For Easter, my mom always gets us a small thing to go in our baskets (because yes we are not too old for that) and so this year I said I wanted a jump rope and a yoga mat. The one condition was that the yoga mat need not be expensive, but it had to be pink. So yesterday my mom texts me that they don’t have pink and do I want green or light blue? This is unacceptable as pink is my color and I can’t be seen in public without it. All I said was “pink” in response, so she answers that I need to choose from the two of them she said. Clearly she is not looking very hard, but I chose light blue and it hurts a little. When I go to yoga people will mock me.
Also, I am always stressed out about this curling iron COVER I now own. I bought it because I had a gift card to buy books, but there was this one hour in my life that I thought I wanted a curling iron and I thought maybe the website would have one and looked it up not quite seriously. Turns out they did and it wasn’t expensive so I decided to buy it. When it came in the mail, I was in for a surprise because it wasn’t the curling iron, it was a heating cover for a curling iron I was already supposed to have owned. When I tried to return it, customer service told me they would do it, but I would only receive $1.15 for it back. One. Dollar. And fifteen cents. Thanks, but I paid FIFTEEN for it in the first place, so no thanks. Assholes. So the customer service people said I could return it myself and I keep pushing it back to the point where I don’t think I can even return it anymore because it’s way past the 40 days mark. Every time I look at it this awful feeling bubbles up in my stomach and I ask myself why didn’t I just buy a damn book. Especially because there are about 20 books that I want to read, but don’t want to spend money on. All because I wanted a curling iron for one hour of my life and tried to live spontaneously. Also, the picture on the website featured a curling iron with the cover and I thought how nice it was that they sent me a cover with it as I pressed BUY NOW. So now I just own a curling iron cover and no curling iron because I am just that cool. Lesson learned: Just buy books.
The funniest part about the whole curling iron cover fiasco is that I never even needed a curling iron in the first place. I don’t remember how the moment even transpired, but it never should have happened since my hair is so thin as it is. So thin that when curling it, I need maybe three of those big curly things on my entire head. We used to have to curl it when I was a cheerleader and people would fight over who got to do me because it ended so quickly. I like to refer to my hair as “the strand” because to other people who have the normal amount of hair, it would be one strand out of many. I also like to call it my “little shitty” when I put it on the very top of my head and twirl it around real tight because it looks like a little shitty that has some charm to it. My friend Katie, who I call Katja, has the biggest hair I have ever seen. There’s just layer upon layer of hair. I’m not asking for that much because I think I’m too anxiety prone to have to worry about what to do with that much hair every day, but I thought that if me and Katja could just put our hair together and divide it evenly, then we would both have the perfect amount of hair.
My roommate, Stephanie’s, mother is kind of obsessed with it. Like so much so that when Stephanie- who I call Ann, Gus, or Bobo sometimes- is on the phone with her mother, her mother will ask, “How’s Caitlin’s shitty?” Not how is Caitlin, but how is the shitty? Kind of awesome. I blame the strand for not buying the right thing and not my obliviousness to life.
I am sitting at the desk at work typing this while my textbook lies open and unread and a patron comes up to me. This is fine because I am technically here to serve them and so I stopped typing. But then the girl leans in real close like she wants to tell me a secret. This is disconcerting because I don’t even like to hug people I know very much as it encroaches on my space and is very awkward. Especially when you think about hugging while in the midst of a hug. I never know what to do and it would be way awkward if I put both of my arms around them in a vice grip and they didn’t expect a hug of such extremes and I end up looking like an awkward asshole. So then I usually just hug them with that weird one shoulder lunge into their body and pat their back twice with one hand and end up looking like an awkward asshole anyways.
I digress- so I’m freaking out because this girl is leaning in too close and I don’t know what she’s doing and I’m looking at her like, just tell me what book you want. Then she starts to whisper, which I guess is ok because we are in a library, but she’s speaking in a serious tone about the book and telling me it’s a textbook like I wouldn’t understand it. I stand up to grab it and check it out and whatever and she nods as if telling me “good job.” People are so weird and I’m probably even stranger for thinking this was a valid story to type out. But I mentioned before that I overanalyze every situation I’ve ever been in, so this is the sort of thing to expect.
Since I’ve typed this, I have hounded Stephanie for pictures of my little shitty because my hair looks nice today and I don’t want to mess it up and she has a lot on her phone that she has sent to her mom.
And I also was run off the sidewalk by some freakishly tall woman. You might argue that she is not freakishly tall but I am really short (5’3), but you would be wrong. I felt a dark and ominous figure coming up behind me, with my Jedi powers of course. My first instinct was to throw myself to the ground and cover my face, but I tried to stand my ground. She sort of just walked through me and I fell off of the sidewalk into the grassy area. I am already unstable on my feet. Don’t test me giant woman!
Also, I wrote this in my writing class for an exercise on lists that tells you something about someone.
Day In The Life:
Wake up. Hit alarm clock. Roll out of bed. Brush teeth. Floss. Sip mouthwash. Swivel and spit. Pull clothes out of drawer. Dress. Apply make-up. Brush hair into ponytail. Make breakfast. Eat breakfast. Browse newspaper. Make lunch. Find car keys. Drive to work. Work. Ignore phone calls. Go on Facebook. Throw away lunch. Go out to lunch. Get hit by bus. Be late for own funeral.
I don’t know why my professor keeps telling me I write morbid things. I think it’s funny and kinda clever. Try to live spontaneously and it might kill you. Of course, these are the things I would worry about.