solitaire

I have a solitaire app on my phone that has the capability to turn 7:30 pm into 10:30 pm in the blink of an eye. I don't even want to look at the stats to see how many games I've actually played.  I'm single and live alone, so solitaire is a more than perfect way to pass the time. 

The undo button is my favorite feature. I go so fast, I often click past a card I could have used. I don't even see the opportunity staring me in the face. I even end up pulling a new card down when I could have uncovered one on the bottom (notice my complete lack of knowledge of card terminology). Taking that card from the bottom could have revealed an ace! or something equally as beneficial. Still, I go too fast and the cards blur as I skip over them. 

Life needs an undo button. A wait, I went too fast, let's go back and actually analyze the situation before I make my move button. 

I don't know how many times I've gone somewhere this week (or my whole life to date...stats are high either way) only to have left what I needed sitting on my desk. I don't know how many times I've looked back once the situation has calmed down and I think, "it would have all been much easier if I had done that instead."  My favorite is, "if I had stopped talking at that sentence, I wouldn't be in this mess." 

Undo, undo, undo...

I am addicted to the stupid game. I try to keep as many cards in the pile as I can so I can hit auto complete and the all swish into order. I do, however, have a nasty habit of starting a new game before I've made sure I'm out of moves. Ehh, start over, would be another nice life feature. 

Clean slate, new deck. 

My worst habit is quitting before I even try. Getting dealt every card in the same color just isn't worth the time. Chances are, it'll be a waste. Why bother if it's fairly clear it won't work out? It's daunting. Who wants to deal with daunting, card game or otherwise?  New game. It's so simple to move on and maybe have an opportunity to win. 

Most importantly, in solitaire, there's no other player to screw it all up. I'm tired of people screwing everything up and messing up all the hard work I put into what I do.  

Life needs to be more like solitaire.  

frustrating.

I feel like I have gotten nothing done today. Absolutely nothing. Truth: that's accurate. 

This is running through my head as I sit in the pharmacy, drinking my fifth cup of coffee of the day. I know I have a list of everything that needs to be done before I can go home tonight. It just seems to get longer and longer. 

Today was a bad day to wear a dress. I thought I'd have one stop today. One stop turned into two, which multiplied to four. In the rain. In a dress that barely touches my knees. 

My spirits were lifted for a few moments when the nurse who came to walk me through the discharge was incredibly attractive. They fell again when he opened the door for me, displaying a wedding band. I felt better about that after five minutes of talking to him. He had a "Midwestern accent" (let's face it, that means no accent, people), that had laces of British and Bostonian every few words. It really started getting on my nerves. Was he fucking with me or is this a legit problem for him? Either way, my poor ears were not processing this mixture very well. 

I again felt my overworked heart fall when I pulled up to the pharmacy and saw the douchey, bright blue Hyundai in the lot. The last person I wanted to see after a day like today is a short, 'stylish' man with his hair done the way my brothers did theirs in the 90's (half a bottle of hair gel so the front sticks straight up). Oh, and the goatee. 

I prayed he would be helping someone else when I walked in.  He wasn't, but he was on the computer.  He looked up when I approached the counter and walked down to meet me. 

Damn. 

I'm going to take my own advice and look at the positives. Everywhere I went today, I got compliments on my dress. Even if it was soaked from the rain. 

week from hell.

I am being punished for something. That's got to be it. I did something to piss karma off and now I'm paying for it. 

Last week I spent a total of 10 hours in two separate hospitals. It would have only been five in one...if they had listened to me. After the third hour, when the behavioral specialist finally showed up, she had plenty of flirt time with the nurse (he was very cute) and was in such a good mood that she smiled and said, "I feel great and I want to go home. I won't hurt myself or anyone else." More smiles and a hug for the nurse and we were out the door. 

Not even 12 hours later, we were at a speciality center. Police escort and all. The first question one of the officers asked me after I filled him in:

"Why was she even released last night?" 

While they argued over wether I was pessimistic or realistic, they agreed that if they had my job, they wouldn't be able to handle it. 

"How do you still have hair on your head? I would have pulled all mine out by now." 

That should be a sign. I should probably listen to the police officer telling me that my job is too much stress. Instead, I stood in front of him, trying to convince her to calm down so they can take the handcuffs off. She stood up and screamed and in that second the officers were in front of me and my toes were smashed. My baby toe looks like a blueberry. 

Her roommates knew where she was as soon as they realized she wasn't going home that night. They took turns calling their parents, who then took turns calling my boss and the state; complaining that I didn't call them and let them know. 

This is the point where I want to be rude, too. Really? Do you want me to call her guardian when your daughter does something at work? Just because she messed up and needs help that we can't really give her, does not mean she doesn't have a right to privacy. Really. 

All of this, plus the paperwork that goes with it, plus another girl constantly going AWOL, plus staff that leave the country with almost no notice, plus my own ridiculous personal life with my increasingly worse boy problems...

I am being punished. 

Now, instead of catching up, I'm sitting in another waiting room.  

I'm surprised I have any sanity left...although I've noticed a significant decrease in that. I can't keep days straight. I can't remember where I'm going once I start the car. I can barely eat with my stomach constantly turning. 

Maybe I should follow the police officer's indirect advice. I don't like this view being a regular part of my day:

erotic love?

Opening a new group home is pretty difficult. Before you can even find a house, you have to have clients to move in. You can't put money down on a house and then, oops!, only two clients are ready to move in. They can't afford it and we can't afford to have a staff with only two clients. The most important thing, though, is making sure it is staffed when it's ready. That means, we have four staff hired and trained by the time we're ready for everyone to move in.  That means, we have four staff floating around in no-mans land waiting until the position they were hired for actually exists.  

If it will actually exist. 

We ran into some trouble during this process.  One of the girls suddenly isn't ready to make the move from her parents house yet.  No new group home.  Not yet. Now these staff stuck in no-mans land have a choice: they can accept another open position, switch to on-call status, or find another job. 

That is a tough call to make. It's awkward telling someone, "I know you were hired for those hours in that house, but it won't be available for a few months. We do have these hours at this house available, if you want them. There's also this position in vocational of you want day hours instead."

Two staff accepted other positions. The other two were proving hard to get on the phone. 

One evening, my office mate and I were making our last attempts before we turned in the personnel form stating abandonment. That's when we made the discovery that she had one of the phone numbers wrong. She looked through her call list to see where the mistake happened and found another number she thought could be the staff's. It was an incoming call number that happened an hour before this staff was scheduled for training the week before, so she called the number to check. 

"Hello, this is Samantha, am I speaking with Diane?" 

"No, this isn't Diane. This is a business."

"Oh, this is a business, too. I was trying to get ahold of one of my staff. Which business is this?"

"This is Erotic Love."

"Oh, I definitely have the wrong number. Sorry."

She hung up the phone and we laughed until we were in tears. We finally got ahold of that staff, who claimed her phone was broken so she had used a friend's that day. That answer raised more questions, but we agreed that it was best they go unanswered.  There are some things you're better off not knowing. 

scrambling

First day back after vacation and I've already decided I need a clone. That technology needs to be perfected right now. I can multitask the shit out of anything, but I think I've reached maximum capacity. 

My desk, as my lovely coworker put so delicately on a sticky note in the middle of my monitor, is a hot mess. 

I am a hot mess. 

As soon as I get on a roll and my paperwork is getting done (fully this time), my phone rings and it's time to switch gears. Crisis mode flips on and I end up in a doctor's office with a shrieking baby and his obnoxious older sisters fighting over a half eaten apple and a Spider-Man coloring book. That's if I'm lucky. Sometimes I end up sitting in one of the houses until 1030 pm; playing therapist. If I had a clone, I could be at the pharmacy and in a meeting in opposite sides of town. Just think of the efficency. 

Until this happens, I'll just have to make due with 12 hour days in a dress and heels, running all over the city, and answering emails at stop lights (not that I actually do that...that would be bad...). 

It would be nice if everything would run smoothly in the meantime. Especially since I'm ridiculously behind after taking one day off. I can dream, but I doubt it'll work out that way. One day off and five doctors had to be called, I lost a staff for two months, and someone has a new WebMD diagnosis and needs to be at the doctor ASAP before her lung collapses. 

So much to do...can I go back to the lake where I had no responsibilities? I had the doctors office with the Keurig to look forward to today, but the only stupid circle insert thingys left are sleepytime tea and decaf breakfast blend. Time to try and trick my mind into thinking decaf has caffeine and make a list of everything that needs to be done today. 

I wonder if I could convince my boss to let me hire a "clone." 

where's the romance, dammit?

Whatever happened to good, old fashioned dating?  Seriously.  
I want to see some cute couple on an awkward first date; fingertips barely touching across the table.  I don't want to see a guy with his pants at his knees holding a girl's ass as they walk into the gas station for cheap vodka.  I don't want to see a girl dreaming of a picket fence and hopelessly pinning over a guy with no interest in her except the attention she's giving him and the countless favors it comes with.  I don't want to see a man spending all his money on taking care of a girl who spends her time with someone else.  I don't want to see a girl going back to the first girl she met right out of the closet because she's afraid of the game on the other team.  I want to see shy glances and flowers and a man walking a girl to her door, giving her a goodnight kiss, and turning around to go home. 

Is that too much to ask?
Does that mean my views on love have been biased by Disney and various romantic comedies and my parent's and grandparent's own love stories?
Is this just the time we live in?
In a world of 'baby mama's' and rap, Twilight and Taylor Swift, does the good stuff still exist? 

I've seen proof that it does.  It's rare, but it's out there.  It's a shame that there are so many people out there afraid to be alone, afraid to wait and work to find the good stuff, that they take whatever they can get.  Love as we known it, knew it, may be becoming extinct.  
Or I'm just incredibly pessimistic.  Either one.  

“I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody...They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind...They don't teach you anything worth knowing.” -Neil Gaiman

And some people never learn on their own...
I want to see real, 1960's type romance. 

 Or maybe something along these lines. :]

vacation!

It took some time, but I finally remembered my last vacation. Over three years ago, my boyfriend and I went to Kansas City for the weekend. I haven't even taken more than a day off for my birthday (not counting the two sick days I broke down and took and four or five times I came in late or left early when sick because I refused to take a full day) in the past year. Tomorrow, I am taking the day off and going out of town for the weekend. 

It's not much, and I'm incredibly excited and I definitely need it, but I'm worried. I keep thinking of things that need to be done. No one has an appointment. No one has a meeting (technically I do, but I wasn't even aware of it until today and was told it wasn't important). Everyone has petty cash. Everyone has meds. Staff know who's on call. Staff know how to handle a behavior. 

I think it's guilt. My caseload isn't the easiest. I hate to put the responsibility of the hypochondriac and the schizophrenic on one of my coworkers. What if something happens and they're stuck dropping everything to take care of it. That's my typical day, but I don't wish it on anyone else. So it's guilt. Guilt or I'm a workaholic. Yesterday I was in the office until after 8 and I was back this morning right at 8 am. I'm single. I don't have kids. All I do at home is workout, watch syfy shows on Netflix, and cuddle with my cat (and work on my addiction feeding, server connecting, company laptop). Those people, even the girl who follows me into the bathroom so she can show me her latest injury, are my life. 

Is that pathetic? It seems a little pathetic on paper.  It's not so pathetic when you take the human element into account:

I just need to unplug, relax, and have a drink or six. I need a few days of not waiting around for my computer to decide to print a PDF file. 

Everything will be here when I get back and, I'm going to the office with the Keurig on Monday. 

Breathe...forget about what could be in that inter-office envelope I left unopened...enjoy my vacation. 

Got it. 

subtle masochism, part dos

Today, I was prepared. I knew I'd be sitting in a waiting room for at least an hour and, in my attempt to help myself out, I brought my own coffee. 24 fluid ounces of actual, semi-decent, gas station coffee. Today I would not be fooled by the waiting room excuse coffee. I could ignore the voice in my head, because I had something better. Granted, not by much, but it was something.  

As I walked into the office, my triumphant smile fell from my face. This office has a Keurig. 

I shouldn't be surprised. This is my life. I keep going for the bad over and over and when I finally settle for semi-decent, there's something incredible right in front of my face. 

I can't have them both. I can't just toss a full 24 oz cup of coffee in the trash can. I have a commitment to see this cup through, though it tastes worse with each sip and each stolen glance at the Keurig.  My stomach is churning as I get up to walk out the door. I had tried to finish the cup I had so I could grab a cup of the good stuff, but each drink seemed to be replaced. It wasn't going to go away and it didn't matter what I did to try to get rid of it. I steal once last glance, and regretfully walk out the door. 

I just can't win, so why not let the masochist take over?

rant.

Two days ago, a bird pooped on me. I walked into my office and began disinfecting my entire body with Clorox wipes. I explain to my coworker what happened as stares at me with a confused look. 

"Oh that's good luck!" she said. Then it's my turn to look confused. 

"How is being shit on by a bird good luck?" 

"It just is," she shrugged. 

At this very minute I am posted up against my apartment door, fighting angry tears. I was having a good night. I worked late and actually felt productive when I left and i went for a record long (and would-be record fast run, had I not stopped by Walgreens). I felt great as I rounded the corner to my door. That feeling instantly vanished when I reached for the key that wasn't there. 

I knew I should have doubled up on sports bras. 

Here's my reasoning. I keep forgetting to get dry shampoo every time I'm at the store. I figured, if I make it my mission when I'm out, I'll remember to stop in Walgreens on my way by. Point two: no one wants money out of a bra of a girl who ran to the store. I can barely fit my phone in my armband as it is, and it took me twenty minutes to try to squeeze it in with cash (debit card was definitely not making it).  So it was decided. Phone in hand, cash behind case, key in bra. 

I am an idiot. 

My lovely apartment complex has 24 hour maintenance, but they don't do lockouts. Imagine that.  

So here I am, waiting for a locksmith (that I have to pay), about to cry. I'll probably have to go for another run to make myself feel better.  

Good luck, my ass. 

expectations

I think part of the reason, okay most of the reason, I have a terrible time at every doctor's office I visit is that I have hope. I have hope that when I walk in, I'll be greeted by a handsome man in some sort of medical profession (my hope is not picky). 

One of my girls has either caught onto this, or she just likes to tease me. The first time I took her to her primary she gushed about his perfect hair for 20 minutes. In walks a lanky old man who tells stories about his grand kids. 

The first time I took her for her psych she did almost the same thing. I didn't buy it this time, although I did have a small speck of optimism in the back of my mind. This time I got an ex-football player looking man who maybe hadn't let go of that time. He included me in the conversation more than he probably should, but it wasn't until he said "I bet when Laura's wet," instead of "I bet when Laura's upset," that I felt it was time to go.  I may have only taken psych in high school, but I know what a Freudian Slip is, sir. 

Maybe I just shouldn't have any expectations. Then I can just just be surprised with every bit of craziness I encounter. Including this incredibly outdated office I'm in right now. 

winner.

In this troubling time of starting over, trying new things is important.  That was my reasoning behind deciding to hang out with a new group of people.  Going out of your comfort zone is essential for a newly single girl.
It was supposed to be a night with decent looking guy and his incredibly hot friends.  The decent one offered to pick me up on his way downtown.  Unbeknownst to me, we were not going to make it downtown.  
As it turns out, his parents house is close to my apartment.  We had a drink in his parents basement as he picked out a movie on demand.  Yes, I was trying to be bold and adventurous, but I still don't enjoying bringing up a subject to make myself even more awkward, like, "aren't we supposed to be meeting up with some sexy bicyclists in the Old Market?"  Instead, I sat there, in this man's parent's basement, and 'watched' one of those terrible spoof movies. 
When the movie was finally over, we left to go to the bar.  We didn't make it to the interstate.  We went a block north to what might be the strangest bar I've even entered.  The owners either couldn't decide on a theme, or thought it would be fun to try everything all at once.  It was called Bogies and it was a sports/karaoke/danceclub bar owned by a middle-aged Chinese woman.  The menu also had an identity crisis.  She couldn't decide whether to serve homemade chinese food or bar food, so she combined them.  The other customers were just as diverse.  There was the country bumpkin group in their cowboy boots and hats with flannel shirts in one corner.  Gathered around the pool/beer pong tables were the bros with their chains and sunglasses.  It even had the skinny girls in ugs and pajama shorts on the dance floor trying to shake their asses like Shakira.  Of course, I couldn't forget the table of very large women, each drinking pop straight from their own personal pitcher with a straw, waiting for their turn to sing Adele and get booed off the stage. 

I had finally worked up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence and ask if anyone was meeting us.  He had an excuse for why each one of them couldn't make it.  Que more awkward silence.  I continued to people watch as I felt him stare at me.  I could tell he was trying to find something to say, but as I had nothing to say, I couldn't help him.  Besides, I was busy watching a cowboy dance to lil Wayne.
Our silence was broken by his ringtone.  His mother was on the other end and even in the karaoke filled bar, I could make out yelling.  I gathered that someone at the bar had seen us and called her.  I also overheard the words "trashy," "little girl,"  and "take her home."  
On the way home, he asked my age.  I figured that was coming.  The bartender didn't I.D. us and his mother must have thought I was under 21 if she ordered him to take me home.  This sort of thing happened to me a lot, but usually in reverse.  People tend to assume I'm older, not younger.  This was not a night I wished to repeat, so I gave a coy, "you can't ask a lady that question" response when he asked my age on the drive home.  I hoped that by not offering my age, it would confirm that I was underage.  
When we pulled up to my apartment I realized that might have been a bad idea.  He awkwardly swooped in for the goodnight kiss while still in the car.  I pretended not to notice and 'fumbled' with my seat belt.  He cleared his throat and mumbled something about calling me some time. I quickly said sure and good night and almost sprinted to my door.  My heart didn't stop racing until I slammed the door shut behind me.  I immediately sunk to the ground in a fit of the giggles. 
I laughed until tears streamed down my face.  I am an awkward person, but I don't think I have ever experienced anything so ridiculous.  My fit stopped as soon as my phone went off.  He texted me.   
"love u hope to see you again soon"
I think I'm going to stay in my comfort zone for a while.  Trying new things is overrated.

Girl] interrupted

I feel like I'm in a scene from girl, interrupted every time I'm in the psychiatrist's waiting room.

"Hello," she says to break the silence. 

The wafer with sopping wet curls and bug-eye sunglasses gets up and walks out side. She stands right in front of the door, turns around, lights a cigar, and stares at us. 

As she turns to make conversation a similar looking girl, who at that very moment buries herself in her phone, the PA behind the counter tells us it'll just be a minute. Then miss dry, but unnecessarily hair gelled, curls has something to say. 

"What time is your appointment?"

"2:30," she answers. 

"What doctor are you seeing, because my appointment was at 2:30 and if your next then I just don't understand." Her words were thrown out so fast that I almost didn't understand. 

"She's not seeing the doctor today," I tell her, hoping that's what she was looking for. She appeared happy with that answer and, unfortunately for me, open for conversation.
"I'm getting my shot today, do you get shots?"
"I used to, but I don't need them anymore." Skinny girl put her phone down and leaned forward in her chair.  "I only come in once a month now."
"Oh, I still get shots. I like your shoes.  Where'd you get 'em?"
"I've had them for so long I can't remember.  Oh, wait, I got them at footlocker."
My client turns to me and asks, "Can we go there when you take me shopping?"
"Yeah, probably," I answer as I glance up at Nick, the PA, again.  He holds up five fingers with an apologetic smile in response.
She turns back to hair gel and the questioning starts.  
"Are you married?" She asks as she starts absentmindedly peeling lose hairs off my shirt.
"Nope."
"But that's a pretty ring you got on.  Did your boyfriend give it to you?'
"I don't have a boyfriend.  I got this when I was visiting family in Texas.  See, it's not even on the right hand for marriage."
"Do you like to go fishing?"
"No, anything with sharp and slimy objects isn't for me. What agency do you work for?"  Before I realized that last part was directed at me, she adds, "I used to have Lasting Hope, but no one helps me anymore..." Her voice trailed off as she stared out the window.
How do I respond to that? I can tell you need it, but unless you have a developmental disability, I can't help you.  This is the only field I know, I can name all the agencies like mine in Omaha, but I have no idea what else is out there.  As I scrambled to think of something to say, bug glasses walks back inside. 
'I like your glasses," my girl tells her.  Without so much as a breath, bug glasses walks back out the door.
"I'm ready for you two now, Laura." Nick saves the day.  We awkwardly exchange pleasantries with the unmarried, curly haired woman in the cute tennis shoes and walk back to the exam room.
At least I can say I don't have a boring desk job.

Homaha.

All my life I dreamed of leaving Omaha and moving to a 'real' city. I hated that my high school, located well inside city limits, was surrounded by cornfields. I hated that my dad ran into someone he knew literally everywhere we went. I'm not using literally like Chris Traeger. My dad knows everyone. 

The only thing to do as a child was play football in the street with the olda' boys and get scraped up to all hell. I'm sure I have more than one scar on my body that I don't know about.  I suppose there was the zoo, but that got old fast as it was every adult-in-my-life's trick to tire all of us out.  Every night, I fell asleep dreaming of a place with more excitement.  
In high school, there was a surprising amount of kids that moved to Nebraska from places like Detroit and California and various places in the middle-east and India.  I always felt bad for them, and they were often getting into trouble, as teenagers in a place with little to keep them occupied usually do.  They all moved to Omaha with the notion that everyone in the city owned a tractor and the majority of the roads were gravel.  I was asked once if many family owned any pigs and if they were cute like Babe.
I wanted more than spending my Saturday's in Panera and drinking coffee on a swing in the park.  Hide and seek in cars was a highlight, though.  It had just the right amount of suspense, speed, and trickery to make me happy.  Which I'm now realizing must mean I was dead inside if it took near-death experiences in traffic, on purpose, to make me happy.  It makes sense, considering it took five more years to realize that Nebraska is actually a pretty great place.
I love that Omaha is a big enough city where I can run to Walgreen's to pick up shampoo and not worry about someone I know seeing me all sweaty and smelly (I am not my father and do not understand how he knows so many people), but small enough to be able to get from Downtown to West O in less than half an hour (depending on the time...not so lucky during rush hour, but still).  The number of douches is upsetting, but it's balanced by a large amount of people with actual taste in music.  Which is nice.  I have never been on a tractor that actually runs, but the one at Vala's Pumpkin Patch is still fun to climb on.  I have been on a farm once, and have no desire to return fearing my obituary would read, "death by two ton spotted beast."  My high school might be surrounded by cornfields, but it's Boys Town land.  I don't really have an excuse for the rest of the random cornfields, but I like them now.  Character, right?  I've still been to the zoo way too many times, but it's the best zoo in the world.  Fact, and opinion. There are gravel roads everywhere, but there is also Dodge Street; the bane of every Omaha teenager with a learners permit's existence.  Dodge scares visitors much bigger cities with it's four lanes and five exits in one mile of space.    
It took a lot of bumps and a lot of awkwardness, which is still there and I like it that way, to stop looking past what I have for something 'better'.  This is what's better.  I can't say that with complete certainty since I haven't actually lived anywhere else, but I'm happy here.   
The best part, it takes 10 minutes from anywhere in the city to find a road like this to clear your head. 

Oh, if people actually read the crap that spills out of my head, please tell me you got the teen girl squad reference. 

subtle masochism

Another day, another bad cup of coffee in a waiting room. 

Why do I do this to myself? I know it's going to be horrible, and I know I'm going to be mad at myself afterward, but I reach for the styrofoam cup anyway. 

I take sip after sip, cringing each time the thick, molten substance someone mislabeled as coffee passes my lips. It's so mundane, and yet it has such power over me. Power that I couldn't begin to explain or understand. 

I've tried to resist...I've sat on the opposite end of the room as far away as possible. I've even faced the other direction when possible. The scent of the beans brewing always fills the room. It overpowers even the strongest 'old lady smell.'

Then it taunts me. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? It asks. Come on, I wouldn't hurt you. I thought we were friends, why are you ignoring me? Don't leave me...I love you and I know you love me. 

And I'm once again out of my chair on my way to the coffee. I'd like to think of myself as a strong, independent woman, but I have my weaknesses. I just can't resist. 

Oh it's easy, just don't listen! I want to listen, though. I want to see if, this time, it's decent. It never is, but I'm apparently a masochist. I can't say no. Sometimes, I don't even want to try. I know my stomach will churn and ache all day, but I reach out and take that styrofoam cup, anyway. 

mindy.

It's been a long time since I've been pulled into a comedy show. I never got into 30 Rock or Community and it took quite a bit of pressure from my friends to watch Parks and Rec. I was betrayed by television when Arrested Development was cancelled. 

My poor, fragile, 16 year old heart was stomped on by network executives with no idea of the damage they caused. 

I became absorbed in shows like Grey's Anatomy; shows that understood my heartbreak and helped me cry it out. Oh the problems of a white, middle class, redheaded girl in Nebraska. I still had The Office, and I did let Big Bang Theory in a few years later, but I had never let my wall down. 

Mindy changed my life. Mindy changed my life because my life is Mindy. No, I'm not a successful, sexy doctor with a disposable income and horrible dates with wonderful men. I work with people with disabilities and make a decent amount of money for a crazy cat lady to live comfortably. I can be hot (it takes some time). My dates are few and far between and are horrible not only because of my awkwardness, but because of the horrible men they include. I once went on a date that I didn't know was a date until he went in for the kiss.  That would have been an adorable romantic comedy moment had it been a guy I was actually interested in.

Oh and as far as dates with men I'm actually interested in go...let's just say that those make up the minority. I'm the girl that gets friend-zoned with the good guys, and gets chased by the hot bad boys or just plain stalked. Seriously, creepily, stalked. Side note: Why do the good guys always tell me I'm too good for the guy I'm seeing, but don't want to risk losing our friendship by seeing if it could be something more? Does not just happen to guys. 

Back on track: I am a hopeless swooner. I can romanticize a fax. I blame this on my unhealthy addiction to television.  I am a walking, talking IMDb, but I couldn't tell you everything I did today. Mindy restores my hope in life. Mindy restores my hope in me. Now all I have to do is move to New York, because that is clearly the place where a weird girl like me is appreciated. I just have to conquer my fear of leaving Nebraska. 

There is also a problem with following through on a highly romanticized move to a place like New York: nothing ever works out how I plan it. Although I'm definitely mean enough to fit in. 

Now, before I follow my train of thought down another scenic route, I need sleep and if you haven't watched Mindy, do it. It's the best thing those ridiculous executives have okay'd in a long time. For now, my heart is healed. 💜

creepy cat lady

This morning, my cat helped me pick out my lunch. I didn't get a chance to eat it, but it's the thought that counts. 

I don't understand why something like this is "creepy cat lady-like," but if Dinah were a dog it wouldn't be weird. Double standard!

Why can't cats have play dates at the park? That would be adorable. Why does it make me seem like a weirdo when I tell people my cat licks my nose every morning when my alarm goes off?

The thing is, I may be a creepy cat lady, but I'm happier than I've been in a long time. I love having all this time to myself and my best friend. 

If that makes me a cat lady, so be it. 

:]

surprise, surprise.

Another waiting room. Another doctor running behind. 

I am literally surviving on doctor's office coffee at this point. No time for lunch, not today, not surprised. I had paused for a moment with my fridge open this morning, wondering, should I bother today? I decided to be optimistic and pack a lunch. Maybe, I'll get to eat it tomorrow. That hope flees as I take a sip of the coffee no amount of creamer can make less bitter and I think of my calendar. 

It is now 3:13pm. Our appointment was at 2:30. 

I can say one good thing about waiting rooms: the people watching is fantastic. There's an elderly couple in the corner; quietly bickering. The woman threatened to hit her husband over the head with her cane, and that ended the conversation. 

There's the cliché emo girl in the corner, hugging her knees with her headphones in. She's staring at me like she knows I'm writing about her. 

A man who barely speaks English walks in and I wonder if he can even communicate well enough to tell the doctor how he's feeling.  He looks paranoid, too, never making eye contact, but always looking from body to body. 

As I watch, I longingly think of my yogurt sitting in the fridge in the conference room. That thought makes time go even slower. Another hour and a half drags on before I'm finally ready to go home. 

Tomorrow I only have one waiting room on my schedule. I can't wait for an easy day, but I don't think that'll happen any time soon. At least I can entertain myself somehow along the way.