"Love is like a booger . . .

. . . You keep picking at it until you get it, then wonder what to do with it."

::EDIT::
I think I was just being cynical -- who wouldn't want love? It's just hard to find.
:: end-EDIT::


(Anytime anyone says the word booger, I can't help but conjure up an image of the Loganator . . . haha, no hard feelings, but it makes me giggle . . . booger!)

Hence why you never see me picking my nose . . . I really want nothing to do with the L word right now. I definitely have too much going on to involve someone else in this chaos. Besides, there's enough of love in the lives of everyone else -- I'll stick with getting my fill vicariously. Love is a retarded, sticky mess that I'm not ready for. . . especially not from Jesse, my old hick-t-shirt-wearing, orange-hunting-hat-loving, slurred-speech-delivering, OT boyfriend. *gag*

What I would like, though, is a job. If anyone has any ideas, don't hesitate to let me know . . .

I woke up early this morning, unenthusiastically, to finish homework, that I made look all professional because the assignment said: "Write as if I were your supervisor and you were giving me a project analysis." Hence, I wrote as if Dr. Dickey was my supervisor and I was handing in a market-basket analysis. Douche Bag (we'll call him DB for short) smart ass saw it and made fun of my having worked so hard. Now, you know me . . . I didn't work hard, I just made it look like I did. I like producing good work. But now, it is an hour later, and he's still laughing and I AM MAD. Stupid DB.


Life is full of DB's. I need to learn how to avoid them.

"A new friend is as new wine . . .

. . . when it is old, thou shalt drink it with pleasure."

Nothing like a bible passage to remind me of how lucky I am to have the friends I do, and compare them to wine, no less. I find that ironically appropriate.

Amanda is my vintage Chianti. I wouldn't dare let anyone break the cork, or steal it out of my wine cabinet. You can't put a price on it either, so don't even try. It's there for good, and I'll dust it off everyday. I know it's already aged appropriately, but I'm a hoarder -- I say time can only make it even better.

Holly, you're my Christmas Wine. Just kidding! You're spirit lies in a millennial bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, whether you like it or not. The year 2000 snuck up and seemed to manifest its great importance out of nowhere, and my millennial bottle represents such a momentous occasion. It grows more valuable everyday. I can only imagine how great it'll be 50 years from now, and will continue to nurture it.

So girls, when we're old, grey, and living on the same street with little porches and rocking chairs, we're cracking open a bottle (or a few) in celebration.

"Live each season as it passes . . .

breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each."



The winter is cold -- not as cold as an Ohio winter, or a New York winter, or a Chicago winter, or an Arctic winter -- but still cold. It becomes so incredibly easy to procrastinate, hibernate, inebriate, when it's cold. I find myself wasting a lot of time (now is no exception) and, contradicting as it is, complaining about not having enough time. One of the many curses of life, I suppose. In our heads, or atleast mine (and I feel my mind may be an unbiased estimator), I feel too busy 90%(estimated true percentage) of the time, but yet I still find plenty of opportunities to reorganize my email inbox or watch old shows saved on the DVR. It's a sad, sad rut the cold season brings. I fail to enjoy often enough the cool air(I loathe taking Vegas out), the satisfaction of a warm tea or coffee (I must confess, I've been working on the tea thing), the heartiness of homecooked winter meals(again, trying), the plethora of sweaters in my closet(if only they weren't itchy), and the overall sense of winter and the closeness it inspires. Why can't I be a winter person? Because I'm too busy. HAH. I fool myself.

It's just too damn cold. :-) I think it's impossible (maybe improbable is a better choice of vocabulary) to enjoy these 3 months, no matter where you live. What is WRONG with those people who go skiing? Over my dead (death by statistics) body.



Anyway . . . it's the year 2009. I made no resolutions this year because I knew I'd never be able to keep any. Kind of pathetic, I know. Maybe I'll think of some and make mid-year resolutions. I feel the patheticness taking over, so I best do something about it fast.

You know what cures all pathetic, winter-induced, ails? An Irish Coffee OR . . . a trip to Key West.

Bring on the Bailey's and Jameson! Happy Friday, and welcome to my life as an adult blogger.

"I feel sorry for people who do not drink . . . When they wake up in the morning it is as good as they are going to feel all day."