Friday, I'm in Love

Do you ever get mad? I mean, of course you get mad. But the kind of mad where you can't even pinpoint the source of your deep-seated anger, thus your anger ends up coming out in alarming levels in situations that don't really call for it? The T is where this usually happens to me. Somebody doesn't get up for an old lady, some bitch with a huge bag keeps nudging me in the small of my back with her ginormous suitcase, this guy won't move his hand a fraction of an inch to give me a better position to not go flying during an abrupt stop. While these things are annoying, my mind will immediately start flinging profanities around my skull, and I desperately try to harness the Force and send the offending person flying through the window and be shredded to death by the broken glass.

This is one of those things that isn't normal, right?

I think I have it figured out, though. I can't do what I want right now, and it's pissing me off. I don't mean this in the Paris Hilton, Veruca Salt way of wanting everything my way, but just one thing my way would be nice. A nice apartment I can afford. A new computer. Maybe winning a car or a large sum of money. Paying of my credit cards. A nice haircut. None of these things are possible right now. I did get my tax return, and aside from $100 of that money, I've got to hang onto it until I figure out the apartment situation. (Andraste, thanks for the offer. Right now, I'm staying put in the free living until they give me the boot, which should be June 1.) The sensation of being stymied in every way is just hugely frustrating to me. I feel like a college kid, scrimping for every little thing, but I'm 25. Things should not be this hard for me. I'm well-educated. I'm smart. I'm pretty. I'm talented. Dammit, something's gotta go my way.

I may take $100 of my earmarked fun money and buy Lily Allen's CD this weekend. I can not get enough of the song "Smile." Any song that embraces schadenfreude so fully is okay in my book. Also good is the song "Knock 'Em Out" because I too hate sketchy guys in bars, who seem to be the only kind of guys I meet. A little sketch to my men is fine, but if you've got gray hair and a tan line where your wedding band was until an hour and four beers ago, I don't want to talk to you.

Also on my to-do with money list: buy a new pair of nice jeans. I have this problem where I'll buy a pair of jeans at the Gap. I try them on, I'm not sure in the store, so I get them home and wind up loving them. Like an asshole, I don't go back to the store right away to buy another pair or two, and then the Gap discontinues them. The pair I have is about two years old, and I love them. They're kind of a trouser jean with a crease down my shin, hug the ass firmly but not too tightly, skim the leg, and fall at the perfect length for either flats or heels. Does the Gap make them anymore? No, no they do not. I'm not a terrorist, but I'd like to send them a clear message about their practices. "Dear Gap, Please bring back the flare curvy whatever-the-fuck you sold two years ago that make my ass look nice. I tire of trying on your jeans with the eight-inch-long zipper-cock and uncanny ability to fall directly on the fattest part of my tummy pooch. Die in a fire. Love, Amy."

So, in short, I need a beer. So much for quitting drinking after St. Patrick's Day. Have a good first weekend of spring, y'all.