A Day In The Life...
January 26th, 2003 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shiredancerThis is for anybody who was silly enough to say they wanted to be me when they grow up... you know who you are! Bwahahahaha.
So you roll out of bed at seven-fecking-fifteen ack emma on a fecking *Saturday* because you're doing that stupid Weight Watchers thing and you have to weigh in at the same time every week, and being who you are you have to wear the exact same clothes every time too. But then it's okay because you're down 1.6 lbs which is good, and you feel pretty decent about yourself although you haven't quite gotten down to The Number That Is The Line That Cannot Be Crossed, but you're getting there.
Next it's off to the Computer Fair because whoopee, you're going to get your very own first-time-ever-all-yours laptop computer for your birthday, whoot! So you and the kid head for the software section while the husband seeks out the laptops, and you find the two Sims game add-ons that she's dying for and she's going to pay for them with her very own money so you're both happy. She anxiously asks the sales guy how much the two games will cost and tells him she only has $57, and he adds it up on his calculator and lo and behold, it's exactly $57 and at first you're grateful because you think he made it work out for her, but wait, one game was $24.50 and you thought the other was $25 but you didn't really take note of it, and you start to wonder if you're being taken for a ride... *again*... but maybe the second one was $29 and your math just isn't up to it this early on a Saturday, and do they charge tax at computer fairs? But you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and smile sweetly and sotto voce thank him for helping her out, and walk away completely mystified. You know very well you're out of your element here. You find the husband, who has learned that the only used laptops here are drecky shit, so it's off to Circuit City.
There the child is bored and wanders around, while you watch uneasily as the husband and the sales guy start their alpha-male-geek dance, and you wait for the dust to settle. It takes about forever because it has been determined that you have to get a really good deal, no real expensive top-of-the-line model because you only use it to read fiction on the internet, not to program or compile or anything important. So you look at all the open-box specials and they all turn out to be a) missing from the back room or b) so wrecked that you can easily see why they were returned, but finally you find a good one and it costs almost half of what the husband's important laptop cost, plus it has a 1" bigger monitor screen and better stuff, so you snicker quietly and say you'll take it. He's a little jealous now.
So wow, you have a laptop of your very own! You take it home and the husband fires it up and you spend what seems like just an hour catching up on email and reading just a few fics, and suddenly it's 4 p.m. and time to get the kid over to her friend's house where she is to be taken to an out-of-town basketball game while you and the husband go to his company's annual "holiday" party which is being held in January so as not to conflict with everybody's other holiday plans. You get all spiffed up very quickly because you've only left yourself less than hour from shower to finish, and that includes washing your hair, but you have a sudden epiphany and remember that there is such a thing as a blowdryer in the house, and spend about 2 1/2 minutes on your make-up because that's just what you do. You wear the same dress you've worn the past nine or so years, but that's okay, it's made of this indestructable manmade fabric and dances really well, and tonight you are going to Dance.
So off you go to the ball. So to speak. When you get there you get a beer right away to help with the oh-god-I'm-in-a-social-situation nerves, and you scope out the appetizers, and smile brightly when called upon. After awhile you take your plate of cheese and crackers to the table and leave the husband to do the requisite chatting with his co-workers, about whom you have your own opinions. Some of them are friendly geeks who seem to like and appreciate your husband, so you like them too. You ponder the others as you spread a cracker carefully with the creamy cheesy stuff, then add a dollop of Stilton cheese which may be the King of Cheese according to the Brits, but it's pretty strong and does much better with a nice bit of creaminess. As you perform your little cheese-and-cracker ritual you indulge in a little fantasy about the supercilious assholes who are the other co-workers and who look at your husband condescendingly, sort of tolerantly amused. You think you'd like to pull a Reese Witherspoon from "Legally Blonde", where you would go up to your husband in front of those smugly superior jerks and yank on his silly tie to bring his head down to your level, and plaster one of those searing tonsil-twisting mind-blowing kisses on him, then sort of climb right up his body to wrap your legs around his waist and hiss "Take me home because you are so fucking hot in bed I can't wait any longer" and leave the asshole sons-of-bitches gaping next to their chilly, socially-correct wives. Oh. Hmmm, okay, you come back to reality with the cracker poised in front of your mouth, and sigh, and consign that right back to fantasyland because your husband has a bad back so there's actually no body-climbing going to happen, at least not in a vertical position, and you continue to monitor the ebb and flow of the geeky crowd here tonight.
It takes forever for the dancing to start, and you're really bored and restless after a corporate buffet and an endless and dorky raffle drawing, but at last the DJ starts things going. Unfortunately with a pretty bad rap song, but it gets about five of the younger crowd up, and you watch for the dance floor to hit critical mass before you can get your nerve up to go out there. Eventually there's some good classic rock starting, so you drag the husband up and off you go. You've kicked off your shoes, of course, because that's how you dance, and it helps to slip and slide a little on the dance floor. Each dance gets things a little more loosened up, and you're on your second beer now and having a nice little buzz, and getting into it. Oh, there's a twist, you can twist like a champ, you were there when it *started* after all, and then it's a little looser yet and you're really warming up. The husband is gamely sticking it out because he actually wants to lose some weight too and is all into exercise, and doing his best to act like he knows something about rock and roll. Now the crowd is bigger, you can move like you want to, and there's a couple of good swing classics so you and the husband are swinging with the best, better than the best, you're double-timing the rockbacks and he's spinning you out and it's really, really fun. The DJ plays the ubiquitous YMCA song and you're right there, doing the letters, being silly. The twenty-somethings watching are probably laughing at you but you don't care. You're in that dance zone, you've got your groove, you're rocking out and yup, arms are up in the air and you're laughing and having a blast. Then Bob and Judi-Ann are finally on the floor, the only other couple you can ever remember from year to year, and we're all dancing together and then Bob and the husband sort of sidle off to yack, and Judi-Ann and you are getting a little contest going to see who can be wilder and it's totally, totally fun. And damn, it's after 11 and we have to go pick up the kid. Well, damn. Pumpkin time. But a deal's a deal and off you go.
So you go home, tired and tipsy and with two holes in your stockings because you danced so hard, and you wish you could do this more often but it will probably be another year before you get a chance to dance like that again. And you know you'll put up with the crummy food and asshole co-workers just to dance again. And you love your husband for being glad that you enjoy it so much, and pleased to bring you to his office party. You figure that, all in all, it's been a pretty good day in your life.
So you roll out of bed at seven-fecking-fifteen ack emma on a fecking *Saturday* because you're doing that stupid Weight Watchers thing and you have to weigh in at the same time every week, and being who you are you have to wear the exact same clothes every time too. But then it's okay because you're down 1.6 lbs which is good, and you feel pretty decent about yourself although you haven't quite gotten down to The Number That Is The Line That Cannot Be Crossed, but you're getting there.
Next it's off to the Computer Fair because whoopee, you're going to get your very own first-time-ever-all-yours laptop computer for your birthday, whoot! So you and the kid head for the software section while the husband seeks out the laptops, and you find the two Sims game add-ons that she's dying for and she's going to pay for them with her very own money so you're both happy. She anxiously asks the sales guy how much the two games will cost and tells him she only has $57, and he adds it up on his calculator and lo and behold, it's exactly $57 and at first you're grateful because you think he made it work out for her, but wait, one game was $24.50 and you thought the other was $25 but you didn't really take note of it, and you start to wonder if you're being taken for a ride... *again*... but maybe the second one was $29 and your math just isn't up to it this early on a Saturday, and do they charge tax at computer fairs? But you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and smile sweetly and sotto voce thank him for helping her out, and walk away completely mystified. You know very well you're out of your element here. You find the husband, who has learned that the only used laptops here are drecky shit, so it's off to Circuit City.
There the child is bored and wanders around, while you watch uneasily as the husband and the sales guy start their alpha-male-geek dance, and you wait for the dust to settle. It takes about forever because it has been determined that you have to get a really good deal, no real expensive top-of-the-line model because you only use it to read fiction on the internet, not to program or compile or anything important. So you look at all the open-box specials and they all turn out to be a) missing from the back room or b) so wrecked that you can easily see why they were returned, but finally you find a good one and it costs almost half of what the husband's important laptop cost, plus it has a 1" bigger monitor screen and better stuff, so you snicker quietly and say you'll take it. He's a little jealous now.
So wow, you have a laptop of your very own! You take it home and the husband fires it up and you spend what seems like just an hour catching up on email and reading just a few fics, and suddenly it's 4 p.m. and time to get the kid over to her friend's house where she is to be taken to an out-of-town basketball game while you and the husband go to his company's annual "holiday" party which is being held in January so as not to conflict with everybody's other holiday plans. You get all spiffed up very quickly because you've only left yourself less than hour from shower to finish, and that includes washing your hair, but you have a sudden epiphany and remember that there is such a thing as a blowdryer in the house, and spend about 2 1/2 minutes on your make-up because that's just what you do. You wear the same dress you've worn the past nine or so years, but that's okay, it's made of this indestructable manmade fabric and dances really well, and tonight you are going to Dance.
So off you go to the ball. So to speak. When you get there you get a beer right away to help with the oh-god-I'm-in-a-social-situation nerves, and you scope out the appetizers, and smile brightly when called upon. After awhile you take your plate of cheese and crackers to the table and leave the husband to do the requisite chatting with his co-workers, about whom you have your own opinions. Some of them are friendly geeks who seem to like and appreciate your husband, so you like them too. You ponder the others as you spread a cracker carefully with the creamy cheesy stuff, then add a dollop of Stilton cheese which may be the King of Cheese according to the Brits, but it's pretty strong and does much better with a nice bit of creaminess. As you perform your little cheese-and-cracker ritual you indulge in a little fantasy about the supercilious assholes who are the other co-workers and who look at your husband condescendingly, sort of tolerantly amused. You think you'd like to pull a Reese Witherspoon from "Legally Blonde", where you would go up to your husband in front of those smugly superior jerks and yank on his silly tie to bring his head down to your level, and plaster one of those searing tonsil-twisting mind-blowing kisses on him, then sort of climb right up his body to wrap your legs around his waist and hiss "Take me home because you are so fucking hot in bed I can't wait any longer" and leave the asshole sons-of-bitches gaping next to their chilly, socially-correct wives. Oh. Hmmm, okay, you come back to reality with the cracker poised in front of your mouth, and sigh, and consign that right back to fantasyland because your husband has a bad back so there's actually no body-climbing going to happen, at least not in a vertical position, and you continue to monitor the ebb and flow of the geeky crowd here tonight.
It takes forever for the dancing to start, and you're really bored and restless after a corporate buffet and an endless and dorky raffle drawing, but at last the DJ starts things going. Unfortunately with a pretty bad rap song, but it gets about five of the younger crowd up, and you watch for the dance floor to hit critical mass before you can get your nerve up to go out there. Eventually there's some good classic rock starting, so you drag the husband up and off you go. You've kicked off your shoes, of course, because that's how you dance, and it helps to slip and slide a little on the dance floor. Each dance gets things a little more loosened up, and you're on your second beer now and having a nice little buzz, and getting into it. Oh, there's a twist, you can twist like a champ, you were there when it *started* after all, and then it's a little looser yet and you're really warming up. The husband is gamely sticking it out because he actually wants to lose some weight too and is all into exercise, and doing his best to act like he knows something about rock and roll. Now the crowd is bigger, you can move like you want to, and there's a couple of good swing classics so you and the husband are swinging with the best, better than the best, you're double-timing the rockbacks and he's spinning you out and it's really, really fun. The DJ plays the ubiquitous YMCA song and you're right there, doing the letters, being silly. The twenty-somethings watching are probably laughing at you but you don't care. You're in that dance zone, you've got your groove, you're rocking out and yup, arms are up in the air and you're laughing and having a blast. Then Bob and Judi-Ann are finally on the floor, the only other couple you can ever remember from year to year, and we're all dancing together and then Bob and the husband sort of sidle off to yack, and Judi-Ann and you are getting a little contest going to see who can be wilder and it's totally, totally fun. And damn, it's after 11 and we have to go pick up the kid. Well, damn. Pumpkin time. But a deal's a deal and off you go.
So you go home, tired and tipsy and with two holes in your stockings because you danced so hard, and you wish you could do this more often but it will probably be another year before you get a chance to dance like that again. And you know you'll put up with the crummy food and asshole co-workers just to dance again. And you love your husband for being glad that you enjoy it so much, and pleased to bring you to his office party. You figure that, all in all, it's been a pretty good day in your life.
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Re:
Date: January 27th, 2003 01:21 am (UTC)