What Girls Do

  • Plan our weddings. Even though a wedding is not in our foreseeable future. We don’t care. Instead, we think things like, I want kind of an indie wedding. Like in a field somewhere so I can wear this vintage lace dress and one of those retro veils and have red lipstick on and my groom and his groomsmen will wear camel suits (if it’s Spring) or dark gray (if it’s Fall). And then our reception will be outside with these huge white tents (if it’s Spring) or in a barn with white lights hanging everywhere (if it’s Fall) and it’s just this big-ass celebration of LOVE AND COMMITMENT. 
  • Obsess. Over what? EVERYTHING. 
  • Overanalyze. Wait, so when he says “Yeah, okay” in a text message, does he really mean “Yeah, okay”? Or, like, does he not mean it? Shit! Is he mad at me? What kind of tone does he have? Am I getting on his nerves? That’s it, I’m never texting him again. 
  • Pick out baby names. How bout something classic like Anna Louise? Or better yet, something off the wall like Aurora Borealis. 
  • Overthink. Should I wear this belt? Or this other belt that looks exactly the same, but different? Do you think I’m annoying him with these texts? What does “Yeah, okay” mean? What should I say back? How long should I wait to say something back? He made me wait 30 minutes! That bastard! Now, I’m going to make him wait an hour. That’ll show him. What’s taking him so long to respond? He hates me. Wall comment or message? I don’t want it to seem like I’m being all secretive and shiz. Does this eyeliner make my face look fat? Why can’t I ever find the right foundation shade? Maybe I should buy more. Nah, I need to save money. Is makeup tax deductible? 
  • Go on diets…that last all of three hours. I’m so fat! Let me eat an entire sleeve of Chips Ahoy to make me feel better about myself! 
  • Discuss all of  the above with our amigas. SISTERHOOD FOREVAAAA.


Thanks to a broken left speaker in my car, I now have some legit caraoke. No, I’m not just spelling karaoke wrong. Caraoke really is a thing.

Sometimes I’ll be listening to a song and all of a sudden I’m all, “Waittt there’s supposed to be a guitar part right there.” (I don’t know the technical term for the “guitar part” of a song. Is there one? Whatever)

Other times, though, all of the vocals are gone. So it’s like I have my very own karaoke. In my car. How festive!

I can now test my knowledge of a song’s lyrics. Yeah, I thought I knew those words like the back of my hand. I was wrong.

I can also find out that I was sadly mistaken in thinking that I could sing alright sometimes. I now realize that I’m like those people who go on American Idol and say, “Everyone tells me I sound JUST LIKE Toni Braxton!”

And the best part is, I never know what I’m going to get! Maybe that one song by that one band doesn’t change at all. But maybe, if I’m lucky, I can pretend I’m in a karaoke bar (think, the one in My Best Friend’s Wedding) and I’ve had a few drinks and I’m asking if they have  “I’m a Slave 4 U” and can I pleeeez sing it?



What’s the haps?

I FINALLY GOT A JOB, albeit a temporary one. But hey, six weeks of making some bank is six weeks of making some bank, ya heard? (both times I tried to type “six,” I typed “sex” instead. Freud would have a field day with me)

Lemme tell you about my job. Better yet, let me show you. This is what my office space (har har har) looks like for realz:

Picture it: Me and this other lady. In a glorified closet. Surrounded by files, files, and more files. It is our duty to reorganize said files and try to figure out what distinguishes an acquisition file from a corporate file. AWESOME. FILES. 

I have to tell you about the lady I work with. She is older and is sort of like my mother figure in the workplace. And boy is she a talker. Which is good because I am most definitely not. So she’s sitting there talking about her son’s girlfriend and how much she hates her because she’s only 18 and already has two kids and she doesn’t want her son to be the baby daddy of this chick’s next one. But her son has apparently already fathered some kid up in New York, where they’re from. When she goes out to take smoke breaks she says, “I gotta go take a cig break” and mimics holding a cigarette in her hand. Then she says, “I don’t even smoke that much. Maybe two or three a day. I don’t know why.” And I just laugh that nervous laugh. You know the one. She has a degree from FIT and is going to school right now for interior design. She’s super cool.

During lunch every day I go across the street to Chic-fil-a and then I take my food back to my car and eat it. Yes, I am that person. Even though it’s hotter than blue blazes outside. You see, it is downright freezing in the office building, so I like to scald myself before going back inside. And then I proceed to read a Hemingway* novel. Good Lord, could I BE any more anti-social? Whatever. Like Bon Jovi once said…It’s my life.

Ummm yeah, that’s it I guess. Oh! I also moved into a new place. It’s just like Melrose Place except instead of having Grant Show as a neighbor, I have Paul. He just had several surgeries on his leg so he has a special handicap spot the complex made for him. “V.I.P. parking,” he likes to call it.


*I just feel like I need to point something out about this book, The Sun Also Rises. When the main character is describing this woman, he says, “She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht.” Whaaat?? She’s shaped like a boat? And this is a good thing, I reckon.