The world evidently has no use for sexy standardized test extraordinnaires, because once again, cosmic intervention is showing me that it's not meant for me to be sexy.
My mom is coming to town, so this morning I got up a whole hour before I had to go to work, took a nice long shower, BLOW DRIED MY FREAKING HAIR, and did my make up with appropriate amounts of blush so that I will not be deemed "pale" by said mom. I then put on the snakeskin pumps that you see about two posts down, a cute top, the only jeans that fit, and jangly earrings. I felt that I totally looked the part of successful, bicoastal daughter.
Except for the fact that I'm not.
Yes, the universe reminded me of that. The heels on these shoes are freaking thin. No sooner had I walked out the door that I started to tumble down the porch. Nice. I recovered, and walked down the walk to my car, where I totally wiped out on the sidewalk, scraping my ankle all to hell and dumping several key items out of my purse in the process. Now, I'm not going to claim that I'm the world's best at wearing heels, but I've done it enough to where falling twice in about a 30 second span of time is not normal.
So I get in the car, and put on my Ipod, as I figure that I need to pep myself back up into sexy fighting form. I sing to a mixture of Jet, Peaches, and Christina Aguilera on the way over the bridge. I am back. I am again fierce. I keep the Ipod on, and walk into the building, trying to imagine that I am on a catwalk with Ms. Jay from ANTM and he is wearing something appropriately ridiculous and probably involving feathers. I am walking like it is for sale and the rent is due tonight. Again, feeling good.
Yeah, but then, there's this work thing. And there are two of us in the office today. So it's busy (and yes, I know I shouldn't be taking out the time to type this, SHUT UP). To make matters worse, I started feeling weird. So now I'm quite sure that I have a urinary tract infection, which is about the most unsexy thing that one could get, except for maybe genital herpes, but even that has those commercials where good looking people talk about having outbreaks and crap, and hell, even Paris Hilton has freaking herpes. So I'm sitting here, twitching in my office chair, and twitching is not sexy.
I would growl, but I don't think that is sexy either.
To this, I only these words to say: What the hell, universe? What the hell? What do I have to do for you, you fickle bitch? Is it because I watch Rock of Love? Should I be spending my time in a soup kitchen instead? Goddammit, I spend way too much of my time with teenagers, don't I deserve to have a little adult fun?
I'm going to the bathroom now. On the way there, I'm going to try to be sexy. Which means I will fall. Most likely in front of some janitors or something.
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