Today I hit an all time low and went to Target in my sweatpants...not just sweatpants, but the ones I've been sleeping in for the past two nights. Some people might not think that's such a huge deal, but to Miss Vain over here that puts on make-up to walk two blocks with the dog to buy a Coke at the convenient store, it's a big deal.
I woke up with a hangover, not from delicious wine, but from the ill-timed consumption of a GIANT white chocolate mocha. While I thought I would need this boost to write my portion of a final paper on a marketing research study last night, it turns out that I got stuck without the information from my other two group members. Therefore I spent the night planning my entire Christmas break in my head, complete with different scenarios of what could happen at each event, singing Cee-Lo's "Fuck You," and just generally scaling the walls and crawling across the ceiling like a giant fly...Bzzzz, bzzzz, BBBZZZZZZZZ! You know, doing everything except sleeping or anything productive.
So, I'm talking, rolling out of bed, in the sweatpants, glancing in the mirror and not caring that my hair is in crackhead mode and going to Target. Oh, and lets not forget that grad school has also made my face decide that it's a 13-year-old boy embarking on puberty. Throw every kind of botanical rich, prescription cream and cycline drug recommended by the finest of dermatologists at me and my face will still go, 'nope, totally pissed off because you're in business school.' There is no cure for stress induced acne, so I better just get used to being scary looking until the Spring of 2012.
Several bags of chocolate were purchased while in this sweatpants wearing, crackhead, face-like-a-field-of-mines state. Plus, the entire 20 minutes I spent flinging my short list of items into a handheld basket, while the shrieks of demon spawns rang in my ears, I thought a.) I'm thankful for birth control and b.) perhaps I'm also thankful that boys are scared of me, you know, to avoid that whole chance of the birth control not working thing.
Take for instance my latest encounter with a male right before my journey to Target this morning. I went to take Andy for a walk, popped out the side door of my building and ran straight into the man of my dreams wearing the exact same fuzzy grey sweatpants as me. His beautiful mixed breed spaniel, which he later called his giraffe because of her long legs and spots (Um, excuse me? Can you say anything more adorable?), had sniffed us out as we were walking down the stairs. "Somehow she always knows somebody's coming out that door," he said, as Andy and her did the dog meeting song and dance. Of course, Andy had to pee quite badly, so this time his song and dance also involved PISSING all over this guy's dog and probably his feet too. Goddammit. As if I didn't have enough trouble with this on my own, Andy.
However, the funny thing is, in my state of sweatpants wearing, crackhead hair, 13-year-old boy face, espresso hangover, it's the-end-of-the-semester-and-I-just-want-to-be-done-so-I-can-get-a-DAMN-break state of mind, I didn't even care. He mentioned something about the pee incident, semi-jokingly from what I could tell and I was all, 'yep, he has to pee really bad.' God, I'm so freaking witty and poetic.
Another funny thing is, the dude actually stuck around for 30 more seconds or so while we talked about his dog instead of immediately running away like his life depended on it like the rest of them. Perhaps he's just really polite...or he loved the way I sported the dumpy ass look in our matching sweatpants...
Anyway, I'm not sure where I'm going with this...I think I'm still hungover...but, basically I can't wait until the semester is over (next week!), so I can feel like a normal human being again...or at least normal according to me. Then I'll have the mindset to write about the cool stuff I've actually been doing. Two presentations and a test to go...