Wednesday, March 01, 2006, 6:11 PM
By 6:31 p.m. last night, I had already shucked my work clothes, jumped into a pair of sweats, washed my face, opened a bottle of Pinot Noir ... and had shoved a Duncan Hines chocolate cake into the oven to bake. Last week on Tuesday? I was lucky if I was home at this time. Luh-kay, I tell you.
It takes me nine minutes if I'm walking fast, twelve if I'm not, to walk to work. It takes me about four (not including wait time for the bus) if I take the bus. On the way, I pass the Improv, a comedy club that's been around for over what? Twenty years?
I've decided to wait for the weekend to do any more unpacking. I kicked butt this weekend. And it's best to keep butt kickage for weekends, no?
Tonight on the walk home, I ruined number four's entrance, although not intentionally. There were cameramen and a mob of people on the sidewalk -- right in my frigging way, man, I'd've had to walk out into the street to pass 'em all -- along with a big white screen and maybe a light or two. "Okay, number four," some man said. And then I strutted right through everything, me and my hot pink and blue flower print hug top. Meow. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed some guy didn't run after me asking if I wanted to be number five or not, because I really wanted to get home and cook my chicken while having a glass of wine.
I painted my toe nails mud brown the other night. Stand back, Cover Girls.
I love having my own place. Part of me feels guilty about that, because I never wanted to be a loner kind of girl. But I'm here to tell you that running from who you are and what you want is a big mistake -- Grand Canyon size. I'm still learning that I'm much better off accepting who I am, even if it goes against the norm, even if it's not exactly comfortable.
I will browbeat myself into loveable submission. I will.
(Pardon me whilst I gag.)
I can't find my hammer. Good thing I'm not ready to hang pictures yet.