I’ve been neglecting my xanga because, once again, I have been taken up with my favorite internet comic: www.toothpastefordinner.com.  It’s bizarre and wonderful all at the same time.


So, my self-respect is still fluctuating between “Hell-yes-I-found-a-job” and “Hell-no-I’m-a-telemarketer.”  We’ll see which angle wins out after my first training session thingie tonight.  I am armed with cynicism, a roll of quarters for the parking meter, and a Whitney Houston inner-themesong (They can’t take away my Dig! Ni! Ty!).  I am prepared.


Backtracking!  This weekend was quite excellent.  Spent time in the cities with Amelia, Angi, Becca and Lacy, a group that hadn’t been together since…well, we’re not really sure, but we think a few years…it was fabulous, except I ate enough to last two lifetimes.  We should do it again sometime – not the eating part, maybe, but the getting together part.  Too bad Amelia lives in New York and Becca in Iowa.  Okay, Iowa’s not that far away, but that’s just this year – next year she’s going to the Yukon.  Or something.  Same for Lacy, and I will be left with no choice but to follow them and live on their couch.  Except we know that will probably never happen.  If I’m going to live on anybody’s couch, it’s going to be Angi’s, because I tend to follow her around and do whatever she tells me to do.  I am very much like a lapdog, except without so much drooling.


Of course, I don’t have to worry about couch-hopping for a while…unlike my old friends, I have two years before I have to stare the abyss called “real life” in the…face?  Does an abyss have a face?  Anyway, it was kind of fun to be the youngest again – gulping my Cherry Coke as the big girls sip margaritas and discuss law school, assistantships, Edward 40-hands and British physicists.  On the one hand, it makes the whole “look at me, I’m a twenty year old college junior” thing seem about as adult as “Look at me, I’m a monkey!”  On the other hand, in nine years I’ll still be in my twenties and they won’t.


So maybe I’m not Angi’s lapdog.  Maybe she’s my Man in the Yellow Hat.

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2 responses

  1. This is why I read your journal…to find out where you are when I get home from work!  I’m sure you’ll love being a telemarketer.  If you call me, I promise I won’t hang up on you!

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