Wish I Were….
I’m just sure it’s gorgeous outside. I have a feeling about the sky, that’s it’s sunny and just cold enough to be biting. Of course, down here in United’s cinderblock bowels, there’s no windows to confirm my suspicion.
Listening to music at work is such a double-edged sword. I’m listening to song called “Bubble Toes” by Jack Johnson, a song which is making me dance in my chair. I’m grateful they’ve sequestered me at this moment, because I can dance, dance, dance. But sometimes I just want to sing along down here. Not allowed, says the Man. Even worse are those songs that make you want to throw the first person you see across a desk and perform intensely carnal acts. (Heel, P-Jo!)
Who wants a Harley-Davidson calendar from last year? There’s one in this desk’s drawer.
My paranoia is growing. I’m always incredibly protective of myself when I leave the house. I know who’s behind me at all times. If I can help it, I let people walking behind me pass, generally by faking that I have to tie my shoes. Of course, in a crowd, I can’t really do this. Last weekend, Peedge and I were at the fabulous Gramercy here in Chicago. As we walked passed a table headed by a man with a lit cigarette, I was sure he was going to burn me. Inexplicable. However, we live in a bizarre world. Note the sniper.
I need to be able to stay up past 1130. Any tips?
Eating: The us’. I’m going to make a supah minestrone tonight with cornbread. I’m also going to whip up a low-fat apple brown betty. Boo yah.
Driving: Thanks to my boss, Dave, I took this bitchin’ route home through the forest preserve. It would have been perfect with some Vivaldi.
Weighing: Still down 40. Can’t crack into the last 30, though. Feh.
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