Eeep! Human Resources sent out a Save the Date email about the annual Nice Hedge Fund Holiday Party. That only leaves nine and a half weeks to figure out what I’m wearing and how I’m doing my hair and oh, I’ll have to bring a date, too, and how soon is too soon to ask R without scaring him off? I mean, I’ve done a remarkable job up to now of hiding my particular strain of crazy from him, but this could make or break us! CAN’T HANDLE THE PRESSURE.
Aaand, breathe. I’m going to wear a black dress like everyone else, I’ll be due for a haircut then anyway so I’ll get my hair blown out, and I’ll talk to R about it a few weeks beforehand. Also, what did we learn from last year’s office holiday party, boys and girls? That’s right: Don’t drink too much, and set the alarm clock before going out. That brilliant “I pulled my deadbolt out of the door I’m late for work because I’m waiting for a locksmith not because I overslept and might be still drunk” excuse can’t possibly work two years in a row.
Dear readers, I’m tired. I feel like the cold weather crept into Manhattan and is slowly sapping me of all of my energy. What happened to staying up way too late every night of the summer and making poor life decisions but still surviving to tell about it? I want that JackieOh back, not this girl who voluntarily wakes up at the crack of dawn to ride in circles around a cold, dark park which is at that hour only populated by fellow cyclists and criminals. Going to bed before ten? Dinner that is neither liquid nor carbonated and occasionally nutritious? Who am I?
The worst part is how well I was running on such a self-destructive lifestyle. There’s a picture of me in the latest New York Road Runner magazine from the Club Championships, the one real, good race I had before it all unraveled. Between that reminder and watching SisterOh’s cross country race this past weekend, I’m itching to get back to running. I think I can fend off the urges for another six weeks or so, but with a no stress fracture diagnosis, the only thing really keeping me out of my trainers is an unfortunate yet persistent reluctance to pain. If only I weren’t such a big pussy I could be out running right now!
Ok, enough blathering, it’s time to focus. PHILLIES. Oh, baby, we’re in the playoffs and Game 1 versus the Rockies is this afternoon. Sure, I’ll admit that I’m a bigger Eagles than Phillies fan but that’s really just a case of quantity versus quality. Count me in for all sixteen regular season football games, but 162 regular season baseball games are simply more than I can handle. Blame it on my commitment issues, but now it’s October and that means everyone born within view of One Liberty Place is a diehard fan. Um, hello, MLB? What’s the deal with 3PM games during the workweek? This isn’t Boston; some of our fans actually have jobs.
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5 comments:
I know you've learned many things about me and my relationship with Phillies over the past few days via our facebook wall conversations, but I had to comment! I, on the other hand, have always been more of a Phillies fan than an Eagles fan. Actually, lately (due to my boyfriend being born and raised in Pittsburgh, and the fact that we travel there all the time and have done so for the past five years, and his parents have season tickets to everything) I am actually more of a Steelers fan than an Eagles fan (same goes for the Penguins and the Flyers). I know, I know, a trader to the city. But one team I've never, ever stopped loving is the Phillies...they are pretty much my only remaining connection to home. Le sigh. As I write it is 3-2, Colorado, bottom of the 5th!
Ha, Sidney Crosby can't even legally drink the beer that I wouldn't buy him. Laura, you know I love you but this, this PITTSBURGH thing is going to be hard to get past.
Sidney Who?
http://www.cafepress.com/faceoffshow.45485612
stop complaining. go run. just. run easy.
Oh, Anonymous, my fingers are crossed that you're joking.
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