"So Jamie, what do you do for a living?"
It was a simple enough question, but yet when I opened my mouth to answer, nothing came out. Frantically I looked up to Boyfriend for some sort of hint and looked back at the girl wide-eyed when no hint came.
What the hell do I do? I watch TV all day in my jammies! I play Guitar Hero at 4 in the afternoon! But that's not the answer she's looking for... Oh dear...
"I work at a software company," I eventually stuttered. "I'm sorry, I've been on vacation so long I must have forgotten."
Single. Greatest. Vacation. Moment. Ever.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Holiday Vacation Revelations, Take Three
I noticed my butt got two sizes too big, so I finally dug myself out of the couch and ventured to the stores to return a few miscalculated Christmas presents and to pick up some additional ones for myself. Then, at the shops, I forced myself to take the stairs instead of the lovely escalator.
Ahead of me on the staircase was your typical Buckhead Betty: size four, pretty, in leggings. In leggings that did not look good from this vantage point. The tiny blonde girl had on a long sweater with her bitchin' leggings, but from this view on the stairs below her, all I saw was a whole lotta ass. And bare butts in leggings do not look good no matter how thin you are.
Oh honey, your ass looks like a crater. It looks like how I imagine mine does at the moment, and I'm at least two sizes larger than you.
And that settled the great leggings debate that I had been playing in my head for the past month.
Ahead of me on the staircase was your typical Buckhead Betty: size four, pretty, in leggings. In leggings that did not look good from this vantage point. The tiny blonde girl had on a long sweater with her bitchin' leggings, but from this view on the stairs below her, all I saw was a whole lotta ass. And bare butts in leggings do not look good no matter how thin you are.
Oh honey, your ass looks like a crater. It looks like how I imagine mine does at the moment, and I'm at least two sizes larger than you.
And that settled the great leggings debate that I had been playing in my head for the past month.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Holiday Vacation Revelations, Take One
Today I watched the Keyshia Cole reality show marathon on BET. I don't know a thing about Keyshia Cole or her music, I just wanted to see where the famous people hang out in Atlanta. I figured it was as close as The Hills is going to get to my doorstep.It was somewhere between hour four and six of the marathon when I realized that damn, her family is crazazy and I am actually okay with never running into them.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Another Christmas Miracle
"I'm sorry you didn't get a Christmas bonus," Boyfriend said one night this week while we were watching TV. He reached his hand up and rubbed my shoulder.
"I guess it's not that bad," I admitted. "I mean the dog has fleas and my check engine light just popped on, and that check really would have helped with both, but I'll manage without."
"Well, you can have mine if you want."
I broke contact with the TV and looked at him. Never in my life would I take the boy's Christmas money. In reality, he busts his butt on a daily basis for less money than I make, so he deserves it. But I was shocked at his generosity to even offer it up to me. "No, I wouldn't do that to you," I responded. I looked back to the TV and chewed on my lip while thinking it over, "You can, however, buy me something with it," I teased.
"To be honest, it's going to go to you one way or another. I haven't gotten your present yet."
Such as it is with bonus checks--they never stay in your hands very long. Just when you think you have that extra money to get ahead, something happens and you're back to treading water. I know that's what I thought this afternoon when a white envelope made its way onto my desk. Then I remembered the check engine light popped on and the dog has fleas.
Merry Christmas.
"I guess it's not that bad," I admitted. "I mean the dog has fleas and my check engine light just popped on, and that check really would have helped with both, but I'll manage without."
"Well, you can have mine if you want."
I broke contact with the TV and looked at him. Never in my life would I take the boy's Christmas money. In reality, he busts his butt on a daily basis for less money than I make, so he deserves it. But I was shocked at his generosity to even offer it up to me. "No, I wouldn't do that to you," I responded. I looked back to the TV and chewed on my lip while thinking it over, "You can, however, buy me something with it," I teased.
"To be honest, it's going to go to you one way or another. I haven't gotten your present yet."
Such as it is with bonus checks--they never stay in your hands very long. Just when you think you have that extra money to get ahead, something happens and you're back to treading water. I know that's what I thought this afternoon when a white envelope made its way onto my desk. Then I remembered the check engine light popped on and the dog has fleas.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
A Christmas Miracle
Going green this Christmas, I decided to do all of my Christmas shopping on the scooter. My pink knit hat firmly placed under my helmet and scarf tucked in my sweater and jacket, I zipped around the city for my various errands. My favorite moment was driving between construction cones to the sounds of angry drivers honking as I dodged traffic and parked on the sidewalk in front of the Fox to get my tickets to the Nutcracker.
A couple of soft toys purchased at IKEA, shirt boxes and all sorts of unimaginable crap from Target, and wine from Trader Joe's—everything was crammed below the seat of the bike or hanging from the bag hooks below the handle bars. I had done well. One stop at the bank to deposit a check and I dashed home.
Only when I got in front of my apartment building, I couldn't get inside the gate. I couldn't get inside my gate because I couldn't find my wallet, where my gate card was tucked away. I hopped off the scooter and dug through my bags and nothing. No wallet and no keys. The last time I saw my wallet was at the bank...
I have never ridden a scooter so hard and so fast in my life as I did from my apartment building back to the bank.
I searched through the parking lot and didn't find it. I thought back to everyone I saw walking around: the child who was picking up things off the ground and her mother, the movers unloading a pickup truck parked across the street. Someone probably saw it and snatched it. I don't carry cash, so I wasn't out any actual money. I just had to cancel my debit card, have my mother drive my replacement car keys to my apartment, and be out one loved Coach wallet.
Dejected, I called Boyfriend.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"I'm at the Wachovia on Juniper. I didn't see it on my way back, but a few of the roads are one-way, so I haven't retraced every step yet."
"Don't move. I'm on my way."
A couple of minutes later, Boyfriend pulled up next to me on his scooter. After lecturing me on the importance of zipping up your jacket pockets so things like wallets and cell phones don't fall out, he drove down Juniper looking for my wallet .
I had barely pulled out myself when he stopped in the middle of the road, reached down, and picked up my wallet and car keys off the road. There is was, laying in the middle of Juniper Street in Midtown untouched, save for a very distinctive tire mark across the front. I opened it up and everything was still inside.
It had been laying in the street for at least 10 minutes and no one stole it. It was a Christmas miracle.
A couple of soft toys purchased at IKEA, shirt boxes and all sorts of unimaginable crap from Target, and wine from Trader Joe's—everything was crammed below the seat of the bike or hanging from the bag hooks below the handle bars. I had done well. One stop at the bank to deposit a check and I dashed home.Only when I got in front of my apartment building, I couldn't get inside the gate. I couldn't get inside my gate because I couldn't find my wallet, where my gate card was tucked away. I hopped off the scooter and dug through my bags and nothing. No wallet and no keys. The last time I saw my wallet was at the bank...
I have never ridden a scooter so hard and so fast in my life as I did from my apartment building back to the bank.
I searched through the parking lot and didn't find it. I thought back to everyone I saw walking around: the child who was picking up things off the ground and her mother, the movers unloading a pickup truck parked across the street. Someone probably saw it and snatched it. I don't carry cash, so I wasn't out any actual money. I just had to cancel my debit card, have my mother drive my replacement car keys to my apartment, and be out one loved Coach wallet.
Dejected, I called Boyfriend.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"I'm at the Wachovia on Juniper. I didn't see it on my way back, but a few of the roads are one-way, so I haven't retraced every step yet."
"Don't move. I'm on my way."
A couple of minutes later, Boyfriend pulled up next to me on his scooter. After lecturing me on the importance of zipping up your jacket pockets so things like wallets and cell phones don't fall out, he drove down Juniper looking for my wallet .
I had barely pulled out myself when he stopped in the middle of the road, reached down, and picked up my wallet and car keys off the road. There is was, laying in the middle of Juniper Street in Midtown untouched, save for a very distinctive tire mark across the front. I opened it up and everything was still inside.
It had been laying in the street for at least 10 minutes and no one stole it. It was a Christmas miracle.
Monday, December 17, 2007
I take the wins where I can get them
I didn't get a Christmas bonus this year. Fortunately for me, I know where to get my Christmas money.
As Office Husband said, it feels good to be number one.
As Office Husband said, it feels good to be number one.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Sometimes
Sometimes I feel really guilty when I shy away from panhandlers instead of hearing them out. I'll think back to a church lesson I heard when I was a child. The details are fuzzy since the church days have ceased, but I think it was the Good Samaritan parable. A homeless man goes to person to person seeking aid and is turned down until a Samaritan gives him a bath and a meal. Would you give a homeless man a bath and a meal? the preacher asked the circle of kids. No, said the kids. If Jesus stood on your doorstep, would you invite him in for a bath and a meal? he asked again. Yes! cheered the kids. The message was to be nice to everyone in case one of those people was the baby Jesus, because you sure didn't want to dismiss the baby Jesus. If you do, you go to hell. And every time to this day when a homeless man approaches me and I give him a sharp No!, I'm all what if he was the baby Jesus? And I feel guilty.
Though I don't think the baby Jesus would stand in the unlit part of the Murder Kroger parking lot at 12:30 at night and tell me to come here, because he has a question he wants to ask me.
Though I don't think the baby Jesus would stand in the unlit part of the Murder Kroger parking lot at 12:30 at night and tell me to come here, because he has a question he wants to ask me.
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Anyone can be homeless
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