I need it to be spring.
Right. Now.
As I type this, it is sleeting outside. As I type this, my hair is wet from having to walk to the plebe parking outside our building.
You know how I used to park in rock star parking at work? A scant forty yards from the door along the side of the building in the illegal area?
Well guess what they did? They made that LEGAL parking. And you’d think I’d be jumping for joy, but now everyone who always WANTED to park there but didn’t want to break the freaking parking code, AND not to mention, gets to work far earlier than I do, now THEY are all parking there.
Humph.
Rules suck.
Parking sucks.
And need I even tell you that I wore dress flats to work today, to go with my Scully suit and my grey ass pearls? Need I even tell you that I chose not to wear a coat because it was fairly warm and I normally don’t have to walk from B.F.E. to get into work? Need I even tell you that?
No. I don’t think I need to.
Walking two hundred yards through rain and sleet, doing that little ‘girly running but not running’ maneuver that you see stupid women doing and that I detest, without a coat or umbrella’. Well, it doesn’t put one in the best of moods. Nor does it make one’s hair presentable for the staff at Starbucks.
You see, I wear nothing under the Scully suit. I like how my pale skin contrasts with the black fabric and it’s not a low cut suit, but rather fairly high. Thus nothing comes between me and my Scully suit. Well, a bra, but you know what I meant. And it looks really nice with my grey ass pearls. To further enhance this whole black/silver thing I had going on, I painted my newly long fingernails a shiny retro silver as well.
Then I realized on the drive to work this morning that if I move my arms a certain way, The Scully shifts and basically exposes my right breast to the world.
And what better way to utilize that new found talent than to drive through Starbucks after work for a lovely Venti Chai Latte??? Hmmmm?
However, after the run to the Monte in the back forty, I looked very much like a half-drowned Carnie Wilson in that Hold On video, except without Chynna and Wendy to stand behind and hide my bulbous ass. And the worse part was that I was then wet and wearing a ton of unnatural fibers and my hair was droopy.
Then I decided that maybe I’d try to pull off an adorable mussed-up Meg Ryan type thing. I fluffed up my stringy soggy locks and pouted, checking out the look in the mirror.
We had progressed from Carnie Wilson Pre-Stomach Stapling to Micheal Jackson Post-Face Meltdown. Only without all the pedophilia.
Or his sister Latoya.
And have I mentioned that during the wet trek out to the peasant parking, my face somehow erupted not one, not two, but three (THREE!!!) zits, all in perfect formation. One on either side of my chin and one on the tip of my nose.
It’s like the Bermuda Triangle of Ugly is happening on my face.
I went to Starbucks anyway. If Starbucks Guy didn’t want to flirt with me when I’m sodden and have the sign on Zoul on my face in acne, then he wasn’t worthy of my attention.
I drove up. Heard the flirty voice through the loudspeaker. Drove up. Positioned my suit so that it was flattering the girls and was greeted at the window.
By Viggo.
Starbucks Guy has left the building, people. I haven’t seen him in over a week. He’s quit, I’m just sure of it. The fates are aligning to keep us apart, me and Starbucks Guy. He’s at home, writing sad songs on his ukulele with lyrics like ‘Mrs. Esteban’ I loved her so’ she always got a Caffe Mocha venti to go.’
Some days I just shouldn’t get up.
How sweet is my husband? Just as I was about to post this entry, he walked in the door with a bouquet of iris’ and white roses.
Because I had a bad day and he said I sounded sad on the phone.
Collectively now…. awwwwwwwwwww.
FYI: Last day to get your answers in for the people who are competing for prizes.
Pssss…. want to do me a favor? Pop on over to Levontaun’s Diary and beg him to update in his guestbook. I miss him and he makes me smile.
