I'm an insomniac and I hate it. I want nothing more than to sleep. I've been in bed since 6pm with a terrible headache, and yet here I am. Awake. And did I mention, I hate it?
For some reason, over the last week, my mind is working overtime. I'm not even certain what its thinking about because my thoughts are hardly anything serious most of the time. Since I got in bed, I've thought about the need to buy more coffee, catch up on Lost, and remember to call work in the morning. I've logged on to Facebook about 800 times for no reason because I really don't even know what people do on there that they find so entertaining. So then, since I'm not entertained, I find myself thinking about things I don't want to think about, and now I'm stressed and can't relax enough to find comfort on my pillowtop mattress.
So, perfect writing opp. Except, with all the thoughts in my head, I can't come up with a damn thing to write about. Ridiculous. So, instead I'll just document random thoughts.
I completely disagree with the winner of Project Runway this season. Team Emilio.
I don't understand why, with all the things we can do with technology, I can't watch TV when I'm taping two shows.
Capitals. Win on Monday. Please. XOXO.
Is it wrong that I want to see "The Backup Plan?" starring JLo?
Is it wronger that I found a scratch off lottery ticket in my wallet that won $2 and I actually felt like a winner?
An 8 year old kid developed a crush on me the other day during my work event. I know this because he asked me for a pen. Then, he gave me his digits. My love life is getting progressively more embarrassing to discuss.
Adult men...why ask for a girls number if you have zero intention of calling her?
The lack of sleep is causing me to consider doing crazy things. I think I need to drink to a blackout stage. Rumplemintz anyone?
Monday, April 26, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Be Careful What You Wish For
I've apparently become uninspired, unmotivated, and unliked by my readers, as I lost all control over my resolution to resolve. The more I think about it, the more I realize the the recent overwhelming "un's" are because I'm overwhelmed by 52 resolutions. I mean, let's be real for a hot second here...if I really had 52 things I needed to change about myself, I think I'd need more than a blog to help me get there.
I mean, sure. I could probably list off more than enough things to change, but I don't know that all of them are serious enough to document. I mean, after all, I've already had one feisty reader argue that laundry is not a resolution. And being that, to date, I've failed to keep up on said topic, I still beg to differ.
That said, I'm back, and I'm going to do this. I just can't promise I'll reach the "52." I'm hoping that without the pressure of having to come up with a new ordeal each week, I'll be re-inspired, re-motivated, and, of course, re-liked by all of you.
I will get back to resolutioning asap. I also may need to revisit a few from earlier in the year, as I've fallen off almost all of those bandwagons too. Except I've done exceptionally well, if I do say so myself, with one...
I've remained (pretty) open minded when it comes to dating. After so many years not thinking about it, there comes a time when you realize that you do kinda want to be noticed, maybe want to be approached, and potentially even start to date.
Unfortunately for me, this is not necessarily a good thing. Flattery is what one might feel when the waitress comes to your table and says that her other table wants to know if we were single. Shame is what you feel when you tell the waitress how old you actually are, and she returns moments later to let us know that the boys regretfully decline as we are a little bit out of their dateable range. That's right people, had I kept my mouth shut, I almost got hit on by a 20 year old with a fake ID, and I, at the ripe old age of 28, could have been a cougar...
Fast forward a few minutes on the same evening when a couple of, we'll call them "interesting" boys sit down at our table. Charming, in a dirty, obnoxious, inappropriate kind of way. So charming that my new bf couldn't remember my actual name, and because he decided I was Spanish, him and his "boyz" called me "Spaniard" for the rest of the night. True love, I'd say.
Most recently, I was approached by a man who told me about his two divorces, and 2 daughters...one 25, one 27. Although I'm not good at math, I calculated quickly and determined he just may be a tad older than me. I carded him, saw he was born in 1954 (I wish I was kidding), and followed my friends as they laughed their way out of the bar.
I've also been on a few dates (not with any of the above) and I think its safe to say that I'm not entirely terrible at it. I mean, don't get me wrong...I'm definitely not at all good at it either. But,at least I didn't trip over my own feet, fall on my face, and I can honestly say that I completely resisted the urge to play with my food. Maybe on a future date, I'll be able to avoid shredding my napkin and will attempt to partake in conversation that I otherwise might have attempted to ignore in order to watch the hockey game that I might have conveniently and purposely positioned myself to be able to watch over my disaster date's head...
Go Caps!
I mean, sure. I could probably list off more than enough things to change, but I don't know that all of them are serious enough to document. I mean, after all, I've already had one feisty reader argue that laundry is not a resolution. And being that, to date, I've failed to keep up on said topic, I still beg to differ.
That said, I'm back, and I'm going to do this. I just can't promise I'll reach the "52." I'm hoping that without the pressure of having to come up with a new ordeal each week, I'll be re-inspired, re-motivated, and, of course, re-liked by all of you.
I will get back to resolutioning asap. I also may need to revisit a few from earlier in the year, as I've fallen off almost all of those bandwagons too. Except I've done exceptionally well, if I do say so myself, with one...
I've remained (pretty) open minded when it comes to dating. After so many years not thinking about it, there comes a time when you realize that you do kinda want to be noticed, maybe want to be approached, and potentially even start to date.
Unfortunately for me, this is not necessarily a good thing. Flattery is what one might feel when the waitress comes to your table and says that her other table wants to know if we were single. Shame is what you feel when you tell the waitress how old you actually are, and she returns moments later to let us know that the boys regretfully decline as we are a little bit out of their dateable range. That's right people, had I kept my mouth shut, I almost got hit on by a 20 year old with a fake ID, and I, at the ripe old age of 28, could have been a cougar...
Fast forward a few minutes on the same evening when a couple of, we'll call them "interesting" boys sit down at our table. Charming, in a dirty, obnoxious, inappropriate kind of way. So charming that my new bf couldn't remember my actual name, and because he decided I was Spanish, him and his "boyz" called me "Spaniard" for the rest of the night. True love, I'd say.
Most recently, I was approached by a man who told me about his two divorces, and 2 daughters...one 25, one 27. Although I'm not good at math, I calculated quickly and determined he just may be a tad older than me. I carded him, saw he was born in 1954 (I wish I was kidding), and followed my friends as they laughed their way out of the bar.
I've also been on a few dates (not with any of the above) and I think its safe to say that I'm not entirely terrible at it. I mean, don't get me wrong...I'm definitely not at all good at it either. But,at least I didn't trip over my own feet, fall on my face, and I can honestly say that I completely resisted the urge to play with my food. Maybe on a future date, I'll be able to avoid shredding my napkin and will attempt to partake in conversation that I otherwise might have attempted to ignore in order to watch the hockey game that I might have conveniently and purposely positioned myself to be able to watch over my disaster date's head...
Go Caps!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)