The aforementioned nice young man wasn't as heartbroken as I thought, and wasn't as into me as I thought. This is good, because that means I didn't hurt his feelings, but the diva in me shot up and said, "WTF you mean, you weren't into me? Do you not see mah fabulousness? You betta reckanize.." There were neck movements, some snapping, it got a little out of control. Once I bought her something pretty, she calmed down.
It's nice too that I've gained a friend out of this, because my relationships usually end in apocalyptic showers of flame. (That would make such a cool band name: Apocalyptic Showers of Flame.. Critia, focus.)
I've often thought about writing a screenplay about my dating life, as well as some frolic with my friends thrown in. It would be like Sex In The City with cheaper shoes. Because seriously, even if I could afford 10 pairs of Manolo Blahnicks, I wouldn't pay that much money for shoes. I mean, sweet fancy Moses, those things are, what, like, a car payment or something. I know they're at least 30 trips to Chuy's, or 60 mochas. That's just way too much for something that's gonna get gum or dog doody onnit... Anyway, again with the focus. I'm not sure if I would be Carrie, in that I have never worn anything resembling a ballerina outfit, I don't whine like that, and frankly people, I digest what I eat. So maybe Carrie in jeans with a wicked edge and a weight problem. Oh yeah, people would totally watch that...
LATE NIGHT ADVENTURES WITH CRITIE
So I was pretty happy that Austin got roads de los toll. I figured it might help with traffic, blah blah. Then I tried to go to Whataburger after work last night for what was my second meal of the day, and I just completely lost my mind.
The good people at TxDOT (and by good people, I mean members of Satan's unholy host) decided to block off the 620 exit from 183 for some strange reason at 1:30 in the morning. They weren't doing a damn thing that I could see, but I couldn't look long, because I had 5 seconds to make my choice about how the hell I was going to exit. Dimly lit signs came up fast that screamed warning of toll stations and TxTag only (which I haven't put on my car yet, natch), so I instinctively dove to an exit... that turned out to be the other toll road.
You see, the 45 toll road intersects there, and I had forgotten that until I was on the Highway to Hell. So as I viewed the Whataburger that was my destination from the lofty heights of the toll road, I realized that given the height of the road, it would be a long way to find some means of turning back. I began to swear in the manner of an ill-tempered sailor who is shunned by his peers for his lack of couth, banging my palms on the steering wheel and feeling sure Satan's harpies with the orange vests back on 183 could still hear me. This went on for about five minutes (I can swear in sentences, people), until I came upon the toll stations. The pay toll station was blocked off so that I couldn't get to it, and I was forced into the TxTag only lane, again sans TxTag. As I passed through, I imagined being suddenly pursued by a DPS trooper and flagged down, to which I would have responded, "Officer, I'll take the damn ticket, but could you get me to the Whataburger??!??" I felt sure he'd know the way.
So after passing through, and no sirens or metal road spikes, I went another mile before I found a wraparound, and managed to avoid the evil machinations of TxDOT trickery and remained in the 620 frontage road until I made it to my destination.
So I'm waiting for my TxTag violation ticket in the mail aaaaaany day now.
MY BRAIN IS OATMEAL... SO I'LL NEED SOME FRESH FRUIT FOR THAT
I have stopped counting how many days in a row I've worked. On my days off, I've had to be in 2 1/2 hours of training for our new pagination system (none of you really needs to know what that means), and on other days I've started my day an hour and sometimes 2 hours early. We don't get to leave early at the end of the shift, mind you, because the paper's still got to get out. And Tuesday, I worked 10 hours on my day off to make sure a friend had an easier transition to designing the front page.
I am so fried. I'm the kind of fried where things don't seem real, and I'm walking around in a fuzzy dream that's not even vaguely pleasant. So I imagine that soon, as par for the course I'll have to make some sort of life-changing decision. Or I'll need to do math.
Keep feeling fascination, people:
