rant party of three...

~No one is perfect until you fall in love with them ~

While impatiently waiting in line at the post office the other day, I heard one u.s. postal worker whine to another “I’ve been walking around with this damn monkey on my back”. While I can't tell you what this means exactly I can say - I wish. Gripers this is an occasion to celebrate, not mope. Stop that bellyaching it’s time for a little fun. Dress that monkey up. Telephone the plumber, the cable guy, gas company – what have you - and put in a house call for repairs. Have the monkey answer the door and [wink] play like he is the homeowner while you hide in the closet and have yourself a well deserved laugh.

Awkward silences. I had to pick up a complete stranger from the airport this morning. This gentleman was interviewing with my firm today and, because I was already “away from the office” I was delegated the lucky candidate to meet and greet this fella. During the fatiguing commute from the airport to my office I pulled everything out of my repertoire including my aversion to green beans and fondness for Asian men. Had I not been driving I would have tap danced for the boy if necessary. I am not positive but pretty confident I asked him twice what city he called home. I was mind boggled. I am 100 percent positive that during one of the more painfully long silences I nervously sang “do-ta-do” while staring off to the left out of the drivers side window”.

Myspace: I hate it. I once had an account and it didn’t work out for me because it seemed to cause too much social drama. On the flipside, I am still addicted to it. I found a loophole in the myspace system. One can still myspace without having an account of your own. How is this possible you ask? Borrow someone’s login and password and use their account as if it were your own. This is similar to when a good friend has a baby and you get to hold it, gaga goo at it, and all that jive but you can unload the bambino on mommy when you sense a blood hurling howl on the horizon [I dare ya to try to spit that riddle out with a quickness].

Space heaters are more addicting than crack [never have tried crack – it’s a figure of speech stop shaking your head in disappointment]. You’re body is burning up like you are fighting scarlet fever, you’re starting to feel queasy, every time you lift your arm the world is privy to the dark ring of pit sweat on your shirt. Should you be required to temporarily leave your warming zone you maneuver around like you are 80 years old and malnourished. Warning: your body will go into shock. You've become a victim to the small box exuding heat. It’s like your favorite 90’s hairband love ballads cd, you can’t live or without the darn thing. Off and on. On and off. It is a vicious cycle.

Happy Birthday Ellie.

Until my next rant,

Ms. McSasssssss