet.

People, I am not wired for romance or weddings or public declarations of love. That just disgusts me. Women, how do you do it? I can think of nothing more embarrassing than standing up in a room full of people all looking directly at me and attempting to declare love to the guy standing directly across from me.

I so hope that a wedding is never, ever in my future.


Coley Stated

This is an email that I received today:

"This is probably you and me. I'm just not sure about you."

An old man and a young woman are stuck in an elevator, and the building is on fire. The young woman asks, "Sir, I'm interested. What would you do if you thought you only had 20 minutes to live?"

"Well, I think I would screw anything that moved. Why? What would you do?" asked the old man.

"Well, under the circumstances," said the woman, "I think I would remain perfectly still."


"What if I ride? What if you walk?"

I am listening to R.E.M.'s "Automatic for the People" album, and I feel like my brain has been rewound ten years. I haven't listened to much of R.E.M. since their "Monster" album really, but I-Tunes added their new song Leaving New York. Suddenly, I found myself craving this old CD, and all I can think about is Brooke Ferrell.

Brooke was in love with R.E.M. and David Orman, a cute basketball player at our high school. I thought that Brooke was so incredibly beautiful and smart and cool. She was a year older than me, but I think she had skipped a grade and was graduating early. I want to say that I had known of her since I was in elementary school at Elmore Park. I had a crush on her and totally want to be her friend. She was as nice as I had hoped. To increase her love of me, I remember I recorded R.E.M. on tape for her. I took it to her on the bus the very next day. And can I just interrupt my thoughts here and tell you how horribly awful it was the ride the bus in high school? It made you the uncoolest thing ever. Brooke and I would literally hide in the seats so no one would see us. I wasn't allowed the catch rides to school, and I don't think she was old enough to drive. We hated it so much that when one of us was actually getting picked up by our parents, we'd take the other one home.

Brooke lived in this huge house. I remember always looking up at the second story window to see those globe lights that lined a bathroom mirror. I pictured that bathroom as Brooke's, but I never knew if it was.

I actually saw Brooke a few weeks ago. I think she is a licensed builder now. She worked on one of the houses that made the very famous Vesta Home Show. In fact, her house appeared on the front page of the newspaper.

I'm not sure if I had a crush on her or just wanted to be her.


Lunch Plans?

I enjoy the fact that it's still nearly 8:30 in the morning and my co-workers are already asking about lunch for today. These are my kind of people.


Bow Before This

I just dropped the "Queen Mother" (as dooce has dubbed it) mixed with a little bit of a religious reference, and everyone outside my office heard me. And since I live in the South, there was a lot of air gasping, so much so, some might have noticed a shortness of breath in the Dakotas.

All I can say is the Mellon Investor Services can kiss my bare ass. It took me five phones calls, with each one being greeted by an obnoxious litany of choices that did not apply to me combined with angry button punching--the kind where each number you punch requires you to hold down the button for at least ten seconds & then the computer responds with "that was not a valid entry"--only to finally get me in touch with a human being to be told I needed to call another number.

Does that not make you want to drop the queen?



Snow Patrol, "Run"

"I'll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go.
You've been the only thing that's right in all I've done.
And I can barely look at you, but every single time I do, I know we'll make it anywhere away from here.

Light up. Light up, as if you have a choice.
Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear.
Louder. Louder, and we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak.
I understand why you can't raise your voice to say.

To think I might not see those eyes makes it so hard not to cry.
And as we say our long goodbye, I nearly do....

Slower. Slower. We don't have time for that.
All I want is to find an easier way to get out of our little heads.
Have heart my dear.
We're bound to be afraid, even if it's just for a few days, making up for all this mess...."

This song makes me want to love.


McDonald Land

I understand that life isn't fair and all, but if you're pulling a six-figure salary, I think it might be somewhat important that you know how to use a fucking computer. You know, maybe like possess the capabilities to send email and attach a file. Type a sentence or two by yourself. Know the difference between Excel and Word. Don't bitch that no one has "shown you how." Most five-year-old kids know how. I really don't care to hear your excuses for your stupidity, especially when we've been over it several times. There's only so much explaining I can tolerate via a telephone with your really loud grunting in my ear.

And I can't believe the company decided to supply you with a fucking laptop, and actually hired you to represent the company.
A Mother I Do Not Make

A sweet co-worker just dumped a chubby little boy into my unsuspecting arms only moments ago. I was holding some tickets in my hands and could barely handle him and the holding of important paperwork. His slobbery drool somehow landed on my cheek and now I can smell him on my hands. This is point where my mother would get all gooshy, and I just gross out. Not my kid means it's just not that cute. Not everything with breasts loves chubby babies. Chubby baby in your arms is cool. Chubby baby in my arms that I'm totally not even remotely related to...not so cool.


A Seriously Sensitive Issue

Enters my office while Alanis Morissette is playing....
M: "Hey, who is that playing?"
J: "Alanis Morissette."
M: "Oh."
J: "Why?"
M: "Isn't that the girl that sings all those songs about breaking up. I hope you always think of me, and just goes on and on?"
J: "No. Well, wait, I think you're just thinking of one song."
M: "Yeah, she's got an anger problem."
J: "No, she doesn't. You know I met her, right?"
M: "Ohhh, I wasn't trying to say anything mean about her. She just has some issues."
J: "Have you never been bitter?"
M: "Yeah, but I didn't go writing a song about it and have it published."