i'd rather be in my bath robe.

I AM A BAD PERSON: this morning I worked out of a Panera Bread. Because coffee and bagels, you guys. I'm typing away on my laptop, when a louder interaction got my attention for 1 minute. The guy next to me, suit clad, and clearly awaiting a business meeting, stands up from his chair to greet a the woman he is obviously going to sit down and talk business with. They hug. When he hugs her, his chair falls backwards and crashes. Loudly. He finishes the  hug and sits down while still talking to her... and the chair is backwards on the ground. So now he is on the ground. I saw it. I knew it. I didn't say anything. I laughed when he fell. Audibly. In a Panera Bread. In my defense, the chair crashed really loudly when it fell, so it's not really my fault he didn't hear it.................? I'm a bad person.

Confession: I have a small white cat. He's weird, he's a rescue, he's temperamental, he's scared of everyone except me, he's mean if he feels threatened, he gets threatened by things like you walking past him or looking at him, BUT - he is a baby lamb to me, because I am his person. Second Confession: I am single. FOR SOME REASON, if people find out both of these things about me, it very often results in me receiving some kind of cat pun t-shirt/mug/calendar. Why is that a thing? I mean, hear me out - my "you have cat to be kitten me right meow" and "check meowt" t-shirts make regular appearances at the gym......when I go to the gym..... sometimes........ I can't talk about that one right now - HOWEVER, a quick word about owning 1 cat: it's the same as being single and owning 1 dog. Or 1 parrot. Or 1 guinea pig. Or 1 rabbit. Or 1 Keurig. Or 1 casserole dish. Or 1 winter coat. Or 1 bathroom rug. If you found out that I was single AND you found I owned 1 Keurig that I associated with to make coffee every day..... would you call me a Keurig lady? Would you buy me a t-shirt with a picture of a coffee cup on it that reads, "JAVOLOGIST" ? Totally fine if you would, but are we hearing it? Do we get it? I would like to slay the single + own a cat = alone/cat lady stereotype, and replace it with a universal stereotype - single + own 1 thing (likely animal) = friends required to never gift them paraphernalia making puns of that OR immediately must gift you paraphernalia making great puns of that. #shakeshakeshakeitoff

Valentine's Day approaches, y'all!(and apparently the Super Bowl, or so I'm told.... sports, ya know?) And I am, as previously stated, not dating/engaged/married/pregnant/momming/mad about it, like most women in my life. Now many women I know, though I can't speak for them all, generally fall into one of the following attitude categories on this day: 1. The I'm Above It. "We don't need a day to celebrate our love!" 2. The In Your Face. "I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it! ...except I spend all day showing everyone I care who knows it." 3. The Classic. "We are in a relationship! Thanks for my favorite flowers and chocolate and maybe a gift, babe! I can't wait to go to dinner at a semi-nice place in a dress and heels and you will dress up nicer than cargo shorts and we will eat food we don't normally eat and then we'll probably make out after. (If dating >6 months - Aw thanks, babe, you're the best! -- If dating <6 months - Love you, boo!)" 4. The I'm Mad About It. "I'm wearing black and listening to Alanis Morissette and Boyz II Men all day because I hate everyone and all the things." (oops... hi college) 5. The I'm Taking You Down With Me. "I will make fun of anyone's happiness today and tell you why things won't work out for you because they didn't for me." 6. The Girls Day! "Celebrating Lady Friends! Takeout and chick flicks, you guys!" .......If I had to choose an attitude from those above, I'd likely choose the last one - but not out of any form of resentment. You see, I don't have a hate for V-day. In fact, I rather enjoy and embrace it. In my brain, I treat V-day as Donna and Tom on Parks & Rec celebrate Treat Yo Self - I literally can't wait to see what kind of presents and food I surprise myself with! I find myself scouting out a fellow single gal pal who is not bitter slash not on the prowl for love. I then attempt to make a dinner reservation that involves steak, because I'm worth it, and it's basically a late Christmas present to myself (I'm ALWAYS thoughtful)... in addition to what I justified at Christmas for myself. (speaking of Christmas, I really should take my Christmas tree down... God help me) I like to end the night with a glass of wine, my flannel pajama set, and a healthy early bed time starring Netflix. #treatyoself

Today my best friend called me and I was in a meeting, so.. missed call. She immediately texts me that she has something "very, very important" to tell me. I'm still at work and can't step away, so naturally my brain begins to panic because unknowns are hard for female brains. Conclusions are something I'm AMAZING at jumping to. Usually I am wrong and more importantly way off. Sometimes I am right but again, usually I'm wrong. That being said, I immediately assume that she is preggo again. I'm 28 and single, and my entire Facebook newsfeed is baby announcements, weddings, engagements, baby videos, breastfeeding updates, home ownershipping, family building field trips, 34 month old babies, and lots of mom play dates. This is the cyber fishbowl I look into from my distant land of eating Chickfila for more than one meal a day, and youtube rabbit-holes, as discussed in a previous entry. That being said, I assume my bff is pregs. Then I say to myself, no, no, don't be silly. My true love in life, her 1 year old daughter, she MUST have taken her first steps. Then I think, no.. she would have texted a video. So I finally am able to step out of my office and call her. She starts with a speech about how this will effect both of our lives, when I get home for Christmas next week, I will be so happy to see this, blah blah blah... then it dawns on me before she says it - my best friend is basically an old timey townsperson who lives approximately 20 years behind me because I am really cool. What I am trying to say to you is she does not have Netflex or HuluPlus AND she doesn't know what either of them are. (It's hard for me to believe we are best friends, too, I know). So I realize - she's about to tell me she finally subscribed to Netflix! I have solved the mystery! (yes, she's been talking the whole time I'm pondering these brilliant thoughts) So finally, I blurt out - WHAT IS IT!? And she tells me that she received my Christmas present to her daughter - a crochet cat hat, duh. (which makes perfect sense, by the way, that she would now receive a gift I sent, so why would that not have been my first guess? God help me) So no new babies. No current walking babies. No Netflix. A day in the life of my college degree'd brain. Happy Holidays.

Recently, my faith in humanity was restored. I went to put gas in my car at 9pm one night, as irresponsible single women in the city do, and I thought it was the perfect time to first throw some trash in my car away. Keys in one hand, trash in the other- trash tossed in can. Only to realize, you threw your credit card away, Idiot. Perfect. Enter: Adam the Good Samaritan, who grabs a flash light, and without being asked (were you watching me? is that creepy?), introduces himself and immediately helps me dig through a disgusting street trash can, me in my heels and my work skirt, he in his probably super successful man suit. He helps me look for my credit card. In the dark. In the trash. Yeah, I'll admit it- the thought crosses my mind... Adam? Is that you? Is this how we meet? Will we tell this story to our kids one day when I am Mrs. Adam? There's no way of knowing. We continue to go through every piece of trash, for 10 minutes. I reach in my car for a napkin to clean up. Oh hey, credit card on my seat. I turn around and show potential, suit clad, handsome and polite future husband Adam my whoopsie. He literally shakes his head, wipes the garbage goo off his hands, does not ask for my dirty trash hand in marriage, and drives his hot truck away without another word. BUT- he didn't yell at me, hit me, or make fun of me (to my face), so cheers to you, humanity! You really did it.

Tonight my college friends and I had dinner. We ate kale soup and discussed YouTube rabbit holes - because last night I accidentally searched for a motivational speech to post on my fantasy football (lol) coach's Facebook wall because we are in the final 2 championship next weekend and motivation is helpful, especially in speech form. Naturally, I chose to  search for the motivational speech at the end of Mighty Ducks. This somehow Youtube rabbit-holed me to John Stewart crying in a monologue. This somehow Youtube rabbit-holed me to Mayor Gu... Okay I don't know how to spell it, but it sounds like Julie-Yanni - whatever, his speech he gave after 9/11 (not whatever, like I don't care, just whatever, for the sake of moving on from my not knowing spelling). And this, my friends, took me even deeper into the tube-o-sphere that landed at dinner with my friends today, and we somehow ended up in a serious discussion that led to the Google-ing of where Brad Taylor from Home Improvement is at. His photo was not how I remembered him, so rather, I leave all of you, with this. #VintageBrad, y'all. And I hope it motivates you. Or not. Youtube is totally a waste of time/a passion of mine.