General Diarrhea of the Fingertips

Aah, blogging. That ‘hobby’ I’ve had, laying about, for years. The hobby that involves me writing something, and putting it up for the five voracious readers I have to enjoy. I’ve been trying to be bettera bout blogging, after being reminded by a friend that “I need to write.”

So, today, with the lack of anything interesting to link you to, I’ll just rant a little bit, ok?

First, I got one of those survey things in the mail from Jen. She was on the phone at the time she was mailing it. Unless it comes from her, Donna, or Ana, chances are I won’t go through a survey, but I did with this one.

Now, I’m not going to make you read the whole survey, chosen five, but I will point out what the most interesting question was:

2. What color are your socks right now? Tube socks, they are actually Darren’s. I couldn’t find decent freaking shoes this morning, so I’m in a pants suit with Chucks on. Seriously.

This, for some reason, had me partially amused and partially really really pissed at myself.

I wouldn’t call myself a morning person, but I do have to wake up in the morning on most days. You know, it’s part of the whole consulting gig thing. And that’s fine. But what got to me this morning was my apparent inability, even in adulthood, to manage to get myself ready.

Bad enough I’m growing ever fatter (or so it seems to me, and I know none of you think I’m fat blah blah blah but I was skinnier when I bought my clothes so just lemme bitch), but even worse that I can’t manage to find something simple — like my shoes — because I just don’t feel like exerting the effort. So, slacks with Chucks it is for me.

When I got to work I got the chance to chat with Ana online a bit, and I was telling her about my morning, and how people were staring at me (I thought it was kind of weird and then I realized that the last time I wore the blouse I had on it involved a safety pin, at which point I immediately expressed regret at not being punk in my wardrobe anymore, and also that people should make blouses that button all the way up, at least as an option), and I related what I found to be a very, very funny recollection of another wardrobe malfunction.

I had on this kind of spandex / cotton blend blouse from Express. Darren and I were living at the old place, and I let myself out into the hallway to go to work. All is normal at this point. I notice that the edge of my shirt is caught in my skirt. This only slightly creates a reaction — which is to tug gently on the tail of the shirt, right?

Except in some weird horrible cartoony twist of fate, I tugged just right, and ALL the buttons came popping out of the holes — in one huge motion, I had my unbottoned shirt hanging from my shoulders.

Now, of course my reaction was initially shock, and to quick button up, but I was trying not to break into hysterics, pull people from their apartment, and share my nudity. It just wasn’t that type of day.

It DID come back to haunt me when I realized three hours later that I had rebuttoned the blouse crooked.

Annoying.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I really wish I could get dressed and ready for work at a time other than the morning or something. Something like that . . . .

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “General Diarrhea of the Fingertips

  1. Heck, half the time I have to lay out everything before I go to bed at night so I can slap the clock, groggily try to decipher the upside-down numbers, blearily arrive at a stunning realization, fling myself airborne from the bed, collapse onto the floor because a) the rest of me hasn’t woken up yet and b) the covers are actually solid and not etheral, and then scramble to get out the door to get to work on time.

  2. I am not a morning person either – does that surprise you?! I didn’t think so, but hey one time I wore two different shoes to work and didn’t notice until around 11am. I was in my bosses office and looked down to contemplate something she said and just busted out laughing at the site.
    Make you feel any better?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s