I am truly not hard to please. If you ask my husband I believe he will agree. I am content to eat a salad for dinner and a day out is a trip to Victoria Secret to cash in my coupon for free underwear. Nevertheless, for the past year I have been whining daily about needing a new bed.
It’s been over six months since my very public foray into online dating.
As much as I’d like to report that it was a wildly successful endeavor, it seems that with online dating sites- as in life- you only get what you give, and waiting for your future boyfriend to message you while you put little to no effort in gets you basically nowhere.
The truth is, the only thing that I understand about my health insurance is that I have it, and that my co-pay is twenty dollars. Don’t even get me started on 401ks, life insurance policies and stock options.
It was already getting dark out when I boarded the Megabus, leaving the comfort of my parents’ home in the Berkshires and stepping into the harsh reality that is the Albany to NYC bus route.
I sat down, put my headphones on and closed my eyes, hoping to only open them again once we had reached our destination.
I hate shopping. [editor’s note: no really- she hates it.]
And I especially hate it on a beautiful summer day when I could be doing a whole lot of anything else.
Nevertheless, sometimes you have to go buy a few things, and in North Adams if it isn’t Wal-Mart or The Dollar Tree then it’s a trip to Target.
My husband and I like to call these outings a “date.” This is supposed to make us feel happy and in love instead of miserable and filled with dread as we consider if we have enough gas to drive the 15 miles to the store, or whether we could have postponed buying laundry soap and toilet paper just one more week.
This trip would be brief. Rod would go in his direction and I in mine. Zip, zip, meet at the register and done. And it went just that way.
Once at the register Rod gave me a Visa gift card that he wanted to use toward the purchases. There was $10 left of the original $25. We ran the card and the cashier blandly stated, “It says the card’s no good.”
The last time the topic of online dating was brought up on this website, it ended in a Welch’s-drinking pedophile and a lonely birthday cake. Because of this, I shelved the idea for a few months and decided I would let fate do all the work for me. Everybody knows you’ll never find your man if you’re out looking for him!
Friday, July Something
Well dear reader, it has finally happened. After being unemployed since March 3, I have finally snapped my cap, gone ‘round the bend, bought a ticket for the Up With People Concert, and begun wearing traffic cones on my head as cutting-edge fashion. What I mean to say is that I’ve caught the disease reserved for the elderly, the insane and individuals without access to a Gregorian Calendar.
It was waiting downstairs.
As you probably have learned from hard-won experience, dear reader, the things that blindside you and alter the course of your life (and not in a good way), the horrific things, don’t come accompanied by a dramatic swell of orchestral music and terse lines of movie script. There aren’t any vampires coming in through the windows at 1 a.m. No, the horrors pop up unheralded on a sunny, ordinary Wednesday morning out of a clear blue sky.
I’m sure by now everybody has heard about the big Anthony Weiner sexting scandal.
You know, the one where the New York democratic rep. sent sexy-time pics and messages to a plethora of young female fans over Twitter and Facebook?
The messages, some of which included Weiner shirtless or with “bulging-underpants,” were leaked earlier this month to a shocked and appalled country, and now the (married) politician is doing some serious damage control.
Second Full Week, Unemployed
I warmed up the car this morning at 8:45, drove Rochelle to work, stopped into Wal-Mart for squirrel food, then straight back to my PC to file for unemployment claims, work on some writing, try and figure out how the hell to get a job, and see if Willie Raylan will mosey on downstairs to have another conversation with me.