Sitcom

I am a character in a sitcom. I'm am convinced of this because:

A) I get into situations you would find in a sitcom.
B) I react like a TV character, this meaning... Not rationally. (Also, a lot of the time I see the people around me as characters in their own lives. I'm like Abed from Community, and the way he analyzes everyone like they're on a TV show. Whether this is healthy or not really remains to be seen.)

For example: Today at work, we were finishing up our money counts so we could all go home for the night. I dropped a nickel on the ground counting out my till and it was like the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie's dad has to change the tire on the car.
"Ohhhhh fffffffuuuuuuuu-dddgggee..." I said.
"Were you just going to swear? Were you going to say fuck?" My manager asked.

Then she went on to say that I'm so NICE and sweet and innocent. So much so that when I swear she finds it surprising. (This is where everyone I know in real life bursts out laughing. I have a bit of a profanity problem...especially when I'm driving. The word 'sluts' comes into play a LITTLE too often.) In fact, my manager called me the Preacher's Daughter. Not the naughty misbehaving kind-- the GOOD kind. I was shocked, and to be honest, appalled. I guess that's the kind of image I project at work, being happy all the time. I always try to be as nice to people as possible... So don't ask me WHY I found this label surprising or offensive. It was one of those irrational things sitcom characters do. I immediately wanted to begin swearing like a sailor, just to make a point. Just to prove that old line from Fight Club: you are not your job. You are not who you ARE at your job.

I spent my drive home imagining ways to prove that I'm NOT a goodie two-shoes, in hypothetical ways. They started out hilariously small, such as not charging people for bags, or wearing bright coloured converse. Then they started getting more extreme: caught shoplifting. Speeding tickets. Losing it in an aisle and trashing items off the shelves. I'm actually thinking about writing a mini pilot episode, just to stretch my writing legs. I'll call it: THE LIFE OF RILEY! (Which was already a sitcom in the 1950s, but shush.)
This isn't the first time I've thought this way: that I'm a character in a TV show. In fact I'm pretty sure I've ranted to my friend Josh about this fact a couple of times. Josh specifically, for some reason.

Like the time I thought a guy at my internship was asking me out for coffee, when really, he was asking me to GET him a coffee.

Or the time I went to see 127 Hours with a friend-- not the kind of friend I was comfortable crying around-- and had to keep myself from all out BAWLING at the end of the movie. Awkward central.

OR the time when I-- oh geez. You get the point here. Life is comical. It's only a matter of time before I start hallucinating a laugh track, I get my own theme song and some wacky neighbors move in next door to fuel the fire.

Keeping Your Cool

Today was HOT, in climate and on the panic meter. It started off mild. I got up, did some laundry and printed off my resume. Last night, Rebekah and I went thrift shopping and bubble tea-ing, and I discovered that my go-to bubble tea place was hiring. We had been talking about life plans, and while I'm not sure where I'm headed, whether it's Montreal or back to school, I know I'll need money to do it. So the focus is trying to get more work. I decided to apply to the bubble tea place, and went to do it today. I put on a nice floral dress, printed off my paper, touched up my make up and went off to impress.

When I walked in, I was thrilled to see that the girl behind the counter was someone I knew from high school. We had taken vocal classes together and were friendly acquaintances. We chatted amiably and I left with a really good feeling. I was in such a good mood I decided to stop at Starbucks before work. The good mood lasted as I pulled into the parking lot at work, sipping my iced green tea lemonade like everything was going my way! ...Then I realized that I had forgotten my uniform pants at my house. My fifteen-minute-drive-away-house.

After checking the breakroom to see if they had any spare pants (they didn't) I told my manager I was going to be late, sprinted out across the blistering parking lot, hopped in my car and raced home like I was in the Indy 500. Or I would have if I hadn't been stuck behind some guy who thought that MAXIMUM 60 meant GO JUST UNDER 50 KILOMETERS. When he finally went to turn left I turned to see if he was a senior citizen as I blazed by. I locked eyes with a middle aged man, who was glaring at me for making my car have bumsex with his. Sorry buddy.

When I got home I ran inside, accidentally shutting my finger in the front door. As I began to strip off my dress I could feel the pressure in my head rising, my finger throbbing, my nerves fraying. That's when I almost started to cry. Whether it was because I was in pain or because I was stressed about how important it was to get these stupid pants, which REALLY only give me granny bum, I was going to breakdown. Changed, I ran back, and began the race to work.

As I was driving, I thought: calm down. It's JUST work. In 50 years, this won't matter. I thought: keep calm, and carry on. I took a deep breath, my panic temperature went back to zero. It worked. I kept it cool.

Other ways to keep your cool? Wear LESS clothing. I can't seem to avoid layering in the summer, I just like it too much. So I tried to keep them minimalized, but add interest and colour with a vest (thrifted) and a scarf (gift from mama's trip to New Zealand.) Also, I have a really hard time making pleasant, regular person faces when I take these pictures.
Shirt: MODA International
Shorts and Vest: thrifted
Scarf: Gift from NZ
Purse: Gift from EnglandStay cool, kids!