This morning on my walk from the metro to the office I passed a million young women all fabulously dressed, thus making me feel totally frumpy. You see, it's laundry day in HP-land and between my shirt, cardigan and capri pants, I felt like a total soccer mom. Also adding to the miasma of homeliness was the moment of realization when it dawned on me that my entire outfit is from Ann Taylor. What? I SAID it's LAUNDRY DAY. Seriously, my 20 year old self would be very angry with me right now.
Despite being a short one, this week is making me grumpy. There's a huge amount of tension within our team at work and the policy area that I am assigned to do communications work for keeps on circumventing me and contacting members of the press on their own, something I not only hate, but that also renders my services totally irrelevant. Part of me is like, okay, no biggie. I'll be napping over here. Please wake me up when you tire of doing my job for me. Another part of me is like, STEP OFF.
Additionally, my back hurts, my eye won't stop twitching and I have to clean my apartment this weekend because my father of all people is coming into town next week and when he isn't planning on being busy lecturing me about spinsterhood and why I'm a bad daughter, he will no doubt be interested in seeing where I live.
There is however, a silver lining to all the banal annoyingness that is my life. And that is my elevator crush. Back in the day, I had a crush for every occassion-the metro ride, kickball, the supermarket, whatever. I embraced all of these silly non-relationships as fun pick-me-ups and welcomed my various crush sitings. Then, at some point I stopped developing said crushes. I can't remember when, but I think it was when I was dating my last boyfriend during that month when everything was perfect and I thought we'd be together forever. Yuck, I know.
Then, several months ago, after my cold, gnarled heart had a chance to mend from our breakup, I found myself flirting with the cute young thing that I occasionally see in the elevator at work. And my elevator crush was born. Here is where I could go on to tell you more about him, but the thing is, I really don't know much about him at all. He's cute. He's young. He's friendly. His hair appears to have been trimmed recently. That's all I know. Okay, that's not quite true. I know his name but I'm not going to share it with you because that would be weird, and this post is already causing me to think that I should be scrawling "Mrs HP Elevator Crush" in neat cursive all over my Trapper Keeper instead of writing about all this. So let's just say I know very little about this creature and that given my apparently awful taste in men, that's probably just as well.
If you're still reading this post and wondering what the point is, I am sorry to inform you that there isn't one. Ha! Suckers. And as a writer, while I usually pride myself on writing well-constructed blog entries neatly tied up with concise, punchy conclusions, I will instead exercise artistic license and leave you with this shoddy, bitchy one instead. In the words of the immortal Sean Bateman, I leave you with this: Deal with it.
In the comments section, say something that will cheer me up. Then tell me who your favorite Brett Easton Ellis character is.
Ps: Thinking about how much I disliked the movie adaption of Rules of Attraction makes me even grumpier. James Vanderbeek? No.