most eligible: knox/henderson
oh hello, old friends. first things first. i decided to finally make an actual Facebook page for my blog. i know, kinda overdue but really moreso just super official (<--- click there. those two words are linked because they take you to my page.... technology). please "like" it and check it from here on out for new posts, random sprinkles of thought from me and whenever/wherever you feel like! now... welcome to my bachelorette pad:
you feel sexy, don't you? how could you not when looking at a picture like this? comfy couch. remote control. hopelessly attractive lady awaiting you, ready to rub her mass of hair all over your body. i'm ready for my close-up, everyone.
but for real. as i sit here watching "most eligible dallas" on the best channel ever (bravo), i can't help but laugh in horror and scream "OMG! I KNOW THAT BAR! I KNOW THAT RESTAURANT! OMG THEY'RE AT THAT PLACE I KNOW! I'VE NEVER BEEN THERE BUT I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" why these people? why? the only attractive one is the 23-year-old mother of one who "hasn't had french fries in forever!" and is a "rockstar." cunt. i just don't get how they chose these candidates out of everyone in the big-D. what about everybody else? the little people? the poor people? what about ME?!
that's right. me. who says i couldn't be the star of a reality show on a cable network? i'll prove all of you nay-sayers wrong RIGHT.... NOW.
if i were on most eligible... (a day in the life of me and how it would come across on a tv show):
730a, wake-up: RISE AND SHINE! it's time to get up and at 'em! my alarm goes off at 730 and i usuuuuuually don't get out of bed until, oh, 755. 8. i live on the edge. that right there makes for an incredibly suspenseful opening scene much like that of inglorious basterds minus the milk and plus a foggy looking glass of water on the nightstand. is she gonna make it? how in the hell is she gonna paint her face, make coffee, make her bed (OCD), AND turn her A/C off all before she needs to be out the door?! STAY TUNED...
835a, arrive at work: we just moved into a new building, so making my way through the parking garage is intense. this is where you would cue the suspenseful music. i mean, i almost ran into 2 cars today. THAT'S DRAMA, PEOPLE. THAT'S FUCKING DRAMA. and i have to walk a WHOLE FLIGHT OF STAIRS to get to my floor. i'm sweating just thinking about how intensely intense it is for me. oh no. there's that one person i don't like to fake smile at. cut to me in a monologue booth explaining why i don't like to fake smile at that person. i'm so engaging.
835a-noon, work work work: i email. all i really do is email. email this, email that. sometimes i have to make the long walk down to our in-house UPS and MAIL things. like WHAT?! who does that? i do. me. that's why i earn what i make. because i walk around a huge building and type so hard, i'm surprised i don't have bandages on every fucking finger on my body. sometimes i eat snacks. or get water. and when the printers don't work or someone has to ask me a question TWICE? drama drama drama. i mean holy shit. i'm thinking of getting those bubblegum cigarettes JUST so i can go outside for smoke breaks because i'm so effing stressed.
noon-1p, lunch: every single day i bring lunch and ever single day i decide to eat out and forget that i brought a lunch. SO WHAT? I DON'T WANNA EAT MY LUNCH I BROUGHT, OKAY??? OH YEAH - A TURKEY SANDWICH FROM HOME WITH SOME FUCKING CARROTS AND HUMMUS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT AFTER SUCH A HARD AND STRESSFUL MORNING. NO. NO. I WANT SOMETHING DELICIOUS. I WANT A BREAK. GET ME OUT OF THIS BUILDING!!! who's driving? not me - i need to save my gas for driving around knox/henderson with my windows down and picking my nose while winking at guys.
1p-3p, work some more: this is usually the time meetings occur. one after the other after the other. do they ever end? it's like, i have stuff to do. i need to order that blazer online and read up on some happy hour places to suggest to my friends. when am i gonna find time for all the things in life that i need to accomplish?! and it doesn't help that i'm usually the center of every meeting. i mean, it's not like i'm one of those bodies that just sits in the room and listens to everyone else discussing important stuff (yes i am). i can't sleep at night because of how stressed i get coming up with different facial expressions to look concerned/intense/confused/worried/intrigued in these endless meetings.
3p, snack time: I'M RAVENOUS AND I NEED A SNACK RIGHT NOW. HOLD ALL MY CALLS FROM MY MOTHER UNTIL I GET TO EAT, PLEASE. gimme a health bar, some organic cheese crackers or a fucking snickers bar. no, doritos. NO - m&ms. now i feel fat and worthless and ugly. i hate you all. i'll take those calls from my mother now and silently weep in my cube (i can see it now... a close-up of my face as i silently cry on the phone to one and only true friend... mother golden "it's all right, honey. they don't know you like we know you and only you know yourself the best out of everyone who knows you, even me. wanna come home after work for a tuna sandwich?" "NO, MOM! GOD. YOU'RE SO INSENSITIVE").
3p-530p, finish up that work: could these hours beeeee any longer?!?? i have shit to do after work! i need to buy groceries, load pictures to share with the world and write my blog! THIS. I NEED TO WRITE THIS. sometimes i'm really in shock of how stressful my life is. i mean no wonder i sometimes get 1 pimple or stress-eat - who wouldn't with this kind of shit going on??! ugh. it's like get me a burger, because i cannot handle this fucking excel spreadsheet any longer. i can't even think about it. i just need to keep working so i can earn those dollars and leave to get my REAL stuff done. this is just petty bullshit (if you are my employer and you're reading this, please know how sarcastic i'm being. now i'm terrified. i love my job. i love all of it).
530p-??? IT'S A BLUR: groceries, pacing around my apartment, wine alone, sometimes with friends, dinners every now and again with friends, chipotle burritos, cooking experiments, laundry, nose-picking, staring off into space, 4-5 phone calls nightly with my mom, checking my mail once every 2 weeks, SHOWERING? WORKING OUT? I MEAN WHO HAS TIME FOR ALL OF THIS??? WHO HAS TIME TO PACE AROUND THEIR APARTMENT? I HAVE TO ACTUALLY SET ASIDE A BLOCK OF TIME TO GET THAT PART ACCOMPLISHED.
the point is, no - i may not have a lot of money and never EVER step foot in uptown unless it's broad daylight and i know i'm safe from douchebags and slutty mcgees, but i am interesting. i'm fun. i talk to myself a lot, so i know the cameras would soak that shit up. i cry at random. i dance with myself. i sing. i do it all! i'm the total reality TV package minus every single thing that makes a reality TV personality a reality TV personality BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL INSANE.
whew. i'm done.