Commuting.

WC was behind me tonight on the way home. I went for a jog in the park up the street from the office and then started the drive home. Traffic was horrid so I got off the highway. That's when I noticed he was behind me.

What is normal in this situation? A wave? Try to get his attention? Call him on his phone: "Hey... you're behind me... Okay. Bye." 

Because what I did was pretend I didn't know he was behind me. So I looked at my phone at stoplights. Jacked with the A/C. Turned the radio on and off. Played with my hair. Tried to look tired so if he said "Hey, did you not see me behind you?" I could respond, "Rough day. Bosses... sheesh...amiright?"

We drove like this for a few miles before he turned off. And I was sad. And I wanted to call him and accuse him of something. But what? Ignoring me? I was also the dork who was pretending he wasn't behind me. And it's possible he didn't know for sure I was in front of him. I know normal people memorize license plate numbers and stuff, but I don't so maybe he's as clueless as I often am?

This happened another time and I spent the 30 minutes (it's a long commute) thinking we were commute-ignoring each other. Until he pulled up beside me and it wasn't him.

Embarrassing.

Eyes Wide Open

Dear Bruno, 
I didn't know I knew you until I was forced to Google "you tossed it in the trash" because my stupid fitness instructor keeps playing your song while we cool down and it's catchy. The trash part.  I like when people throw stuff away... 
As your target audience likely isn't as savvy as I about matters of the heart (being that they're all 12 year olds), I wanted to make clear some concerns I had since you are, in fact, not 12.

I get it. It looks a little like an anatomically
correct heart... and a grenade. Neat. 

You are, actually, almost 28 years old. The internet told me so. That means you released this song when you were 26. Now that I'm 36 I can see the difference in how love looks between 26 and 36, but unless you're 16 this whole thing is just weird. 

Easy come, easy go, that's just how you liveOh, take, take, take it all but you never giveShould've known you was trouble from the first kissHad your eyes wide open, why were they open?

Financial Planning

I apologize in advance...

I wore some old yoga pants/shorts on my jog tonight and they kept falling down because the elastic is kind of shot. Also, yoga pants aren't running pants. At one point, as I was struggling to just grab the shorts and not the underwear underneath (thus giving myself a wedgie if unsuccessful in the separation), I realized how incredibly unsexy I must look. Cell phone protruding from my sports bra. Red faced. Sweat pouring (it was really humid today). Face scrunched into some weird clenched teeth, squinty eyed frenzy to pull my pants up and over my belly... which I'd been trying to suck in on the run because, unlike my good yoga/running shorts, these did NOT hold in the flopping lower belly.

I then thought about all the other times when people probably don't realize how unattractive they are. Like yawning. For god's sake, People, cover your mouth and nose because your nostrils flare, your lips curl up into some weird look of horror and your eyes start to look like bees are flying at them.

La La Love You: An Introspective

I discovered the Pixies in 1992. And by "discovered" I mean that one of my cooler friends, Kelly, introduced me to them and I fell in love. The third CD I ever purchased was was "Come on Pilgrim." (The first CD I ever owned was Rico Suave. Shut. Up.)

They broke up in 1993.

Haunted Housing

My agent and I looked at the perfect house today. Perfect. Everything I want and more... right number of bedrooms, nice kitchen, A/C, cute neighborhood, minimal yard obligations...

After we saw it I asked her to call the listing broker about a few things, but it was just a stall tactic. I needed more time to know why I didn't want it.

Why didn't I want it? It had everything and more and the quirks could be unquirked. And the unquirked could be quirked. Or whatever.

Getting a life

My friend posted this on my wall on Facebook. It came from here. I don't know where they got it. The point is not that I don't know who the genious is who made this (either the meme or the sweater).... wait, the point IS the cat in a sweater.

Notes

Sometimes I send myself emails to remind me of things I think of while walking/working/sleeping/ driving that might make a good blog post. Because I have a memory the size of a goldfish, this doesn't always work because my notes are terrible.

Here are a few:

1. Subject of email: Nail clippings
Body of email: the name of the woman who works for me.