Comfortable With Conformity
Sometimes I don't like writing in here so much because it forces me to think and analyze my life. I am forced to think about annoying things like work, lack of work, looking for work, and the non-existent friends. I really, really, really wish S was living in his own apartment now, because I would want nothing more than to soak up some of that independence, if only for a weekend.
If S had it his way, I would be serving margaritas naked around the apartment, but I see myself (in better shape than now, of course) dressed in little boxers and a tank top, being all cute and sexy for his male visitors, making fruit salads for myself, basking in an immaculately clean apartment.
It's im-fucking-possible to keep my bedroom neat. I've learned my sister won't change the bathroom garbage regulary, but even when I change the bag, she still tosses garbage in there WITHOUT LOOKING, so tissues fall AROUND the garbage can, not into it. Even when it's empty. And every morning, like clockwork, there's a bundle of her clothes on top of the toilet tank-- clothes she took off before going out the following night, clothes that don't know where the hamper is. Right now, in front of her bed, there are two full baskets of clean laundry that she refuses to fold and put away. When I looked in my drawer for a T-shirt just a few minutes ago, my neatly folded and stacked shirts were strewn about, due to her rifling through them for the right one. Patiently, and without irritation, I re-folded the three shirts and put them back in. Maybe I'm changing, I don't know-- but I find I can find annoyances about my sloth of a sister without letting it ruin my day. Don't get me wrong, though-- I HATE MESSES. (I am the Monica of my friends and family, although Rachel is my favorite Friends character.)
I'm going to do Tae Bo! After seeing the informercial for years, and after hearing of Alison and Tracie using it, I am totally sucked in. I can't wait to kick, punch and sweat my ass off.
Oh-- funny story. I've seen two Tae Bo tapes at Samantha and Nick's apartment for months and months, so I finally asked Samantha if I could borrow it. Samantha said sure, and handed me a tape.
"Are you sure this is it?" I said dubiously, looking at the tape. It said, "Instructional".
"Yeah," she answered, not really paying attention.
"But I think there's another tape that goes with it--I remember seeing two tapes. This one is the instructional tape."
"I don't think there was another tape," she said, still uninterested.
"Lemme have a look," I said, and I went through her videos, but couldn't find it. When I got home and popped the tape in, sure enough, it was INSTRUCTIONS ONLY, not a workout routine. Stupid fucking bitch. She owned the tapes, why didn't she know something so fucking simple? I vowed to buy the tapes myself, screw her unearthing the other one. Problem is, the four tapes I want are $45, and I can't find them for much less on ebay. Do I want to get to know Billy Blanks that badly? Unfortunetly, I do.
And um...this entry isn't making me feel quite so bad. Oh wait, I just remembered tommorow night I am forced, FORCED to attend Passover dinner with my dad's family. Come on now. Am I NOT the most disrespectful religion basher on Writingz, and I'm forced to down matzah and wine and make awkward chit chat with my loser relatives, whose idea of a career is being a truck driver? Oy vay.
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