Suck THAT, Murphy!

About two years ago I redecorated my house in robin's egg blue and chocolate brown. With all the painting done and the accessories placed, I looked around and felt that my table was lacking in adornment. So I bought a round glass bowl from Satan's mother's playground, Tai Pan Trading, and then bought two sunrise platies and five neon tetras. The tetras and one of the platies then proceeded to die, one by one, over the next three days leaving one sole, lonely platy.

I have this weird character trait where I empathize entirely too much with animals and not nearly enough with people. A trailer park can be completely devastated by a tornado and I shrug it off, but if I feel like an animal is suffering or "sad", I can't stand idly by. I put myself in the leftover platy's place and decided he was lonely. So I bought him a friend. The two of them lived quite happily on my table until the newer platy got sick and died about two months ago. At that point, I was sick of cleaning the fish bowl, and decided the original platy was just going to have to stick it out and learn to be a loner.

Saturday I was cleaning the fish bowl and accidentally knocked it against the side of the sink, breaking a huge chunk of glass right out of the side. The bowl was officially over. I fished around my cupboards and came up with a big glass vase, figuring it would suffice until I went to the store later and could get another bowl. I hit the WalMart and got only what was on my list. Fish bowl wasn't on the list. I remembered the bowl just as I was walking up to the check out stand, but was too lazy to go back and get one. I reasoned my way out of it by telling myself, "Don't bother paying $15 for a new fish bowl because the second you buy it, that fish is going to die, and you'll be stuck with a useless fish bowl."

That was Monday.

Today I came home from work and the fish was two breaths away from death.

Now he's being humanely put to sleep in my freezer.

I'm so glad I didn't waste my money on a new fish bowl.

Suck it, Murphy!

Futile

Am I the only one who kind of thinks life is pointless? Don’t get me wrong, but holy crap life is boring. What’s the point? Your born, you live, you die. Ugh. It sounds like my day. You wake up, you work, you go to sleep. WHY? WHY?! I’m trying to decide if having a husband or children would help me change my views on my existentialist nightmare, but it seems it would be healthier for satisfaction to come from within and not from other people.
So what is a girl to do? Life is so thoroughly unsatisfying right now. Making a good living? Yes. Owning some nice things? Yes. Overall worry free? Sure. But seriously, there’s got to be more than this.

My, my, how I had great plans for my future when I was a kid. I used to tell people I wanted to be a lawyer when I was younger, mostly because I didn’t know what kinds of jobs were available. Then as I got older and started to realize the implications of getting a law degree and then actually practicing, I decided that it probably wasn’t for me. Because I was, and am, lazy. So now I’m a gopher in a rolling prairie of cubicles, endlessly tapping on a keyboard and finding myself increasingly frustrated by my coworkers and with myself.

So once the lawyer idea took a big dump, I didn’t know what to do with my life, which is how I ended up here. What’s that cliché? A failure to plan is a plan to fail? Yeah. That. I have ideas of things I think I’d like to do but ultimately don’t because I’m too scared to try and fail or, if I were to succeed, find out I don’t really like it after all. And good crap, this defeatist attitude carries over into pretty much every aspect of my life: personal, professional, health, you name it. What is WRONG with me?

Inside my head are two TOWRs. One’s yelling, “What is your problem! Quit being a whiny baby and go do something if you don’t like your life.” While the other one goes, “I will… later,” or, “I’m too scared. It’s too hard.” I don’t know if that’s the depression talking or just my natural laziness and cowardice. But I’m two years away from being thirty, and I feel like I don’t really have much to show for myself besides a used Honda and a townhouse on the poor side of town.

So what do I do?

My perfect man

I have been meaning to blog about this for quite some time now. At least since I saw this completely adorable guy on a Food Network cake challenge. Ah, James Rossell, how I lust after thee. I mean, take a look at this guy. He’s ADORABLE! That’s the only word I think of to describe him. Sure, sure... hot, attractive, cute, squeezable… all valid words. But when you see this guy in action, adorable fits the bill. I never realized that I have a soft spot in my heart for soft-spoken guys until I heard this guy talk. Crushtastic sigh! And HELLO! He bakes cakes! CAKES! And he seems like he would just be so very nice (the kind of guy you bring home to dinner with your mother and he would help her do the dishes and any other chores around the house she might need help with). And I think we all know how I feel about nice guys. (In case you don’t, I love them.) And so I give you James Rossell. One of the cutest bakers alive. I mean, sure, Duff Goldman and Geof Manthorne from Ace of Cakes are cute, too. And you can’t argue with Geof’s totally dry joke delivery. But look at James! The hair! The teeth! The smile! If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drift into a dreamy haze now…