Spam Mail Lies

I opened the email, and contrary to the promise, I'm still worried.
Mostly about the following:

1) Who will get the Republican nomination.
2) Driving in the snow.
3) Who will get cut on the next Project Runway.
4) How I'm going to pass my math class.
5) If my bread pudding burn is going to scar.
6) Why my bank about never seems to have a surplus of cash.
7) If yellow tail shiraz is still on sale.
8) If Arlo is going to kick me out of life for making fun of his middle name.

You know important stuff.

Moving On Up

I love my apartment, but have recently come to the conclusion I'm totally over it. It's been a good little spot for me, but it's time to move on. And move up. Only there's a problem: I want to live the good life. Nothing fancy, but it would be nice to wash both dishes and clothing at home. My current apartment has neither a dishwasher or laundry. Paying more rent shouldn't be a problem, but I'm in school and only working a part(ish) time job.

Thus the conundrum.

I've been considering taking on a roommate. I've not had a roomie in years (I'm not counting Daisy, as she never bothers to do any type of house work beyond her attempt to lick imaginary crumbs off the carpet.) I've even found a friend who is also looking for a new home. The only drawback is she's young--fantastic, but young. She looks older than she is, and acts older than she is. Then there's me... I look (I hope!!) younger than I am, and certainly act MUCH younger. If my calculations are correct (which they probably aren't, I'm getting a C in math) then I figure we average out to be 26. She's like a younger sister. In fact I had high hopes of her marrying into the family but she and Ben are "just friends."

Will this work? Do I put my hesitations to bed and jump in? Can she deal with living the spinster life at such a young age? Will we get along? Can she handle my inherited orneriness? Am I worrying too much? Probably. I am, after all, my mother's daughter.

Overwhelmed Much?

I guess I'm not the only one at my house who feels their life spinning out of control:

It's hard to eat eggs after being kicked in the stomach.

After a late night out Pants and I went to Ruth's this morning for brunch. I promised her it had the city's best Bloody Mary, so to count on a wait.

What I hadn't been counting on was seeing Captain America.

Last summer when I took him there for the first time he instantly loved it. I should have known he'd go back. I saw him about a month ago and it was awkward and hurt for days, but this was worse. Today he had his girlfriend with him. His very pretty girlfriend who makes him disgustingly happy. Sigh...

I ate my omelet, drank my Bloody Mary and tried to remain unaffected. Which, of course, didn't work--it never does.

We didn't acknowledge seeing one another, which almost hurt worse than being forced to smile and play nice while meeting his girlfriend.

I desperately need a city with less ex-boyfriends.