I’ve been completely un-entertaining lately. I’ve been spending a lot of time enjoying my last days out back by the pool with my passionfruit iced tea and the new “Music From The O.C.: Mix 1” CD, but that’s about it. The little cousins are on Spring Break this week, so I’ve mediated a few fights and chaperoned a few trips to Wal-Mart, but nothing too exciting. It was Sammy’s birthday, so we went to see Mamma Mia at the Mandalay Bay and we ate dinner at my former place of employment – the House of Blues. I’ve packed one box. I’ve watched a few movies, I’ve been worried about Jamie, I’ve searched for a cool job on the east coast, I’ve had a few interesting conversations/attempts at conversations with old friends, I’ve downloaded some music, I’ve read two magazines and a book, I’ve written two or three short stories, I’ve checked to make sure Fabio was still alive a couple of times, and I’ve eaten a few too many chocolate chip cookies. As I said, completely un-entertaining, but I figured I’d update anyway so you didn’t think I’d fallen off the face of the earth like Regina Janesko.
It’s spring time and I have a bump on my shin. I think if my life were a literary masterpiece, having bumps on my shin just in time for shorts weather would be one of the motifs. (If you don’t remember learning your literary devices in eigth grade, a motif is a theme, character type, image, metaphor, or other element that recurs throughout a single work of literature or occurs in a number of different works over a period of time.)
The first spring I had a bump on my shin was either my freshman year of high school or the year before that. I got hit in the leg with a softball and the swelling just took forever to go down.
As for the next one (actually two), I clearly remember my roommates and I examining the pair of mysterious bumps that surfaced on my shin during the spring of my junior year in college. We had no clue what they were from – I suppose they could have been bruises (I remember slamming my leg in the car door a few times that spring) or calcium deposits (that’s what Jess thought) – but we frequently referred to them simply as “shin cancer.” They were gone by the end of the summer without my ever really figuring out what they were.
This time, the bump is a result of my reckless waterfall behavior in the pool this afternoon. I begged my uncle to turn on the waterfall, and as he was about to push the button, my aunt and I noticed a potted plant sitting vicariously on the edge of the top rock. I dove across the pool and jumped up onto the waterfall to rescue the plant. Of course the water came rushing out into my face at that precise moment, and I’m sure you can picture the rest.
At least I kept the damn plant out of the pool. Here at the Bassani residence, we’ve already learned that a load of potting soil in the pool water doesn’t make for the most attractive swimming conditions.
My goal for this week is to not eat like a fat pig. I didn’t go to Weight Watchers last night – not because I was tired, and not because I had something better to do – because I was afraid to see how much weight I gained after our food-tasting session at work on Tuesday. We tasted two appetizers, one salad, three entress, and two desserts. If ever I was tempted to become a bulimic, it was Tuesday afternoon. The joy of working in restaurants. Anyway, that’s not the point of this entry.
I was lazy this morning. I laid around in bed watching JAGs until I finally felt motivated enough to meander downstairs to eat some breakfast. I forced myself past the doughnuts on the counter and opened the pantry door to find the following choices for a nutritious breakfast: Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Lucky Charms, Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Krispies, Mud & Bugs, Cookie Crisp, and Corn Pops. Great.
Speechless, I hesitantly closed the door, grabbed a banana, and went outside to be lazy some more. I sat down in a lounge chair to bask in the sun with my “healthy” breakfast (the banana), but it must have rained again last night because I sat in a puddle.
Defeated, I trudged back inside, dropped the banana back in the fruit basket, changed – into different pajama pants – and came back upstairs. I was contemplating running, but there’s still six JAGs left on the TiVo. Maybe I’ll just go back to bed.
It’s Beat-the-Clock Night with Lifespeed at Bar A tonight. Stacey and I had plans to go but, she called me this morning to tell me she was sick and couldn’t go. I hung up the phone and promptly decided I was going to kill her. I was a little pissed off, especially because I’d given up tickets to see Gypsy on Broadway to go to the bar tonight.
After a few episodes of JAG, I decided I was over it and decided to give Rob a call. He had a stressful day, so fortunately, I was able to make him laugh with my story about today’s bursting into tears over chili with my brother just because Stacey cancelled our bar plans. After realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I decided I was being a bitch.
“You’re not a bitch,” Rob said. “You’re just complicated.”
Oh. Is that supposed to be better? Haha.
The thing is, I’m not complicated. I’m not even that much of a bitch. I require a few simple things — good friends who are honest with me, return my calls, and refrain from cancelling our plans as much as possible. Granted, you have to be quick-witted to keep up with a damn word I’m saying, and I have a bad habit of interrupting and rapidly changing the subject without notice, but I wouldn’t say that’s “complicated.” It might be somewhat confusing, but definitely interesting, and almost always funny — but complicated?
“Maybe,” I replied. “But, either way, I still hate stupid people. And I have too many clothes.”