So, since I'm no longer panicking about money, and am now less focused on the periphery, I've decided to take a little break on the whole food stamp balance updates. I realized how personal sharing my dismal financial outlook can be in such a public setting. Not only do I wonder whether or not I want Great Aunt Gladys in Ohio knowing about my monetary prowess, I really need to consider my dating prospects.
I see the sparks flying with a potential date now:
Potential Date: "So I saw your blog."
Me (chuckling uncomfortably): "Cool. You're paying the tab tonight, right? I think I left my Quest card at home."
Potential Date: "Uh...... I live in my parent's garage."
Which I guess leads me to THAT discussion. About prospects. Fellas, if you're living in your parents' garage I don't want to discourage you. If you're living in your parents garage and you do not wear socks with your skate shoes however, I would like to openly and vigorously discourage you.
Not judging. I've been known to have a little foot odor myself. I've been known to have a meltdown in my adult life and end up living with my parents, washing venetian blinds at my mother's request. After a full work day. I can roll with some shiz man. I am probably too tolerant, too invested in my romantic interest's potential. I literally have found myself trying to convince my friends and family of my sanity regarding my choice in men.
Perhaps I should provide fair warning here. Those crazy nights after a fun date with wild and animalistic lovemaking on the floor of the living room? They can get a little awkward when interrupted by a smarmy teenager. Mexican cruises? They have toddler suites on those things, right? I mean, those boats are huge!
I am a full time Mom. Opportunity is limited. Many opportunities are limited. Sure, I'm lucky to have work. I'm fortunate to work for people who understand and are willing to be flexible for a Mom. Ultimately I have chosen to forego my brilliant career in law, my creative writing career, a Pulitzer, first prize in the State Fair for best apple pie. Did I mention gold metal in the Logger Olympics for axe throwing? I have chosen to be home for my children after school. I have worked so many low-paying jobs and for so long that minimum wage almost seems decent. I have chosen to put entire vacations on credit cards, and wrack up student loans with not even an Associates. But what I lack in materialism I certainly exceed in looks and charm. I am funny when I am not taking it too far, and I am also a terrific cook. One should not overlook the benefits of a woman who knows a little thrift.
Is this a blog or a bio for match.com? I'm starting to annoy myself.
So life changes. I haven't written here in awhile, things are changing, dizzyingly so. And I am happy to bob the surface of it.
A little over two weeks ago I started a new job as a legal assistant for a criminal defense attorney. I love it. I love using my brain. I love not having to answer stupid questions about gelato. Situations that make me want to scream like:
Stupid Customer: "So, what's gelato?"
Me: "It's Italian style ice cream. It's made with whole milk instead of cream so it has a slightly different texture than ice cream. Would you like to try it?"
Stupid Customer: (stares blankly at gelato case, licks lips) "Is it cold?"
I love that I get to research. I love that I work for people where being intelligent is appreciated and encouraged. So if anyone needs unsolicited, very amateurish legal advice let me know. I will trade for food stamps.