I haven’t just been absent here. I’ve also been absent from many areas of my life, including my office as you can see.
Lately my office remains empty more often than not, while I attend meetings. My team finally replaced me, which is fine I suppose, just as long as they recognize I have better hair and much funnier ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.
“Sarah I think I finally beat you at the grandkid game. I’m officially the favorite.”
“Ben, I highly doubt it. But what makes you THINK you’re the favorite?”
“I took the day off work and drove down to see grandma and grandpa.”
“Yeah, that’s the act of a favorite grandchild alright.”
“They were pretty happy to see me. I’m a fresh memory, unlike the flowers you sent a few months ago. So I win.”
“I don’t know about that… I actually ordered grandma a dozen roses yesterday.”
“Dammit, Sarah, that’s not fair. It takes you five minutes to send flowers and it takes me hours to drive down and back.”
“I’m not only a better grandkid, but I’m also better at time management.”
“I hate you right now.”
Today as I cleaned up all the dog shit in my backyard I ran across this teeny flower:
I stood still and stared at the flower for the next five minutes. Maybe I needed the visual reminder that underneath all life’s shit it’s possible to find something special.
Or maybe I was just scared of stepping in crap.
Now that I’m 34-years-old, I’ve finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up.
I want to be this lady:
I’m not kidding around here. Think about it… she gets to wear a pink cowgirl hat AND a motherfucking tiara.
How cool is that?
Um, it’s cool. Trust me. Plus I bet someone else washes her hair and bathes her, which is pretty much my new life goal.
I’ve been struggling with my age lately. When I look in the mirror I see my face starting to age, and that is hard to come to terms with.
Hearing this woman roar with laughter over something the cashier said put everything into perspective. Who gives a shit if my laugh lines are getting deeper? At least I’m still laughing.
When I got home yesterday I found a box from Nordstrom sitting on my porch.
Guess who has been online shopping after taking Ambien again?
The shirt is a cute, and I would have most certainly picked it out in a non-Ambien state. That’s not the problem. Breaking my budget is the real issue.
Why can’t my Ambien spending sprees be limited to paying bills? Clearly my subconscious doesn’t understand that I’m going to need to replace my car soon. Oh, and buy groceries, UNLESS my subconscious is telling me to go on a diet. In which case, my subconscious is a total dickface and I demand a new one immediately. Can you imagine being able to custom order your subconscious? I would have a smaller ass, perfect skin, a great rack and much longer legs.
So I guess I need to train my subconscious to think I’m a Victoria’s Secret model. Great.
“I can’t sell you this Sudafed.”
“You don’t have a barcode on your driver’s license.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry; there’s nothing I can do. People make drugs out of this stuff.”
“Um, it already is a drug. One I need.”
“I can’t sell you full strength without proper state identification. You’re going to have to buy the regular strength.”
“Would it help if I cried?”
“What if I tell you the elevator/airplane/vertigo diagnosis the Internet gave me. Would that help?”
“You’ve already told me twice and no, it won’t help.”
“Would it help if my panties fell out of my purse? It happened before you know.”
“Miss, I really need to help the other customers now.”
“Fine, but I really don’t think this is what they meant by crack ruins lives you know.”