July 23rd, 2008
I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve lost my enthusiasm for Charmed. I realized things had gotten out of control sometime last week when I was reluctantly setting aside time to have it on in the background, like it was some kind of chore. And nothing involving Alyssa Milano’s midriff should be a chore.
By the way, if we’re pretending there was no nice family or fun wedding this past weekend, the rest of our experience was actually pretty painful. My God, we could not have chosen a worse hotel, which was completely taken over by the Wilson Family Reunion. This meant that not only were the Wilsons all wearing matching sun-yellow T-shirts with their deceased ancestor creepily emblazoned on the back, but they decided that since there were so many of them, that they were free to use the entire hotel for their own purposes, including a raucous game of Monopoly in the hallway right outside our door. Let me tell you, nothing is worse than hearing screams of “I GOT BOARDWALK, SUCKAH!” at 1 a.m. when Jesus knows, you’d rather be sleeping. Also, why the door slamming? Can no one shut anything GENTLY?
(Side note: The entire Wilson family then proceeded to rise at 6 a.m. in preparation for the bus that was taking all 150 of them to Sesame Place. Wilson family, do you ever fucking SLEEP?)
(PS, I don’t like you Wilson family! I don’t! You are A LOUD, LOUD PEOPLE.)
This unfortunate hotel choice came about, by the way, because we had to bring the dog, as we have to everywhere these days. We just haven’t found a reliable sitter for her, because I’m a giant softy who refuses to put her in a kennel where she’s either a) alone all day in a rubber-lined run in the blazing heat; or b) in a cage, oh dear lord, at the vet’s office, and only gets out to pee on some kind of schedule. Add it to the list of things I miss about Florida: plenty of reliable dog sitters specializing in small dogs who regularly wear tennis skirts and are named things like Princess Crystal Amoure. My needy little pug is low maintenance compared to a dog that eats off of crystal dishes and requires a fresh grosgrain bow every morning.
Hotel misery aside, I’ve got to tell you, I surprised myself by realizing that while I like it here — I do — I don’t want to stay in this particular town long-term. It’s just too small, I’m sorry it’s TOO SMALL. And I miss shopping — I was in the Franklin Mills Mall for all of five minutes and realized that normal people have access to malls and convenience stores and don’t have to travel an hour and a half to buy a MICROWAVE.
It’s not that I am a giant consumerist, it’s that it’s SO FRUSTRATING not to have anywhere to just go and get something without it being a giant hassle. I miss Starbucks. I miss having somewhere to work other than a) my house; b) the library (NEVER AGAIN); or c) the same coffee shop full of the same damn people, because like, oh my God, I saw that lady yesterday and she was yelling at her husband and now it’s awkward, and I have to pretend I didn’t see it, and wait, why is she wearing winter boots in July?
So! If things continue to go well here, when our lease is up in March, we’re likely moving closer to the big city. Also, I have to tell you, while I love freelancing, I miss the option of HAVING a real job if I wanted one, and for reasons unknown it all makes me feel a bit desperate and panicky.
I am not cut out for hardcore country living. This makes me feel like a failure in some way, but I’ll admit it, I can’t hack it. Give me Target (or a reasonable facsimile) or give me death, I’m sorry.
So! Living in the country = FAIL. Putting down roots in new small town = FAIL. Realizing that this is precisely why I may never buy a house again, even after the one I already own sells = RELATIVE SUCCESS.
And finally, I’m hoping someone can tell me why, for the love of God, I can’t eat a piece of bread or a granola bar or anything producing crumbs without ending up with said crumbs in my bra, leaving me with itchy, crumb-y boobs that are as bad, if not worse, than the post-haircut hairy boobs. And by hairy boobs, I mean full of hair cut from my head, not Yeti-like nipples.
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'