oopsie daisy

Because whoever said "Laughter is the best medicine" obviously never drank vodka

I saw my ex-boyfriend this weekend. (If you read my old blog, you might remember him as The Boy Who Does Not Play Scrabble, and if you didn't or don't, you can read about why breaking up with him was the best and worst thing ever here.)

Anyway, I ran into the ex-boyfriend at a party on Saturday and because I am a completely self-absorbed narcissist and mostly like talking about memememememeME!, this blog came up in our conversation.

"Do you ever read the blog anymore?" I asked (Please note that I refer to my blog as "The Blog." As if it were the only blog in the whole entire world wide web.)

"No," The Ex responded. "Honestly, it makes me too sad."

"Wait. Really?!" I asked. "It makes everyone else laugh."

He shook his head at me knowingly... "They're only laughing to keep from crying."

Which, oddly enough, is the same reason I drink.

But what I want to know is... what do they REALLY think about me?

Every Friday, my entire company gathers into a large conference room for our weekly company meeting during which department heads give updates about what their team's been up to and people pretend to care via excessive clapping.

Today, when it was my boss' turn to speak, he let everyone know how happy one of our clients was with my team's work.

"In fact, didn't she say she wanted to marry E.?" he asked, looking directly at me.

"Yeah, she loved his designs so much, she wanted to marry him. But since he's already married and I wrote the copy, I offered myself up instead," I said. "Don't ever say I'm not a giver!"

"Oh," Our IT-guy chimed in, "No one would EVER say that."

*****

A few hours later, I was sitting at my desk reading my new favorite website working when I overheard the following conversation a few desks down:

"Wait. Daisy can publish that stuff she writes on her blog, but I can't publish THIS?!"

.... Starting to think I should've paid a little more attention when my brother starting calling this "The Dick Blog."

And No, He Did Not Say "Excuse Me."

A few days ago, I was forced to take a mid-afternoon bus ride from my office to downtown San Francisco.

I got on the bus at the first stop with only a few other people, chose a seat a good distance away from the other riders, and pulled out my book so as to avoid any eye-contact or unnecessary "moments" that require an awkward smile or acknowledgment of someone else's existence.

At the next stop, a man lumbered down the aisle and sat down directly behind me. He settled into his seat, made sure he was nice and comfortable, and then burped so loudly and with such vehemence that the force of it literally blew my hair so that it brushed against the back of my neck.

Guess he just wanted to share a moment I'd never forget.

And people wonder why I am the way I am...

One Teenie Tiny Word More & Who Knows Where the Night Might Have Gone

I was curled up on the couch late last night, my cashmere blanket tucked around my feet, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in hand, nibbling on yogurt-covered pretzels and watching "Sex & the City: The Movie" - for the second time - when I received a text message from a guy I haven't seen since January. Of 2008.

"You a dick in you?"

And listen, I don't want to seem ungrateful... because I do realize the scenario I just painted is only three cats short of completely pathetic, but I have to put this out there: If you're so drunk that you forget to include a verb in your booty call text message, there's a pretty good chance I'm just going to roll my eyes, refill my wine glass, pop another yogurt-covered pretzel into my mouth and never ever respond.

Even if we all know that the answer... with really almost any verb you can think of... is "um, yeah, duh."

I mean, a girl's gotta have standards, ya know? And mine apparently start - and finish - with grammar.

Except You of course. You're the best.

Yesterday, a boy accused me of "hating everybody and everything." This really hurt my feelings and, in fact, threw me into a bit of a tailspin for the rest of the afternoon. After all, what kind of girl hates EVERYONE and EVERYTHING?!

Just now, I was walking down Haight Street on an absolutely gorgeous blue sky San Francisco morning when I heard the sounds of painful dry heaving. I looked up just in time to see a gutter punk puking his guts out all over the sidewalk.

And that's when I realized: I DO hate everyone and everything! The boy was right. And if I didn't hate everyone and everything, I'd say I kind of like that at least he gets me.