I won’t be home to enjoy the furnace men although I can imagine they are named Larry and Ted, wear pants that are slightly too tight for them and would not be found in any porn movie involving home repairs. At least that’s what he sounded like on the phone. Y’all.
This morning, bored and tired at work, I googled myself and found out that I am apparently a photographer, a model, a folk singer, a Doctor (natural health practitioner actually), a video game tester, a news anchor, a member of a womens lacrosse team, a contestant on a popular reality TV show, author/artist, and a nanny. I’m a very busy woman. The good news is that my name is so common that future employers will have a hard time finding any dirt on me via Google.
Either because I’m intrepid and resourceful or sort of a creepy stalker, sometimes I look up the name of the guy(s) I’m interested in on Google. Most times it generates either their Facebook profile or the time it took them to run a marathon and that they came in 357th out of 400. Guess I need to pick some more interesting men.
In other news, I hate when people talk to me in the elevator. Unless you are complimenting my shoes, I don’t care about small talk. What the weather is like or how fast the elevator is or what your son is going to name his dog is not a detail I care to discuss with you. I talk to enough strangers every day, I don’t need random dude in an elevator to be my new friend. Unless you are gorgeous and on your way to check-in on your multi-million dollar company that you preside over from your home in the Carribbean, feel free to chat. Otherwise just please don’t talk to me. It’s awkward.Oh yes, it’s my adorable niece’s birthday today and she’s one year old