Right from Christmas into Lent. Excellent!
Currently wearing: tight black “M” sweater, maroon velvet mini skirt, clunky black mary janes, a look of defiance.*
Currently reading: The Latchkey Dog by Jodi Andersen and How Do You Say Goodbye? – Margaret Burman
Currently listening to: Crucify – Tori Amos
Currently munching on: Cosi‘s signature salad and Sweetarts®.
Currently smelling like: gas, 90 octane
*I had to work up some nerve to wear this today by chanting “defy stereotypes! defy stereotypes!” and reminding myself that “anyone who wants to is allowed to wear a short skirt – just because Oprah says sexiness ends at a certain size doesn’t make it so.
Growing up Catholic, this season was a pretty big one for me. It meant sacrifice, and hope, and sorrow. Which is pretty much what my job is all about right now. In fact, given the option I think I would happily give it up for Lent. Yep, I’ll do forty days without it.
Actually, I tried to start this noble sacrifice this morning. I turned off my alarm, overslept by about an hour, rushed through the getting ready and still missed the last rush-hour train. Fuck. Dejectedly leaving the train station, I noticed the big ‘E’ on the gas gauge, and so headed to the nearby Mobile to fill up and ended up coasting up to the pumps. (side note: I cannot figure out why I always seem to let the gas tank get bone dry. I actually ran out of gas last month and we had to buy a gas can and the whole nine yards. Must analyze this) So, I thanked my heavenly stars that I made it to the fuel pump, happily pulled out the nozzle, and somehow ended up with gas all over my left side. DoubleFuck.
Yes, it was a beautiful morning.
But it’s too easy to get mired in the crankiness of it all, isn’t it? Or maybe it isn’t for you. Maybe you’re a bigger person than I, elevated above the petty foolishnesses of daily life. If so, I salute you.
And scowl at you behind your back.
Me, I get crazy cranky on a somewhat daily basis. And with arguably good reason. In a typical workday I am crowded, jostled, poked, crammed, honked and yelled at more times than can be comfortably counted. The poking alone can make you misanthropic in the extreme. But I solider on because I love being in the city, and working here. And you know, it’s the little things that can turn a day from commuter hell to Meg heaven.
~ Boy shorts. I have some in lace and in gorgeously comfortably sexy cotton. They make my ass hot, hot, hot.
~ Netflix.com. I was skeptical of the service at first – DVDs through the mail? – but now I’m a convert. I love organizing my queue (49 at last count), planning movie nights based on what films will come in the mail this week, and the collection of films available is pretty darn impressive. And guess what? The turn-around time for shipping and receiving is super fast in the Chicago area. Golly.
~ Krispy Kreme™ donuts. Until I moved here, I just didn’t get it. And true, I’d get sick of them if they were around everyday. But every once in a while some kind office mate of mine brings in a box, and I happily enjoy the glazey-sticky goodness.
~ Or, more nutritionally, breakfast at Corner Bakery. The cold museli cereal is the living end. I kid you not. It’s so creamy, yet it’s made with skim milk, and it’s chock full of fruit.
~ and one of my favorite things, listening to Chicago while staring out my window at Lake Michigan on Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago. (Was that a palindrome of some sort?)
So no, it’s not all bad. Just some of it. A lot of the time. Now I must go prepare to for the PokeFest that is my homeward commute.
Let the scowling begin.