blah-goldie-blah

I wonder if a Corona popsicle would be as delicious as I'm imagining it would.

 

 

ps. J&T - I gave Maya extra water and left a fan on for her. 

I just thought a client severly underpaid (by over $100,000) on their account based on a completely erroneous invoice I created, but it was just underpaid by less than $2.00.

 

THIS is why I don't do math.

 

And to all the kids at home: YES!  YOU DO NEED MATH!!  IT WILL BE HANDY WHEN YOU GROW UP.  Don't ever brush off your math teacher, or you will be like me and see two dollar figures and it will blow your mind that they don't look the same therefore they must be two completely different numbers, when in actuality, they are just off by less than $2.00.

Series of events:

One (1) Goldie standing at file, filing back, well ... files.

Two (2) office bitchezzz whispering

One (1) Goldie not giving a flying 747 fuck what they're whispering about, until

One (1) office bitch whispers (very audibly) "pss.psss. Oh.  Goldie."

Two (2) office bitchezzz stop whispering and start talking shop.

One (1) Goldie brushes her shoulder off.  Cus that's what players do when bitchezzz be hatin'.

 

I went and saw this movie with Lorelai and a friend and her son last night. 

The movie was un-flipping-believable.  Now, granted, I don't read comics (but I'm going to!) and I don't know how true to the comic books the movie is, but that.movie.RAWKED!

Lorelai and I were giving each other high fives through the whole thing.  She loved it.

Now.

On a more Goldie level, Robert Downey Jr. was SO flipping HOT in this movie.  My love for him has gone on for some time now, but it was renewed post-Zodiac:

But.  Iron Man.  He's already good-looking.  But he was dirty and burly.  AND he was doing good by transforming to weapons-monger to super-hero-do-gooder-via-destroying-the-very-weapons-he-created?!

Three words, one universal meaning: I'd hit dat.

I'm done relaxing my hair. 

My hair seems to have gone through a change for the better and I'm going to let it grow.  Curlingly, twistingly, blonde/orange/red/browningly (my hair color) grow. 

Cus I've been thinking about it for a while.  And since I've been thinking about it, I haven't put a relaxer in it.  The last one was in January (?) and I'm finally done.

I have about 2 inches of naturally curly, twisty, blonde/orange/red/brown hair.  I just like to touch it sometimes.

I feel like the dumbest person in my history class. 

I learned to love history after I wrote a note to my BFF in my fourth grade history class.  It said, "History Sux!"  I had to read the note out loud, cus I got busted passing it to my BFF.  After that, I vowed to give history a try. 

In sixth grade, I had a teacher who taught, among the other sixth grade subjects, ancient history.  He sparked in me an obsession in Egyptology and Greek/Roman mythology and archaeology and basic linguistics.

From then on, I pretty much cruised through history classes. 

Until now. 

I'm in this history class.  A MODERN history class.  And I feel like I can't keep up.  In all honesty, I'm not used to feeling stupid in school.  Well, except for math, which I just can't grasp.  Aside from math, I'm used to excelling and being the teacher's pet and getting extra credit to attain the ellusive A++ on assignments. 

No more. 

And it's bumming me out.

All of my family have now graduated.  And they all have my back.  And this has nothing to do with that, really. 

But.

I just feel dumb sometimes.  Like, looking-around-at-people-as-they-talk-in-class-and-not-understanding-what-they're-saying-and-wondering-how-or-why-I-should-even-be-in-school-anymore dumb.  Like, deer vs. headlights dumb. 

So.  Like I did in fourth grade, I'm telling myself I have to do better.   

... seeking solace and.   reason leads to less conclusion than letting it find you.  Which isn't a good thing, but it sounds like it is.

Cus the sun is shining.  And coffee is pending.

There are birds somewhere, chirping.

My toilet runs (note to self: must have landlord fix), and it creates this mock-babbling brook sound.  With the birds chirping somewhere, this has created a sense of waking up somewhere outside of the city where birds really do chirp and brooks really do babble.

I like the smell of my soap and my hair products.  I like how my face looks when I get out of the shower.  I like how I look when I wake up.

I like cotton and cotton (top and bottom) to sleep in and, subsequently, to wake up in. 

I like the way Lorelai yawns in the morning.  And stretches.  She streeeettttches.  And when she's at her max, she shakes her hands and feet a little bit, as if trying to reach for more stretch.  Reach! 

French Toast is not only a morning food.  It's an always food.  But it's best in the morning.

Morning, ya'll.

I wasn't feeling well today, so I came home and put a movie on.  One of my favorite movies of ALLLLLL time:

I can watch this movie over and over and over and over again.  I have SUCH fond memories of watching this with my mom and sis.  And memories of driving to and from  Sacramento and listening to the soundtrack over and over again with my mom and sis.  Love.

I'm sure I've mentioned the sheer and utter anxiety I get at the thought of going to "the club " (see definition 1). 

In fact, I had an anxiety attack at a almost-but-not-really club.  It was a high-end restaurant in LA that I went to with my brother and their friends.  First, I didn't have anything to wear.  I didn't think to bring anything fancy, so I ended up wearing a pair of my brother's khakis and one of his white, button-down shirts.  Yeah.  I don't like loose clothes.  I don't wear tight clothes, but even if I'm covered up, I need a tight-fitting tank top underneath, at the very least.  And I don't do khakis.  I don't do pants, really, unless they are jeans or they look super cute.  I'm a jeans or skirts person.  So, I was out of my element, in the clothing department that day.

We get there, and I'm standing with my brother in the lobby, waiting to be seated.  I'm looking around and there's a bar.  Up until recently, I didn't drink.  I mean, I'd have a few drinks here or there, but never thought of it as a recreational, fun thing I think of it as now.  So, being 16 (as I was at the time), I was unsure about people drinking in public (naive, much?).  It was just weird for me.  Acceptable, but weird. 

After peeping the bar, I notice that everyone is suuuper dressed up.  Not only that, but they look goooood.  Everyone.  Sharp, fancy, sexy, glossy, neat, kept up.  And then there was me.  Clinging to my brother's arm in my khakis and white, button-down shirt that weren't even mine.  I unclenched my talons from my brother's arms and excused myself from the group.  He followed me to witness my anxiety attack and he calmed me down and reassured me that the food would be good (he knows the way to my heart) and that we'd be out of there soon.  And then we were out of there, like he promised.

All this to say, my pseudocousin (read: Lorelai's dad's cousin) is turning 21 this month.  My pseudosister (read: Lorelai's dad's sister) is getting a party bus and we're going to a few different "spots" (as they're called in the club scene) and going to "get our drink on." 

And, I'm nervous.  I told my  pseudosister  not to even bring it up until the bus gets here and she can confirm a drink is in my hand to knock the edge off.  Why am I even going, you ask?  Because my realsister took me out to a bar the other night and we had a pretty good time.  Also, because I think it will be funny.  And I think I need to get over myself a bit.  And most of all: I want to dance.

I'm sure there will be debaucherous photos to come.

What am I going to wear?!