Big Girls

This week at work has been one of those weeks where you just want to pull your hair out and scream. What do you want from me? If you don't like what I'm doing, do it yourself!

And then I run upstairs and slam the door and fling myself onto my bed sobbing wildly.

But of course I haven't done any of those things. At one point I could've cried in frustration, but I am almost 30 years old and that isn't acceptable on any level. So I didn't. You know you're a grownup when you realize that the stuff you hate isn't going to go away just because you don't want to do it. When "I don't feel like it" isn't a valid excuse, and you can't say that to anyone anyway, because no one would care.

So my coworkers and I are doing the grownup thing and going out for margaritas after work instead.

Lifetimes

About forty years ago, when my dad was a teenager, he and his friends would travel to downtown Lancaster to go to the movies. Being conservative Mennonites, movies were forbidden by the church, so these rebellious boys would stand in line outside the theater ducking down behind other patrons “just in case” their bishop drove by. If the bishop saw them, there would be confrontations and issues and discussions with parents, but because they wanted to see such forbidden fare as The Glass Bottom Boat starring Doris Day, my dad and his friends went out anyway. And hid.

Last night I went out to an area restaurant. We were waiting for our drink orders when MY bishop entered the place. I smiled and waved at him and his wife, and they sat right behind us. The waitress brought my white russian, and as I took a sip, I heard a waitress reciting the beer selection behind me.

I have no idea what he ordered; I’m pretty sure it was a beer, and I certainly felt no qualms about finishing my drink in front of him as the two of them said good-bye to us and headed out the door.

I guess it doesn’t really need to be stated, but I’m going to state it anyway: a lot has changed around here.

Sasquatches Unite!

Tonight I was about to go bowling with two friends from work when the desk guy asked us what size shoes we wear.

"Ten," I said.

"Me too," said work girl #1.

Me too," said work girl #2.

And we all looked at each other. And laughed.

I have been a size 10 since I was about 12, and I'm used to having big feet. Never being able to borrow shoes, always worrying about what I will do if I go creek-stomping or on some other shoe-ruining adventure. I'm no 7.5.

So to have two other girls share my shoe size. . . well, it means a lot. Sort of. I'd also had about 10 Jack & cokes at the time, so I might not have been totally clear on what was happening.

Other things that may have happened tonight:
me bowling two strikes
me talking the ear off of several people (since when do I talk?)
me singing Hit Me Baby One More Time at karaoke

I'm home now, and safely tucked up in my bed. It's 62 degrees in my bedroom, but I'm holding out on turning on the heat, and I know I'll make it past November 5 . . . since that's Monday. But I MUST remember to turn the clocks back tomorrow!

Friday Night Lights

I went out after work, came home, and promptly fell asleep. For three hours. Which means I woke up at 11 PM, fully awake after a three-and-a-half hour nap.

So, I'm now ready to
--start a roadtrip that requires leaving at midnight. I'll drive first!
--go to a midnight showing of a movie. Harry Potter, anyone?
--start the third shift. Of some job.
--go out AGAIN
--get drunk dialed. I'll be very patient.

If anyone's interested in any of these things, call me at home. Otherwise it's laundry and bill paying until 2 AM . . . or whenever I get tired again.

Here comes the (drunk) bride.

(Have I mentioned that I'm up to 300 posts? Awesome.)

This was bachelorette party weekend! The Power Plant in Baltimore is apparently where everyone goes to have a bachelorette party. There were so many brides-to-be at that place, and I think I'm getting old, because every one of them looked way too young to be getting married. That girl? That little one swigging Smirnoff? She's the one getting married? Who's marrying that kid? And these little girlfriends are her support system? Good lord, what do any of them know about marriage?

See? I'm like a mom now.

It could just be that they're throwing fake bachelorette parties for the free drinks. A "Bride to Be" t-shirt and a tiara will get you free shots, no cover charges, and plenty of attention. Get a group of girls together, take turns being the bride, and you're in business.

All in all, though, last night's party was great fun. Drinking and dancing and dueling pianos make for a good time. And if there's anything better than hot cheesy pizza at 3 AM, I'm not sure what it is.

Wrecked

I’ve eaten chocolate all day, including for my lunch.

I got five hours of sleep last night. After I drank. Glasses of wine. Cheap beer. Tiny little shots. An ice cream drink.

I keep saying I’m old, but really it might just be nerdiness. Or both, actually. I went out after dinner last night with some work people, and while hanging out I nearly fell asleep—at 9 PM. The plan was to go dancing, but all I wanted to do was go home, lie in my bed, and watch Lost.

But I went out. And I did have fun. But probably not as much fun as I would’ve had at home, lying in bed, watching Lost.

Tonight I’m taking a nap, going for a walk, eating a salad, and doing 40 minutes on the elliptical. Also drinking lots of water.

And then I'm going home, lying in my bed, and watching The Office.

Light it Up

There are two kinds of dirty.

There's the camping kind. The grubbiness. The greasy hair, the woodsmoke smell. The sweatiness that comes from living outside. The general dirt that comes with swimming in a lake and sleeping in a tent and not showering for several days.

And then the Saturday morning post-bar dirtiness. The hair and the coat that smell like cigarette smoke. The tired skin, with a glaze of day-old makeup. The clothes you've been wearing for 24 hours and slept in, the bad taste in a dry mouth.

(Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything).

A couple of months ago, Mike and I were talking at work about smoking . . . he pointed out that years ago, people probably sat at their desks and smoked cigarettes, while in the office. Which seems ridiculously unhealthy and unfathomable now . . . the idea that the smokers at our office could sit in their cubicles and light up. What?! Ha! Nobody would ever expect that.

So . . . it seems like only a matter of time until no one will be smoking indoors anywhere. When it will seem just as ridiculous to smoke in bar as it does to smoke at work. If my kids go out on Friday nights, they might come home slightly less dirty than I do, and not reeking of cigarette smoke.

And if they do reek, I'll know what they've been up to. Bad future kids.