I’m referring to the new girl at work. Now, before I explain too much about her, let me first say that I do like her. Not like her in that I’d be friends with her or that I’d hang out with her or I’d go out of my way to be nice, but I’ll compliment her hair on a good day. She’s annoying though. Really annoying. Like 63% of the time.
Her name is Tina and the first time I met her she made fun of my car for being too small. I call it economical. She drives a large crossover, smokes, and constantly brags about how much money she has. This bothers me. I don’t think it’s jealousy, I think I’m genuinely annoyed because I’m not interested in her finances.
Also, if all this were true, she should buy better fucking shoes.
Yesterday J-Bird & I went on our first bike ride together in almost 3 years. That, my bloggy friends, is exciting.
Pinky needs some work, which we knew. She’s almost as old as I am. In bike years, that’s like 42. She’s getting ready to hit menopause for pete’s sake. We started out having to pump air in her tires (of course). Which, for the record, I hate the sound of. Reminds me of balloons too much. So I made J-Bird go out on the porch to do it out of earshot.
I’m not gonna lie to you guys, the first few minutes on Pinky were terrifying. I was so wobbly & nervous (well, we lowered the seat almost as low as it would go & my feet would still barely reach the ground, I’m sort-of vertically challenged), but as soon as we got out on the road & the wind started whipping through my hair, I was fine.
Until I had to hit the brakes, that is. We’re pretty sure that Pinky needs some new brakes, as it sounded like I had a goose sitting on my handle bars honking at all the innocent people.
We did discover a park we’d never seen only a few blocks over from us, with this cool boulder climbing rock thing. Which, of course, we stopped to climb. Or should I say, we stopped to I could watch & laugh as J-Bird climbed. What? I wasn’t wearing the proper shoes. Everyone knows you have to wear cute sandals to go bike riding. Duh.
I’m super excited about our next adventure on our bikes, the only downside? My tush really hurts from riding. J-Bird says this never happens to him, but if I ride more than a few minutes, it happens to me every time. Seriously, I had to sit on a pillow just to put my make-up on this morning. This is the only day that I’ve ever been excited about having to stand at work. My tush totally hates me right now.
My mom showed up for a surprise visit around 12:30 yesterday afternoon. After showing her around my house (she’s never been here, never seen it), we headed over to Rite Aid to get my crazy meds filled (fine, my migraine meds).
Mom wanted to head to Applebee’s for lunch, so we headed over there to get some omnoms. Mom proceeded to dance in her seat to every song that came on & to flirt with our waiter…typical. Good thing the restaurant was mostly empty by that time of the day because while she’s a bit of a public dancer…I’m a singer. Yep. Terrible at it, but I’ll do it. Loud & proud & not just in the car.
We went to Target because Mom insisted I help her pick out a new pair of shoes. We have quite different fashion tastes though. While she was over on the tennis shoe aisle, I yelled from the next aisle over, How do you feel about coral colored sandals? They’re only $14.99! Ohhhhhh!!! These flats sparkle & so will you! Upon meeting in the middle, I told her not to pick anything that was going to make her look 50 or older, so we settled on a simple pair of white flats that we figured would go with anything. She was so excited she made me rip the tags off as we were walking back out to the car so she could put them on before we got to JCPenney.
Last stop. JCPenney. This is when I realized I didn’t own any normal colored panty hose. I own 2 black pair, a grey pair, a pink pair, & a purple pair. I don’t think I’ve ever even bought a skin colored pair, so I was sort of lost. Mom, what do these colors mean? The names don’t make sense. Am I black velvet or smokey? The sizes are even confusing. Am I short or queen? My mom gives me that look. The look only a mother can give. Well, you’re not black, so let’s not buy you black velvet anything. I’d say you’re oatmeal or bone. I’d also pick up the package to look at the size chart, but queen sounds like a nice way of saying huge. I picked up the oatmeal & the bone package. The bone looked vampire white, so I went with the oatmeal. I am oatmeal colored. Good to know. I also fall into neither short or queen size, but average. What?! How boring is that? Average oatmeal?
After feeling boring, I bought a bright orange pencil skirt to liven my life.
Live bright, not average.