Do you ever wake up in the morning (or afternoon) and just have a million things going on in your mind? Nothing bad. Nothing good. Nothing even remotely related to each other?
Maybe I’m a lunatic. Maybe I have ADD. Maybe I am just a woman.
I woke up this morning and showered, as I do most mornings except weekends. I’m lazy. It takes a lot of effort to wash this hair. Then dry it, curl it. Fix make up. It’s a lot of work to be a lady.
Anyway, in the shower, I realized that I need to go back to the tanning bed. My cellulite is showing again and lets face it, cellulite is WAY prettier when it’s tan. Ok, maybe “prettier” isn’t the right word. It’s less noticeable when it’s tan. I can also tell when I need to start tanning again because my arms, which are exposed to the sun, are a lot tanner than my stomach and legs. NOT GOOD. Back to the tanning bed I go.
After I tan today, I have to go to the post office and restart my mail service.
I live in a condo complex with the group mail boxes. Well, I am pretty bad about checking my mail. I pay all my bills online and don’t really care for the other shit that constantly gets delivered. However, because my mailbox doesn’t hold very much, they will eventually stop delivering. The mailman puts a pretty bright yellow note in your mailbox, telling you to pick up your mail at the post office.
Here’s the thing, if you don’t’ pick it up in 10 days, they will return it to the sender.
The pretty yellow note I have is dated 3/6/15. Yep. March. They took my mail away in March and have been sending it back to the senders, ever since 3/16/15. Oops!
Normally, I wouldn’t give one fuck. Except, now, for two reasons, I do care.
1) I realized that I owe the IRS money and they have probably been sending me bills. Now, the mail is getting returned and they think I’ve moved. They think I’m hiding. They probably have some bounty hunter after me now. Trying to locate me. Well, joke is on you IRS, I am just lazy and don’t like checking my mail.
2) My birthday is in 6 days. My 40th Birthday. I might be getting a birthday card or some money or something. You just never know. Luke Bryan may be sending me an autographed pair of man panties. I REALLY need to go to the post office. I do not want them to “Return To Sender” my birthday gift from Luke Bryan.
The lady at the post office is mean. She’ll probably yell at me. I need to come up with a good reason why I haven’t picked up my mail in almost 4 months. Vacation? Hiding from the FBI? Recovering from being run over by a herd of rhinos?
I’ll keep thinking.
Per my previous posts about the 29 year old, I texted him this week to find out exactly where we stood. I am confused on the situation. I haven’t seen him in a month, which I’m ok with because two weeks of that was military reserve training. I just need clarification, so I could continue to
try to be ok with this.
After a couple attempts at trying to pen the perfect text message, I finally sent one.
After a couple hours of waiting patiently (not at all), he finally responded.
He said that I was the only person he was dating and that he liked me a lot.
Ok, I suppose that is some confirmation. I’m glad he likes me and I’m glad he’s not out being a man-whore. It doesn’t really answer my question about where we are right now, but since I didn’t’ directly ask that, I’ll take it.
I miss him. I like him. I cannot wait to see him.
I may have really caused a problem with Mr. Rocker and instead of dealing with it like a mature adult, I’m just going to avoid and ignore him. It’s horrible and I hate when people do that shit to me, but I have tried being honest and he doesn’t get it.
When I was drunk on Saturday and decided it would be a good idea (yet again) to kiss him, I told him he was one of my best friends and that nothing more would ever happen. I said those exact words. EXACT. WORDS.
He doesn’t get it.
In Mr. RockerLand, apparently after two kisses, in a year, we are married or something. Kind of sucks because I didn’t even get a new dress for the ceremony. If you are gonna get married, at least you should have a new dress.
Yesterday, out of the complete blue, he sent me a picture of some scenic place and told me where he was and that he was having lunch. Then ended his text with ‘NICE’.
First of all, I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to say NICE about something you are doing without the other person asking. That is usually something you say to someone. They send you a picture of them in bed with Blake Shelton and you respond with ‘NICE’. Wait, I take that back, if I was in bed with Blake Shelton, I probably would post the picture everywhere with the comment ‘NICE’, right under it. Bad example.
Disclaimer: Miranda, please don’t get mad and hunt me down. I’m just using Blake as an example, I’ve never actually met him, nor been anywhere close to a bed with him.
Second of all, Mr. Rocker, I did not ask where you were eating lunch or what your view was. I literally give zero fucks. Not one fuck. Actually, the picture he sent me, is like a picture of my field of fucks. There are none growing in it. I almost sent him a picture of my break room at work and said “My view while eating my lunch. NICE.” But I decided that would be way to bitchy, even for me.
Last of all, he sent a text message to our karaoke group and asked if either of us ladies would like to go see Magic Mike XXL with his mom. She apparently wants to have a girls day to see that movie. I never saw the first one and I am not going to go watch the second one, with my wanna-be husband’s mom, who I have met one time. This will NEVER happen. So I ignored both text messages.
If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.
I spent last night watching the NBA Draft and cleaning my house. I have been meaning to clean my house for weeks, but things keep coming up. Dates. Laziness. Filleting my thumb open. But last night, I was motivated.
I sat on my ass for the first 10 picks of the draft. The Sacramento Kings had the number six pick and let’s face it, after the first 10 picks, you don’t really know any of the players, unless you are an avid college basketball watcher. I only watch the Final Four.
During the commercials, I started laundry and did the dishes. After the initial ten players, I got off my ass and actually set out to clean my house. I don’t mean put some stuff away and shove magazines under the couch type cleaning. I got in my shower and scrubbed my tub, I took out all my trash that had accumulated in bags, because I’m lazy.
*See above on checking mail. LAZY*
I finished all my laundry, including putting everything away. I vacuumed the whole house. Cleaned both bathrooms. Swept and wiped down all the counters and mirrors.
My house looks badass.
When I woke up this morning, I noticed how sore my body was. Literally, my hips and lower back are aching. I guess I should add “Go to the Gym” to my to-do list. I’m pretty sure my body shouldn’t ache, after cleaning house. OR maybe I should start having sex again. It has been a while.
I’m looking forward to the Bachelorette on Monday.
That’s all about that.
So that, my friends, is my Friday Nonsense. Maybe this will be a new feature on this blog. Maybe it won’t. I’m pretty bad at remembering stuff like that.