VIM, VIGOR, AND THE HUSTLE
Got a little easy @ 2:54 p.m.
on 2004-01-04
I've been sobbing the past three days watching the fourth season of Sex and the City. The third season depressed me, with the affair and Carrie losing the only guy I ever liked (Aiden-John Corbett)that she dated. Steve's still my favorite guy *ever* on the show. But the fourth season just made me sob...Miranda's mother dying, the separation, reconciliation, divorce, pregnancy, engagement, and once again Carrie managed to run off the only guy I ever liked her dating. Although I must say I thought he was sexier with long hair, and the Rogaine-secret-single-behavior bit cracked me up.
But all of this begs the question: Why so emotional, Kitty?
Well, yesterday when I was changing out Precious's litter box and putting in a new liner, I had to put in a different kind of liner for myself.
Yes, boys and girls, I got my period.
This would not be such a momentous occassion, except for the fact that I haven't had one for the last two and a half years and wasn't expecting to get one for another six months. I'm going to have to call up the Vegan and let her know she overestimated my Depo-shot recovery time.
Though an all-around hassle, I'm slightly comforted knowing that I now, once again, participate in that rite of womanhood I so desperately yearned for in the training bra years.
I even went out to celebrate....sort of. I'd already made plans to have some drinks with my girlfriend, S, who brought along Samscratchy, with whom I had a great conversation about which celebrities would be cool to hang with in a bar, and which were just pretentious pricks. So I took the opportunity to inform every guy in the bar that gave me 'the eye' that I was currently surfing the crimsom tide with all the enthusiasm of someone who's just won the lottery.
Ah, lucky me.
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And for the record, I have made my new year's resolution, it's to put my life into a forward motion.
By my calculations, Batman, my last unemployment check will arrive the first week of March. This means I have two months to get myself a job, get moved, settled, and expecting my first employed-paycheck before my fall-back falls out from under me.
Holy ticking clock, Kitty, pass the want ads!