Friday, January 06, 2006

The Stink Eye.


Wake up.

Make coffee with parent's unltra fancy Senseo one cup brewmaster thing. My grandma was right- thier coffeemaker IS like a spaceship.

Eat two burningly scrumptious tangerines and a slice of toast.

Drink a glass of cranberry juice.

The make-believe that I'm at Canyon Ranch now draws to a close as the dog begins whinging to go out.

Walk Yorktown. It's a chilly 78 degrees at 11 am.

Come home, put on bikini. Commence to laying out and reading new trashy novel for latest Playgirl review.

Flip.

Flip again.

Get some Vernor's.

Shower.

Sit at desk. Stare at new computer. Think about typing grad school stuff. Think some more.

Write in diary about boy(s). Cut and paste email correspondence. Highlight areas of particular interest.

Swipe Dad's Van Morrison CDs and burn the lot.

Listen to Curtis Mayfield box set.

Mom comes home for lunch.

Take the car to get Jack in the Box. Order a delectable Spicy Crispy Chicken sandwich.

Wave at Budweiser mack truck driver who honks at me.

Play "Vivrant Thing" loud with all windows & sunroof open.

Reflect on how sometimes when you listen to Lowend Theory it's akin to doing it with your college boyfriend in a way. Any of them, really.

Eat 1/2 of sandwich.

Mom goes back to work.

Open a new word document, title it, save it.

Go to Engrish.com.

Check email.

Answer text message.

Read a passage from high school paperback copy of The Great Gatsby. Written on inside cover in black ball point pen in my loopy, frilly handwriting: cologne of gin & tonic; and warmth

Ponder the word beaux and why no one uses it. Resolve to.

IM with Porter, Rosanne and Dylan.

Phone rings; flinch.

Start looking at blogs.

Get mad because someone got a writing credit and wish I had the gumption to as well.

Get mad for getting mad since they obviously did the work.

Eat other 1/2 of sandwich.

Walk to mail box to mail postcard. En route, see a Coors Lite can in the bushes. Feel homesick.

Stare at empty word document.

Shuffle around papers on desk.

Re-read contract.

Write Anne a letter.

Realize my phone has been off for the past few hours.

Call Ben to bitch. Yell at him for being a robot.

My Mom comes home from work.

Go walk dog, smoke.

Sit at desk. Type blog entry.

10 comments:

saraisloco said...

I love the part about calling Ben to bitch, then calling hima robot.

This my friend, NEVER gets old.

2na said...

the ineternet is a spaceship

Brandy For Sale. said...

It went like, "What the hell do you know about relationships, you're a goddamend andriod" because he was pestering me about abandoning the cat and trying to get me to tear up. Oh C3-PO when will he learn?

NotWithoutMyHatand Bell said...

I feel guilty now for eating that ham, egg and cheese this morning after seeing the picture of the pig..She looks like someone who could be my friend..sniff, sniff

Brandy For Sale. said...

She has a very Coco Chanel style, no?

2na said...

i think Ben was just looking through my window again... kidding.

Brandy For Sale. said...

Sadly, I think you're right. And I am not kidding! Eeek.

ghostfacekilla said...

You forgot me

Your such a little "scamp"

Hottie!!!

Anne said...

If by writing a letter you mean mailing a sick ad for doggie dental wipes, then yes, Brandy wrote me a letter.

Brandy For Sale. said...

GODAMMIT IT WAS BREED FACTS FOR POMERANIANS YOU INGRATE!!!! FLIP IT OVER