You know your life sucks when you end your night by watching Hollywood Squares, drinking chilled pepto from the bottle, and are actually laughing at Will Sasso's jokes. Not that I'm doing that right now or anything. I'm just assuming that's what someone would do ...if uh...their life...sucked. Did I mention I live with my parents? Ahem. Moving on.
Today started at a bright and early 10:00 a.m. And by 10:00 a.m., I mean 10:30 a.m...And by 10:30 a.m., I mean I dragged my hungover ass out of bed at 10:45 and booked it in the mini to make it to my babysitting job at 11:00.
Needless to say my running mascara and eyeliner from the previous Thursday Karaoke Night (at T.G.I. Friday's..no bid deal..) left me feeling a little self-conscious in front of the four kids I babysit for.
You may think I'm kidding but this 2 year old, I gotta tell you, is the most brutally honest little shit I've ever met. Today she not only told me that my hair looked "poopy" when I put it up but that I didn't have big enough "ta-tas" to wear a bra. Who is this kid? Don't judge me.
Unrelated but tomorrow I was thinking of wearing a push-up bra and straightening my hair. I'm crying inside but I'm doing it for me...definitely not for the 2 year old girl who pooped her pants twice today and then refused to let me change her, even though it was bulging out of her spandex shorts... God, I love my job.
Speaking of jobs, at my other job today I saw my very first COUGAR! Although I don't actually work at a zoo (but um, how sa-weet would that be?), I just now, at age 23, discovered that Cougar Town is not a made up show by Courteney Cox-Arquette but a real life drama that I watch every night at the Wine Bar I work at.
I might as well just park a seat, get out some popcorn, and enjoy it.
I, on the other hand, pride myself on being classier than that which is why I spend my work hours (chugging) taste-testing wines in the back. I totally deserve to win (drunkest) friendliest employee of the month.
But back to this cougar thing though. She had to be mid-forties. I mean she was hot, don't get me wrong. But not "she's-so-hot-that-I-want-to-relive-my-fleeting-Parisian-lesbian-experience-that-all-started-with-a-drunken-miscommunication-at-the-Banana-Bar-where-this-tranny-may-or-may-not-have-licked-my-face-when-I-drunkenly-stumbled-into-a-private-gay-naked-party-in-the-basement-whilst-looking-for-the-bathroom" hot.
I will say, however, that after having two iced coffees and two diet cokes in a five hour period, I was feeling awesome enough to have a conversation with them. The guy couldn't have been much older than me. He was tall, around 25, (doable) decent looking, you know.
I naturally douched myself over, however, when I yelled out "Cougar-Alert!" to Ana our Guatemalan chef. Was the cougar-lady walking by the kitchen right as I said that? Of course she was. The ironic part? Ana speaks zero English.
So what have I learned tonight? I've learned why I'm single.
I'm not attracted to completely self-indulgent, mildly pathetic 5 out of 10's because I have some sick need to be smarter, prettier, and all-around more awesome than my boyfriends...
...It's because all the decent guys are getting, excuse my French, PLOWED by women old enough to be my slutty pre-NuvaRing mother who got drunk and conceived me at her junior year prom.
At this rate, I'm going to have better chances hitting on the unpotty-trained 4 year old I babysit for than a dude my own age. Alas, the man-hunt continues...
As my wise friend and partner-in-crime once said, "Lindsay, we're kinda like Bilbo Baggins and Sam Wise, but instead of trying to save Middle Earth or some shit, we're really just looking for some decent ass."
Amen to that.
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If I didn't know you, I would think you were making this up.
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