Pig and I on a Spit

I leave for City's wedding tomorrow. I'm assuring by the fact that one friend is only coming to the bachelorette party to see me and slightly unnerved in discovering the other 2 college roommates will be there with families. There's also the relief knowing the reception pig on the spit as guest of honor has been replaced by his modest shoulder. I was up last night wondering what one does with pig roast remains. Is it given away in lieu of the bouquet toss or stuffed handily into someone's backseat?

i will try not to overcompensate by talking too much, too quickly or using humor as a coping mechanism. It would be helpful to pick up a comforting vice like smoking or bulimia. Those are just incredibly inconvenient. Too bad people consider going for a jog in wedding attire as a sign of distress.

Fortune cookie

I was throwing away the remains of leftover Thai when I decided I should crack open the fortune cookie out of curiousity. Cookie said, "Forgive that person. Just do it." I was surprised. All of my other cookies have promised me good things and praised my virtues. But this cookie was a prophet.

Today a student who desperately needs help got so angry with me for trying to lend a hand. She does this to everyone in her life. The things she was saying about me and the poisonous aura surrounding her really got under my skin. I felt like the unpopular middle school girl. I should be older and more mature. Cookie made me realize that she has no skills to accept the hand of help. She's barricaded me out, but I need to find a way for kindness to break through.

Suburban existence

I have now moved in with a girl who owns a house and thus join the ranks of suburbanites. Yesterday I trimmed hedges so today in the office I could say that I did yardwork over the weekend. My rooommate's boyfriend's dog will be putting in regular appearances, and the kitchen in no way resembles a galley. I can't decide whether I was more grown up living in an apartment by myself or living in a house now. perhaps i'm regressing a little since I am afraid of getting in trouble with my roommate, Domestic Bliss, who is incredibly tidy and particular. (yet very welcoming, sweet) I'm sure I'll learn a lot from her. Fortunately, her boyfriend Me Gusto was around for the weekend to give me insider tips about recycling procedures and the stress items left out on the counter could cause.

a little like velcro

Adjusting to a lot of change makes me feel like velcro that has been attached too many times and gets less sticky. I feel less sticky in relationships. I just don't feel like getting to know anyone right now. I'm met a ton of people this week. Most of them were friendly, and funny, and individuals I should learn from.

They all like to discuss their houses, husbands, kids, dogs, and yards. I do not have any of those things. Since I also do not have cable television, I am like meeting a caveperson to them. I need to find some other outsiders to gravitate to. Or I could be like Joey in the episode of Friends where he invents a corporate world alter ego to better fit in. I could probably pass as having a husband in Iraq, a beagle named DaisyLion, and a plan to buy a home. For now I'll just keep talking about shoes.

There is nothing more withering than the glance of the outraged, white, suburban housewife. I got my fill of that today at work from someone I had never spoken to or met. I wanted to giggle, but I knew I would get in trouble. I tried to hide instead. She asked to talk to a supervisor.