Ewwwww

The largest centipede I have ever seen just ran across my living room floor. I wasn't wearing any shoes to step on it with, so I grabbed the first thing I could find to throw at it, which happened to be a box of tissues. Failure. Then I grabbed the next thing on the table, a newspaper - but it was only the first page. Strike two. Then I grabbed the giant yellow phone book, and smashed it like, 5 times. I was so grossed out I just left it there under the phone book (hopefully dead, I'm too freaked out to check), and now I feel like I have a thousand legged creatures crawling all over me. I think my life just flashed before my eyes. I have to go vomit now.

Iced Tea and Milano Cookies, Please?

Today at work, Meredith, one of the Cafe girls, said I was cool.

I've been getting a lot of 7am shifts, which, suprisingly, I am really enjoying. I have in no way gotten used to the whole getting-up-at-6am-and-being-awake deal, or the going-to-bed-at-a-decent-time-so-I-get-more-than-4-hours-of-sleep shebang, HOWever, I love being in the store for two hours prior to being open. There is an actual peacefulness and quaint vibe that circulates through the dust covered bays and endcaps that omits a sort-of relaxed aura. That, mixed with the smell of freshly ground coffee and slightly burnt oatmeal-raisin cookies, really sets you off on a good start for the day. At least for the first two hours, before the customers come in.

This is also about the time when I secretly sneak over to our cafe and order my new liquid crack: a grande soy hot chocolate with a squirt of pumpkin syrup. We're not actually allowed to be served when we're on the clock, but I don't care. I'd shoot that pumpkin syrup through my veins.

This morning, as I slid behind the New Fiction Release Bay to obtain my drug-of-choice, Matt jokingly whispered "Excuse me Ma'am, but we don't serve working employees". I simply tilted my eyes upwards and to the left, as I pulled on my nametag, releasing it from my neck (thanks strangle-free lanyards!), and then smiled sweetly without saying a word. This then prompted Meredith to reply with "Ha, she is so cool!" .

Now lets be real - any of you that know me know for a fact that "cool", is no where near a word that would describe me. Slightly quirky, maybe. Randomly spastic and clumsy? Perhaps. Cool? No. Yet hearing her say that to me made me feel just the slightest bit, shall we say, cool. Even if only for a quick moment, before dropping my nametag at my feet, then having to crouch down and accidentally crack my ankles on the way to pick it up.

I guess it's just nice to know that there is always someone, somewhere, that thinks you're cool. And I just like that picture. It makes me feel even cooler. Jealous?

Tina Fey deserves An Oscar. For Awesome.

Saturday Night Live has become, well...terrible. It's awful. With the exceptions, of course, of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler (Wet Hot and UCB fame!), the show has literally fallen down a well without a rope. However. Watching the VP Debate SNL style proved to be far more entertaining than the actual one. Since the NBC link is all kinds of messed up, I leave you with this oddly disturbing skit you can't help but laugh at. Maybe because it makes you so uncomfortable?

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

I always tend to pull this blog up right as I'm about to head to sleep, and then get distracted and write. I'm still playing with this. A strictly factual blog? A whatever-is-on-my-mind blog? I usually set out on these ventures with some sort of idea of where it's heading. This one is blind and can't find it's glasses.

I turned 23 yesterday. It was rather uneventful, and slightly disappointing. I don't know what it is I expect - I'm 23 years old, not 8. Birthday's aren't big deals, right? Yet, somehow, I expected something different. Something special. From someone special, maybe? I tend to find myself repeatedly...disenchanted, perhaps. I can't seem to place it. I think that's always been a slight problem of mine - I have extremely high expectations of almost everything I do and everyone I meet - but shouldn't I? Is it not important to set high standards for yourself? I have friends that have told me they set their expectations low - that way, they are never disappointed and consistently impressed. I don't agree with this at all, and I don't care if that makes me a snob (which, now that I think about, may be the exact definition of such a trait?). In high school, my mom used to say I was a cultural snob because I was always going to museums and galleries and shows. I take it as a compliment. I'm cultured!

The occasional feeling of disillusionment has never sat well with me, and I don't intend to keep it around. It's literally that little cartoon dark cloud following me wherever I go. I feel guilty and culpable and almost constantly anxious, all view points I don't agree. Gloomy! That's what it is. I feel gloomy. Maybe it's the rain we had last week. Maybe it's my birthday, which now seems to come along with a slight depression. Maybe it's a who.

I'll call. I *love* the fall.