Because No One Wants To Be At Work Today

Here is another Saturday Night Live goodie.  Especially for you Office fans.

Memorial Day: Not A Holiday For Single People

So I thought Mother's Day was going to be awful and it wasn't. Memorial Day weekend seemed innocuous, but managed to induce a major sulk. Why you ask? Because every single child of every person my dad's age in the ward came home to visit. Seriously, the congregation yesterday was twice its normal size. Which, after conversation with someone about how their child (who is substantially younger than I) just bought a house, was not something I wanted to deal with. Every visiting child had at least two children of their own if they are my brother's age and three or four if they are my age. All of this sent me into a very bad mindset, as I am already feeling like I missed the boat or am stuck on the short bus when it comes to getting my life in order. I can barely afford grad school, let alone a down payment on a house.  I haven't had a date in who knows how long. How does a 29 year-old manage to squander her twenties so effortlessly? I have no answers, even though I sat through Sunday School yesterday sulkily pondering possible answers. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to getting up early to go help out at the ward breakfast this morning. Like, at all.

For Those Few Of You Still Following The Democratic Primaries

 I was going to post this earlier in the week, but I got busy and forgot. This had me laughing out loud when I saw it on Saturday Night Live last weekend. Enjoy!

I Think iTunes Hates Me

Because it was one of those days that you spend trying not to resent other people's happiness (even though you should be content because you just got into grad school) while attempting to mentally draft a cover letter for your application for the graduate assistantship you hope to get so you can actually afford to go to graduate school, but self-promotion has never been your strong suit and the part of your brain responsible for drafting said cover letter keeps getting overpowered by the voice that is constantly shouting about how you are 29 and single and will probably die alone and eaten by Alsatians after spending your golden years yelling at the TV, eating frosting straight out of the container, and ballooning to 330 lbs. Which really defeats the whole 'trying not to resent other people's happiness' objective. So you get home and try to brainstorm while cooking a nutritious, non-fattening dinner which you are just putting on the table when your cell phone alarm goes off, reminding you that you have a visiting teaching appointment with the one lady with whom you can never schedule an appointment, so you grab your Ensign and race out the door (leaving your dad to eat a nice warm meal) and walk half a block to her house, only to realize as you ring the doorbell that it is starting to drizzle.  By the time you are done with said visit, it is really raining, but you decline her offer to drive you home because, really, it is only half a block.  So you walk in the door shivering and wet and inhale a slightly dried-out dinner (because your dad thoughtfully put it in the oven to keep it warm, but the heat also made it a little dry) and then blow all your new self-imposed dietary goals by also inhaling a piece of ice cream cake leftover from your dad's birthday, thus putting you, like, 1200 calories over your goal and one step closer to the being the 330 lb. woman with a front butt that you fear you will become. And when you finally give up, put on your pajamas at 6:45 pm and sit down to finish the cover letter, your iTunes decides to play Stacey Kent's version of "Too Darn Hot" and you realize it is maliciously mocking you because you are neither hot (in either sense of the term) nor do you have a 'baby'.  Which is when you start a rambling diatribe of a blog entry and make iTunes play ABBA's Gold album because a) you can sing along to it without wanting to cry and b) you are really excited about the film of Mamma Mia coming out this summer.  Because who isn't excited about watching Meryl Streep, Pierce Brosnan, and Colin Firth singing ABBA tunes?  I think $8 is totally reasonable sum for the privilege of watching Mr. Darcy belt "Our Last Summer," don't you?

McCain Can't Be That Bad

He wants Dwight K. Schrute for his running mate.  All he needs to do is get the man a flamethrower.



I want that t-shirt.

At the Moment

Things That I'm Happy About Today:

• Getting into grad school, obviously. (Many thanks for all your congratulations and support!)
  
• All the TV network 'upfronts' (where networks preview the coming season for advertisers) coverage at TWoP from which I learn awesome things like:
  
• ABC picked up Scrubs for a final season after NBC unceremoniously dumped the show AND
  
• Supernatural is coming back! I don't think I could survive the week without a dose of Dean Winchester.
  
• Only 16 more days and my dad & I will be winging our way down to sunny CA to visit The Accidental Housewife and Mr. Big AND be introduced to The Peanut.  Yay!
  
• I successfully cooked a medium-rare steak for my dad's birthday dinner last night.  And he said it was perfect.  He might be biased, but it did look like the picture, so I'm pleased.
  
• I got my government stimulus payment from the IRS today. Which will be going directly into the savings account, thus utterly defeating the intended purpose of said payment, which is why I didn't think it was the best idea when I first heard about it.  But hey, I have $600 more than I did yesterday, so I can't complain.
  

Things I'm Not Quite So Thrilled About

• All the things on my To Do list now that I have been accepted to grad school. Like figuring out how to pay for it and figuring out the living situation by determining whether or not to live by myself and if so how much rent per month I can afford and if not how to find non-psycho roommates over the age of 25. And after all that actually trying to find an apartment that meets all those conditions.  Ack!
  
• ABC won't be airing the new episodes of Scrubs until mid-season next year, which means February-ish 2009.  That is a long time to wait for a new Dr. Cox rant.
  
• The weather people telling me it is going to be over 90 degrees by Saturday.  Ick!
  
• My capitulating to reason and moderation and not buying these 
  
  
  at Target on Saturday.  I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since.  I guess that is what Target.com is for, no?
  
• I was the only one who showed up at book club last night.  And the woman hosting hadn't read the book, yet I was stuck there making small talk for an hour.
  
• Tomorrow night is The Office season finale.  Good thing I haven't cracked open my Season 3 DVDs yet.  I'll have something to get me through the summer.
  

I Have Good News and Bad News

The bad news is that I am going to have to postpone my proposed trip to the U.K. this fall.  I will be unable to grace the lovely British Isles with my presence because I was accepted to Western Washington University.  Bellingham here I come!  Now I can stop obsessing about getting in and start obsessing about how to pay for it and where to find housing that will accommodate my bed. Because I'm not leaving that behind.

Once there was this one time . . .

Okay, so I was all ready to post about seeing Iron Man (which is great, go see it!) and the mystery that is the allure of superheroes masquerading as playboy billionaires (see also: Bruce Wayne/Batman) but I ran out of steam about a paragraph in and the whole thing fell apart and the only thing I can really say is "Go see Iron Man because it is on the 'Awesome' end of the superhero movie spectrum and even though Robert Downey, Jr. is a hot mess (yes, I used that phrase, but only because it totally fits, as he is attractive and a total mess) most of the time.  But when the movie opened on him in a Humvee while Back In Black by AC/DC (which I must confess is kind of a trigger song for me, which I blame on Supernatural, because once you associate a song with Dean Winchester, how can it not be sexy? And that is probably more than you ever wanted to know about me) kicked into high gear, the only thing I could think was 'Da-yum' (and yes when I see attractive men I tend to have a potty mouth.  And, apparently, a Southern accent)."  Oh, and if I were the endlessly efficient and completely co-dependent personal assistant to a superhero masquerading as a playboy billionaire, I would totally want Gwyneth Paltrow's wardrobe in Iron Man.  Full of little black dresses and perfectly tailored suits as it was.  But see, that just isn't the well thought out piece of pseudo-psychology I wanted it to be.

Part of the problem is that I have the attention span of an adolescent gnat.  I have absolutely no concentration.  This is partially due to the fact that I'm still getting up at 5:15 in the morning to work out, which hasn't so much made me lose weight as make me crave junk food (I devoured almost an entire box of Red Vines while watching Iron Man.  And most of the ice in my Dr. Pepper.) all day long and then curl up for a nap under my desk at work.  Additionally, I'm still waiting to hear about grad school and obsessing about not knowing takes up a lot of brain power.  And Sunday is Mother's Day and it's totally going to suck.  Which possibly leads me to why I would rather read whatever trashy magazine I can lay my hands on than focus on anything serious.  If I truly think about my life, it kind of sucks right now.  Not least of all because pretty much every person (but one,  Hi E!  Remember that old maid's commune we planned in high school?  I think we cursed ourselves.) I know between the ages of 18 and 40 are seriously involved or married and at some stage of procreation.

The Avoidance and Ignoring part of my brain took over last week shortly after the secretary in the law firm that shares our office announced she was getting married.  To explain exactly why that is so depressing, I have to describe this girl.  And in so doing you will probably all think less of me.  First of all, because she and another secretary that was hired at the same time had very similar names, she came to be called 'Pants.'  The reason she is called 'Pants' is because her work wardrobe consists solely of stretch pants (some with stirrups, some without) with elastic waistbands.  This girl is 29, not 67.  And shaped like a 5 foot-tall apple.  Also, she tucks her knit shirts into said elastic waistbands of said stretch pants.  With which she wears white athletic socks and black penny loafers.  If she allowed it, her hair would be naturally curly, but she combs it out and it is a big sheet of frizz.  In which she wears a knit headband that is color-coordinated to her pants.  She has glasses that take up half of her face and would not be out of place on a woman three times her age.  She also has facial hair.  A lot.  All the girls in the office want to nominate her for What Not to Wear.  Not in a mean way, but in a concern for the fact that in inhibits her ability to function in the professional world.  Mostly because we cannot believe she even got hired, because presentation is half of that equation.  And while the rational slice of my brain tells me that her fiance is closing in on 300 pounds and not exactly an overachiever, seeing as it took him 10 years to propose and completely not what I would want. But the non-rational slice is louder these days and has minor freakouts at work because someone I don't even know outside of reading her blog (but seems so fabulous I wish I did know her and I have now reached a new low) just announced that she too is procreating. All of which leads me to the conclusion that I will die alone and be eaten by Alsatians (TM Bridget Jones). Which is why I spent Monday night alternately inhaling Red Vines and chewing ice that tasted vaguely of Dr. Pepper whilst wishing I was the endlessly efficient and completely co-dependent personal assistant to a superhero masquerading as a billionaire playboy.  And I have completely regressed to the age of 15.

Things You Should Not Think While Watching The Office

1. "Wow, Angela is looking rough." (I realize the actress is pregnant in real life and is probably exhausted and what not, but it was sure an unflattering light or something.  Make the pregnant lady pretty, people.  She deserves it.)
2. "Kelly is right.  Ryan Howard, that smug, pompous, malicious, obnoxious little cokehead needs to die."
3. "Michael might have been right about Toby all along."
4. "That Office spin-off NBC announced last month HAD better be called Rehab and involve Ryan Howard's multiple 12-step apologies to Jim or heads will roll. And move to Costa Rica, Toby. Nobody wants you here. Especially not Pam."
   
5. "Poor Michael."

Actually, the last one has come up a lot in the episodes since the writer's strike.  I don't know how I feel about that.