Verbal Diarrhea

A media rep came in to work this week to treat us to a department lunch. I resisted eating two sandwiches this time - I already embarassed myself by eating THREE grilled cheese sandwiches the previous week at a meeting - but I couldn't shake the temptation of the cookie tray. I kept going back for more (hopefully the steps to the kitchen burned the cals).

Anyways, on my 5th trip to the cookie tray, I passed a crushworthy boy who I've only said six words to ("Hi!" and "I like your plaid shirt!") and instead of stepping up my game by passing him with a flirty smile or seductively licking the cookie, I said, "Shh. Don't tell anyone this is my 5th cookie."

GOOD GOD.

"N" is for "Nin-kam-poop"

Whenever I have to spell out my name for someone over the phone (because most of America fails at spelling), I am always at a loss for words, and thus, my dignity gets thrown out the window.

A normal person would say "Elizabeth...e, l, i, z as in 'zoo'..."

Not me.

I always come up with the most obscure things, as in "e, l, i, z as in "Zsa Zsa Gabor...."

Or "H as in ho-bag."

Senior Citizen at Heart

For the fourth weekend in a row, I had to go to the mall - you know, the place I don't like to visit. Funny how life works out.

It's taken me four weeks to get my eyes situated.

First visit: eye exam.

Second visit: second consultation (I must have lied during the first week).

Third visit: order contacts (because calling in to order proved to be too difficult).

Fourth visit: pick up contacts.

And what the hell, I also ordered new glasses. I now officially look like Liz Lemon.

While waiting around the mall for an hour while they put together my new eyes, and after circling the food court to take advantage of teriyaki chicken samples (I think they started to get annoyed after the 57th time), I decided to treat myself to Burger King.

I ended up scarfing it down, because a) hello, j-u-n-k! and b) I started to feel pathetic. There I was, sitting in my blue jacket (which I discovered is meant for a little boy), leisurely reading my Cottages and Bungalows magazine, waiting for my new eyes.

You may now call me Benjamina Button.

Meow.

My style mentor, Betty White, might host SNL soon.

I hope her cat purse is the surprise special guest.

And she does an Omeletteville duet with JT.

My Sacrifice (sung in Scott Stapp voice)

I can't believe Lent is right around the corner. I never know what to give up. The logical sacrifice would be candy, but you've got to admit, Sprees for dinner are delicious.

Or, maybe I should give up eating Lucky Charms before I go to bed.

I do, however, know what my neighbor should give up. Gambling! If I jump up from my chair one more time scared poopless from his loud swear word-filled screams, my butt is going to get too sore.

Interested in suggestions, I turned to the world wide web and found out that "many people use Lent for taking the complexity out of their lives" and "they take a Lenten fast from lifestyle clutter." In that case, ta-ta freelance position!!

Or not.

postscript: I should be getting ahead with work (cough, cough....catching up) right now, but it just took me 20 minutes to find a humorous "work" picture in Google images.

Priorities, people.

Why I Shop Online

Shopping malls irritate me. Whenever I go, I wonder why I ever went in the first place.

First, it's filled with parents who think it's cute to babytalk to their children in a public space. You sound dumb.

Second, it's filled with drivers who make it their mission to find the closest parking space to the store, making numerous, pointless trips around the lot. It's called walking.

Third, I always get sidechecked by some pajama wearing 14-year-old's Juicy bag. Step aside for your elders!

And I feel bad for Rocky Rococo. How does that place stay in business - I never see anyone in line!

My Love Continues

Jimmy Fallon's "Idiot Boyfriend" was my college anthem. Partygoers at the Moontower always got an eyeful of the "Lee Lee bootaaayyy-shake" everytime the song came on. As a result of creating such a musical masterpiece, James (our secret love name) remained to be my celebrity crush throughout college.

And then the candle died.

Until a few weeks ago....or before I started sleeping through life as nighttime passed me by (see previous post).

I started watching his show. He is brilliant. I love his laugh.

Our crew is taking an RV to New York for Rems' (spelling - ugggh, why do people have s's [again!!] at the end of their names?) wedding. Somehow I will need to bribe them to plaster a photoshopped picture of us across the side of the bus, sit outside 30 Rock, and wait until James runs to me while Journey's "Open Arms" plays out of KJ's boombox.

Call it inspired by "The Buried Life: Episode of Stalking Transformers Premiere to Ask Out Megan Fox."