Have you ever (and the answer here should be yes if you are any sort of normal female human being with hormones and feelings) found yourself drinking a Cosmopolitan, eating cookie dough, with a fork, out of an old Tupperware, sitting on the couch with your sweat-panted legs propped up, in fluffy slippers, leaning on your dog, thinking about how much softer he is after a good bath, and watching pseudo-soap operas such as Dawson’s Creek or Gossip Girl and wishing, just a little bit, that your high school experience was more like the characters’ of said show, which, by the way, is on its tenth re-run because of the damn writers' strike? How about on a Monday night? Cause right now, that’s me. That’s right, I am so cool and fabulous that I’m a little tipsy, way too full on sugar, chocolate chips, and butter, and disgusted with myself over the nonsense I am totally digging on tv...and it’s only Monday. I’m on the couch with Bruschi the Mutt because I know he won’t judge me. He can’t: he’s sleeping. Really, it’s all the rage to be so bored by Monday night that you have to bust out the hard-a and turn on crap television by 8pm.
This is my life since I finished my Master’s degree and found myself stuck between landing a real job and working the quarter-time job I have that barely pays the non-existent rent
and utilities. More than one person told me having a Master’s degree would broaden my job horizons but I call their bluff right now. My part time job opening mail for the admissions office for a month and a half (you should have seen my cuticles and fingernails, sheesh) wasn’t exactly stimulating, but Hay-soos boy, it was something. I would rather do that than what I have now done for the past eight days: nothing. Last week I don’t think I changed out of my pajama top once. Well, I guess I went running, which means I wore a sports bra, and consequently showered, once or twice… but why take off your silky, comfy cami when you don’t have to? Don’t answer that.
To top off my most boring week of all time, I just about wanted to quit the miniscule job I do have nine times. The ski team coach made me run practice without any forewarning, which isn’t actually bad but is sure something to complain about. It obviously gets better: the Director of Residential Life tattled to the Dean of Students on us that our dog snapped at her dog (who charged us in our own front doorway, off leash, while Bruschi the Mutt, who is sensitive anyway, was stuck on his leash, per campus rules, smarty pants, and strapped to Mr. Law School Boyfriend with his computer, books, and coffee mug who couldn’t exactly complete the necessary dog-instinct assuaging maneuvers in time). We had to go have a meeting that reminded me of, not that I ever actually had, a call to the Principal’s office in which we looked and felt totally sheepish when actually it wasn’t our fault at all. Truly. Then, I locked myself out of the dorm, twice, which reminded me how much I hate living in a place that doesn’t have a private entrance. Then we were on duty all weekend which means staying up way past my bedtime for three nights in a row. Last night, the Patriots played like ass and lost the Superbowl—to Eli Manning. And today, I had a meeting, for which I was on time and in
the place I was told to be, that I had to wait over ten minutes just to find out I was in the wrong place but actually the lady I was meeting wasn’t in the right place either, nor was she anywhere in the building (I know, because I looked everywhere). She was at home with her sick (again) kid and blatantly just forgot about me altogether. Thanks.
So, I may be whining a bit, but I don’t do so very often so I don’t really give a damn what I sound like. I’m a little drunk and sugar high so I have a couple good excuses too. Good thing I’m running so much, it keeps off the pounds. Ten miles on Saturday, to be exact. Actually, if you add up all the running for training I’m doing, which I have clearly done in my boredom, it doesn’t actually add up to that much more running than I do on a regular weekly basis anyway, which means I can’t actually eat that much more than usual and still feel good about it which may actually be the only reason to run a marathon in the first place. Dammit again.
This is my life since I finished my Master’s degree and found myself stuck between landing a real job and working the quarter-time job I have that barely pays the non-existent rent
and utilities. More than one person told me having a Master’s degree would broaden my job horizons but I call their bluff right now. My part time job opening mail for the admissions office for a month and a half (you should have seen my cuticles and fingernails, sheesh) wasn’t exactly stimulating, but Hay-soos boy, it was something. I would rather do that than what I have now done for the past eight days: nothing. Last week I don’t think I changed out of my pajama top once. Well, I guess I went running, which means I wore a sports bra, and consequently showered, once or twice… but why take off your silky, comfy cami when you don’t have to? Don’t answer that.To top off my most boring week of all time, I just about wanted to quit the miniscule job I do have nine times. The ski team coach made me run practice without any forewarning, which isn’t actually bad but is sure something to complain about. It obviously gets better: the Director of Residential Life tattled to the Dean of Students on us that our dog snapped at her dog (who charged us in our own front doorway, off leash, while Bruschi the Mutt, who is sensitive anyway, was stuck on his leash, per campus rules, smarty pants, and strapped to Mr. Law School Boyfriend with his computer, books, and coffee mug who couldn’t exactly complete the necessary dog-instinct assuaging maneuvers in time). We had to go have a meeting that reminded me of, not that I ever actually had, a call to the Principal’s office in which we looked and felt totally sheepish when actually it wasn’t our fault at all. Truly. Then, I locked myself out of the dorm, twice, which reminded me how much I hate living in a place that doesn’t have a private entrance. Then we were on duty all weekend which means staying up way past my bedtime for three nights in a row. Last night, the Patriots played like ass and lost the Superbowl—to Eli Manning. And today, I had a meeting, for which I was on time and in
the place I was told to be, that I had to wait over ten minutes just to find out I was in the wrong place but actually the lady I was meeting wasn’t in the right place either, nor was she anywhere in the building (I know, because I looked everywhere). She was at home with her sick (again) kid and blatantly just forgot about me altogether. Thanks.So, I may be whining a bit, but I don’t do so very often so I don’t really give a damn what I sound like. I’m a little drunk and sugar high so I have a couple good excuses too. Good thing I’m running so much, it keeps off the pounds. Ten miles on Saturday, to be exact. Actually, if you add up all the running for training I’m doing, which I have clearly done in my boredom, it doesn’t actually add up to that much more running than I do on a regular weekly basis anyway, which means I can’t actually eat that much more than usual and still feel good about it which may actually be the only reason to run a marathon in the first place. Dammit again.
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