I'm supposed to be working. Today is Thursday and it is 1:20 in the PM. I have at least 12.8 hours worth of work-related activities to complete. Problem is, none of them seem that urgent. Oh, but they are. Problem is, I just don't care. I have ants in my pants. I can't sit still. Nay. I don't want to sit still. I would much prefer to browse concert listings for the summer concert series at Red Butte Gardens and plot ways to get tickets to the SOLD OUT WILLIE NELSON SHOW. My life-long dream. Sold out. Wah.
Thirty minutes ago, I walked out to my car, started it, and drove approximately 3 blocks before realizing that I didn't have anything to do and that going to Cold Stone out of boredom would be foolish and a waste of my hard-earned cash. So I turned around. And came back to the office where I walked upstairs and went back to browsing randomness on the interwebs. Well, I could at least blog, I thought to myself. But as you can see, this blog has clearly not brought any motivation or order to my existence. I'm all over the place.
Oh, but I did want to mention one funny thing I observed today. During my sojourn into no place at all, I spied a girl sitting on the trunk of her car in the parking lot of my office. Several points of background information are pertinent in order for you to fully appreciate this little foray of randomness.
1. There is no one else in said parking lot. No one. Except me. And two stray cats that I try to catch every day so they can come to live in O'NeilVille. They always run away. Bastard cats.
2. While it's a lovely warm temperature outside, the wind is HOWLING. And I mean howling around in a hurricane-esque fashion.
So anyway. What did I behold but this WEIRD-O girl sitting on the trunk of her car PLAYING HER GUITAR AND SINGING HER HEART OUT. TO NO ONE AT ALL EXCEPT HANK AND FRANK THE FERRAL CATS. AND EVEN MORE COMICAL, HER HAIR IS FLYING AROUND IN A MOST ALARMING FASHION. Her long hair looks somewhat like the ties on Cinderella's dress when the little birds are fluttering around with them as they finish whipping her dress into shape. I MEAN. IT IS HILARIOUS. I drove past her once, trying in vain to take her photo with my phone. Sadly, it didn't turn out. I worked up the nerve to drive past again, but she had just adjourned her little sing-song. I was devastated. I so wanted a visual for this blog.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Notes On Becoming A Recluse
So. Just the other night, or last weekend, or the one before that, or maybe a month or so ago, Gordon O'Neil took me on a date to the movies. We saw "Date Night", which we expected to be hilarious, given the teaming up of Steve Carrell and Tina Fey.
It was...well, it was just EH. One certainly can't deny the funny parts (Steve Carrell dancing on the stripper pole was certainly a highlight), but there are always problems when one tries to combine comedy and action. There is a small problem with the credibility/believability factor. Anyway. So that's not the point of this blog.
The premise of the movie is a couple who has kids and jobs and bills and a mortgage and all the other stuff that comprises the life of a Grown Up. The complication of this story is that Steve and Tina are worried that their lives have begun to be too mundane, too boring, too predictable. They start to wonder about the choices they have made. And here is where we split, me and the movie.
I ADORE MUNDANE. I ADORE BORING. I ADORE PREDICTABILITY. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like to go out occasionally. But every single time we are out, I just want to go home. I look forward to going home and relaxing in bed with several episodes of Flip This House or House Hunters International. Case en pointe...while watching "Date Night", I kept wanting to lay out across several seats with a blanket. I find myself thinking about how it is so much more comfortable to watch a movie in my own bed where I don't have to deal with strangers who smack too loudly on their popcorn and slurp their sodas and who laugh just a little too loud and who smell funny.
This concerns me.
Am I becoming a recluse? Am I slowly but surely becoming the girl who stops cutting her hair, shaving her legs or putting on mascara? Am I going to stop wearing real clothes and begin wearing only sweatpants and my husband's t-shirts, all day every day? I may be turning into a hermit without really even knowing it. Already, I view trips to the grocery store as the bain of my existence. And don't even ask me about the last time I actually went to the gym. It's all too much for me. It just takes too much effort.
I find this realization disconcerting.
Obviously, this can't really happen because I have a job that prohibits such a lifestyle. But seriously. The minute I get home from work...the reclusery begins. And yes, I'm quite confident that "reclusery" is a word.
Then again. Who really cares? Is there really anything wrong with the fact that all I really need in life are my pets, my husband, my sweats and some cereal? No. No there is not. There is nothing wrong with this at all. From here on out, I vow to embrace my hermit habits.
It was...well, it was just EH. One certainly can't deny the funny parts (Steve Carrell dancing on the stripper pole was certainly a highlight), but there are always problems when one tries to combine comedy and action. There is a small problem with the credibility/believability factor. Anyway. So that's not the point of this blog.
The premise of the movie is a couple who has kids and jobs and bills and a mortgage and all the other stuff that comprises the life of a Grown Up. The complication of this story is that Steve and Tina are worried that their lives have begun to be too mundane, too boring, too predictable. They start to wonder about the choices they have made. And here is where we split, me and the movie.
I ADORE MUNDANE. I ADORE BORING. I ADORE PREDICTABILITY. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like to go out occasionally. But every single time we are out, I just want to go home. I look forward to going home and relaxing in bed with several episodes of Flip This House or House Hunters International. Case en pointe...while watching "Date Night", I kept wanting to lay out across several seats with a blanket. I find myself thinking about how it is so much more comfortable to watch a movie in my own bed where I don't have to deal with strangers who smack too loudly on their popcorn and slurp their sodas and who laugh just a little too loud and who smell funny.
This concerns me.
Am I becoming a recluse? Am I slowly but surely becoming the girl who stops cutting her hair, shaving her legs or putting on mascara? Am I going to stop wearing real clothes and begin wearing only sweatpants and my husband's t-shirts, all day every day? I may be turning into a hermit without really even knowing it. Already, I view trips to the grocery store as the bain of my existence. And don't even ask me about the last time I actually went to the gym. It's all too much for me. It just takes too much effort.
I find this realization disconcerting.
Obviously, this can't really happen because I have a job that prohibits such a lifestyle. But seriously. The minute I get home from work...the reclusery begins. And yes, I'm quite confident that "reclusery" is a word.
Then again. Who really cares? Is there really anything wrong with the fact that all I really need in life are my pets, my husband, my sweats and some cereal? No. No there is not. There is nothing wrong with this at all. From here on out, I vow to embrace my hermit habits.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)