Success Defined
Blame it on my advancing age, blame it on my rapidly increasing disinterest for all things life-related, heck, even blame it on the rain (yeah yeah), but the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little squirrel girl that used to inhabit my body has been replaced by a grumpy troll who has decided that 2005 is the year for low standards and shallow goals. My official motto has been working well so far ("I Can't Be Bothered" works in every situation--really! try it), and today I'm shooting for the following two accomplishments:
1. Get to work in time for the pizza party at lunch.
2. Wear as many stripes as possible.
Sounds easy enough, but if I don't find my pink-and-bue striped socks in the next half hour, I'm not going to be in time for pizza, and that would leave me with two failures and an empty tummy, and that's a little too depressing, even for a Tuesday.
And speaking of things missing from the second drawer from the top, George the Jockey, if you're reading this, give me back my underwear. I have at least thirty pairs, which means I only have to do laundry once a month, but ever since I came back from Christmas vacation--during which you babysat my cat--I find I have half as many panties as I should and that will force me to go to the laundromat only an inhumane three weeks after I was last there. Dude. Give 'em back. I know where you live and I've got eight inches on you.
This explains the big panty sale over at EBAY... er, I mean the sale is big, not the panties.
Think about it. You probably don't want them back. VS is having its semi-annual sale (my wife got the catalog the other day). You'll thank me later.
Gotta love a gal who uses the term 'dude,' and you can tell it is not contrived.
I hate when I go away and find that someone took my panties.