Another chapter in the "only married men are attracted to me" book...

While I was waiting for the kids to wash my truck (I say kids because...well...they are) a rather attractive man, I'd say in his late 30s, is waiting for his car to be washed too. He walks to the waiting area and smmmmmmmmmiles at me and checks me out head to toe. I grin back. He sits down on the bench behind me. I'm standing. After about 10 minutes of waiting (they were doing the mega wash..inside and out) Mr. Man says, "Would you like to sit down?" I felt like I was in a cheesy bar. "No," I said, "I think I'm almost done here." "Which one's yours?" he asks. I point to my lovely truck and say, "The blue truck in the middle there." "Ooh...that's brand new isn't it?" I tell him yes, it's new. He asks how I like it and I tell him I love it...it's the best thing I ever did for myself. I look at him closer. He's pretty attractive...oh! Nice wedding ring, dude. The conversation stops and I look around. I catch him out the corner of my eye staring at me. Mind you, I'm wearing pretty tight jeans today...but man! I'm wearing a stupid work teeshirt and running shoes. My hair is in a braid cause it's so humid out. My hair gets huge in the humidity. I start feeling uncomfortable and he tries several more times to talk to me. At this point, I'm just giving him short answers just so I'm not rude. I catch him several times checking me out. I can feel him checking me out. Finally after about 20 minutes of this, my truck is ready and I get in and take off.

They do such a wonderful job with my truck at that car wash. The kids are always so nice and really take the time to do it right. The one guy even took it back to the vaccuums because the original guys that did it first didn't do a good enough job. How often do you see that? I mean, that kid couldn't have been over 18 and he took the time and cared enough to take my truck over there and do it himself. The inside is completely Armor-All-ed. The windows are Windexed. The seats and carpet are vaccuumed. The outside is washed and waxed, and the undercarriage is clean. My truck looks fantastic all for the low low price of 19.95. Not bad, my friends, not bad at all.

When I'm An Old Lady

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with my kids,
and make them so happy, just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they've provided,
returning each deed. Oh, they'll be so excited.
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
and bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets, and oh, how they'll shout.
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach,
Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
and when that is done I'll hide under the bed
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to meals,
I'll not eat my green beans or salads congealed.
I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table
and when they get angry, run fast as I'm able.
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll sit close to the TV, thru the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick.
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
And play in the mud until the end of the day.
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

My boss' boss is in from Texas. The last time she was here we had to wear these lame-o sunglasses and hear the Mission: Impossible theme. The idea behind the meeting was"Mission: POSSIBLE!" I mean...how fucking lame is that? They were calling us Agent Smith and Agent White and Agent Lucas. They took our picture with these dorky sunglasses on and they kept saying, "Don't smile!" as if any of us was happy to be wearing those dumb glasses. They gave us manilla envelopes with our "team play book" inside...but on the envelope was stamped "CONFIDENTIAL". This, my friends, is my life...corporate propaganda filled life.

This woman that's on the newsletter commitee sends out a mass email asking for submissions to this lame-ass thing. I kinda laugh to myself and delete it. Some other people start talking about it and the woman that sent the email comes over to me and says, "Hey Erica...you're rather crafty right?" I say, "Yeah I guess so...I do alright." She says, "Well why don't you write a HOW TO ARTICLE for the next newsletter?! That'd be SO GREAT if you'd do that..really it would. I mean, I see those picture frames [you made] on your desk and they're great so just write something up...something small...maybe include some craft websites or something! That's so great! THANKS!"

I have one question: why must people insist on annoying me? Either I am really overly sensitive or people can just sense that I am annoyed so they insist on annoying me even more. Either way, people bother me. They bug me when they smile fake smiles at me and ask if I'm feeling better. I know as well as they do that they don't care. I hate it when people are fake like that...as if I can't tell.

Today's my two year anniversary with my company. The madness began two years ago today. It's so strange to think...two damn years of my life wasted here. I guess it hasn't been totally wasted...they supposedly pay me...from what they say. There's no proof of that though, so I don't know if I believe them. DOWN WITH THE MAN. thbbbbbbbt.

I know this is shallow of me but I don't care right now...MY HAIR IS FREAKING OUT IN THIS WEATHER! It's so bloody humid here my hair is all frizzy and poofy and cruddy. Yuck. On the upside, though, I look pretty hot today thanks to my sparkle pants. I love these damn pants. I got them for two dollars a few months ago but I would have paid a lot more cause these pants rule. Who wouldn't love black bell bottoms with tiny bits of silver in them? I know I love them. Meow.

Went to Frank's (garden and craft place) directly after that (in the same plaza) and bought 12 terra cotta pots and bases. I replanted all of the herb plants into the little cute pots. I should have planned it better. I could have painted cutesie stuff on the pots but oh well. I'm actually realllly surprised that they fit on the table near the doorwall. I thought for sure I'd have to figure something out and put another table there or something but they fit PERFECTLY. I can't believe it. It's like they were meant to go there :) Now I feel all shaky and shitty and hot...but I had to replant those little buggers ASAP. They just weren't happy in those tiny little pots.

I did, however, have 40 minutes on the way home to think. That's one good thing traffic is for, guess...thinking. I thought about a lot of things that have been bothering me and frankly, I had quite an epiphany. Check it...

It's no secret that I always complain that the only men that are attracted to me (or so it seems) are the taken ones. I am not referring to one particular man either...I'm referring to more than I can count on my fingers. They flirt, say lovely things, flirt some more...and then try and get into bed with me. I've always thought that it was their fault somehow...but today I've realized differently. See, it's always easy to blame outside sources for your pain and stress...but it's really really hard to admit (even to yourself) that *you* are the root of the problem. I am. Me. Erica. Not those men. That was really hard for me to admit and even harder for me to type just now but I take responsibility for this. Let me explain...

I realize now that the men only act towards me the way I allow them to act. Meaning...they flirt...I like it...even flirt back...and somehow that invites more. It tells them that it's okay with me and that I am okay with that sort of behavior...even if, deep down, I'm not. It's selfish on my part...and theirs, too...and weak. I know that now. Maybe I do this because I don't want to find someone that's single...because that just gives the possibility for me to be treated well and I don't think I deserve that deeeeeeeep down. Maybe I do this so I won't get hurt again...even though it does hurt...but it doesn't hurt as badly as when The Ex hurt me. Paper cuts don't hurt as bad when you've gotten stabbed.

I watched the movie Selena for about the 20th time...not kidding or exaggerating at all. Her music isn't exactly my normal kind of music...but whenever the movie is on I always end up watching it...and crying. It's just so tragic and sad. She and her husband seemed like they were so deeply in love and her career was just starting to hit the major big time and she got shot. So so so sad.

After that I watched Antiques Roadshow and wondered, yet again, why that crap doesn't happen to me. Why don't I find a box of stuff on the side of the road that's worth a lot of money? Honestly, if I'd seen that shit on the side of the road I wouldn't have even looked twice at it...but this man with crazy dreads picked it up...lucky bastard. The stuff's worth 30k. 30 THOUSAND DOLLARS...just sitting there waiting to be thrown in the trash. Mr. Dread Man garbage picked it. It was apparently some sort of really important part of the American automobile history or something. Whatever...it looked like trash to me.

Then I watched Howard Stern's Private Parts for about the 5th time. I like that movie. It makes me laugh. My goodness I love cable.

I talked on AIM for a while. Someone told me that she comes to my page and I just about fell out of my chair. I smiled big, though.

Walk upstairs. Turn on light in every room as you pass through so no creepy things creep me out. Commence cooking of rice. Mmm mmm rice. Kickass.

Stand by stove top as water is boiling. All of the windows are open. All meaning all FIVE windows. Five large slider windows. Oooh good cross breeze. Feels good after the hot day. Kickass.

Wow water takes a long time to boil. C'mon water...boil boil boil..."a watched pot never boils"...look around the room humming...la la la dee dah la la la...water boils. Kickass.

Stir stir stir the rice. Don't burn the rice like always...no no...okay...ten minutes. This rice must boil ten minutes. Ten minutes isn't that long! Kickass.

Hmm. Ten minutes feels awfully long right now. Sigh. Whoa hair is flying from the crossbreeze. Feel like the girl from The Craft. Giggle. Wow those bubbles in the yellow-orange rice water are cool. Bubbles come to the top and pop and another bubble comes up in its place. Hmm...I wonder why this happens...oh yeah. I learned it in science class in junior high but I must have forgotten. But at least I know how to drive how. Kickass.

Stir stir stir the rice...ahhhh it's done. Scrape it out of the pot and into the bowl. Smells good. Yummy. Tummy will stop rumbling. Kickass.

the perfect Saturday evening entertainment. Ahh.

How interesting that it happens to be about cheating husbands and wives and oh...of course lesbian lovers. They always gotta fill the last slot with lesbians.