Oh the interesting ways people get to my site. Apparently when someone types in “What does it mean when your boyfriend tells you that the timing is off?” in the Yahoo search engine, I come up as result number 12. I think that's totally funny. And actually, a little sad -- does this person have no one they can talk to about this and they've resorted to using the Yahoo search engine? That's sad! However, you know, since they asked and all, here is my advice: Unless he has a stellar reason for saying that? He’s trying to break up with you. Pretty soon you’ll get the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, followed by ‘I’m at a place in my life where I really just need to focus on ME.’ And yes, I know—hello pot? This is the kettle. You’re black – but hey, I live by my own rules and that means I can give out sensible advice to others without ever heeding said advice myself. Because when I make up the rules? I can change them at will. That’s why it’s great to live by my rules.
So every day I take the exit from 6th avenue to C-470 in order to get home. Quite a while ago, a skunk got run over there. The skunk must have been drunk (as a skunk? Ha) or high, because for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he would think it was a good idea to cross one four-lane highway in order to get to more concrete and more cars whizzing by. I guess we’ll never know. What I do know is that that damn skunk is still there and I’m so grossed out. Seriously, I live in the foothills of Colorado -- where are the hawks and other natural roadkill predators? Because after all this time, it’s now less actual skunk and more clumps of fur and other stuff required for decomposition. And every day, even if I tell myself not to, I look at it. I can’t help it. And every day, my gag reflex kicks in and I’m like “gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” It’s just nasty. I feel like calling whatever city or county is in charge of that exit and tell them “Hey, next time someone wants to ‘adopt a highway,’ could you direct them to that particular exit? And could they adopt it with a bucket of water and some push brooms? Like, yesterday? Thanks.” Ew.
So I have mentioned once or twice that I hate my job? Ah – I thought so. I sent out four more resumes today. Once I finish the homework I’ve been procrastinating, I’m going to send out more. I’m trying to ignore the words of an email I got last week that keep ringing in my head “Thank you for your interest in this position (blah blah blah). It was a difficult decision, as we received over 300 applications.” THREE HUNDRED?? This THIS is what I’m up against. At least in the non-profit world. But I keep sending out resumes and hoping that today will be the day that I’m exactly what they were looking for.
You know how a certain song or artist will remind you immediately of a time or event or person in your life? Most of the time I love that, but sometimes, I have to fight through the (insert negative emotion here) memories of the end of a relationship so that I don’t have to stop listening to a particular artist who reminds me of someone I don’t especially want to be reminded of. Past examples include Dave Matthews (Dave’s a survivor – he’s weathered two breakups) and Sting (one relationship and one friendship – good work, Sting). The most recent example is History Boy. In case you forgot, he is now dead to me. However, when we were younger, he LOVED Depeche Mode, and as a result, I always associate him with that band. I have come to really like them over the years, and I refuse to let the fact that he’s a monumental ass overshadow the fact that they’re an awesome band and I love them. So I will continue to listen to Depeche Mode in defiance of him and his lame excuses. HA!
And finally, in case you were on the edge of your seat, saying to yourself “Self, has Amber heard from Not Boyfriend since they saw each other last?” I would answer that yes, he called on Thursday to say “hi” before he left for the weekend to go hunting. Must…push…down…hope…