Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I’m a Spaz

Well…still fired/laid off. Still not terribly upset about it (that has to mean something by the way). And people are still being super nice to me – something that alternately freaks me out and gives me the warm fuzzies. My sister did call last night to ask me what the hell is wrong with my baseball team (bitch), so I’m not totally living in an alternate universe yet.

Some other stuff:

I’m no Tiger Woods: Christine and another friend took me out to a driving range on Friday night to drink beer and hit golf balls. Turns out, driving ranges aren’t anything like miniature golf – which, by the way, I’m AWESOME at – and I missed more balls than I hit. (Note: I’d never been to a driving range before, but it appears that between a few beers, zero experience, and a REALLY SMALL ball, I’m a fucking spaz.) Anyway, hitting golf balls was SUPPOSED to help me get out my frustrations in an acceptable manner. Instead it just pissed me off – I get the feeling the language I was using was not acceptable or typical for the driving range crowd. Who knew that calling the ball a little cocksucker was going to freak so many people out? Still…oops.

Christine cracks me up: I was kind of burned out on my friends by Saturday, so I chose to just ignore all phone calls as of Saturday morning (I needed ‘me time’). Apparently when you’ve just lost your job, people kind of freak out when you drop off the face of the earth and don’t return calls for 24 hours (even though I do that kind of shit all the time). Anyway, between Saturday morning and Sunday night, Christine called 5 times. 5 fucking times! I called her back 0 times. Bad Redhead! When we finally spoke, this is how it went down:

Christine: Dude, I was really scared.
Redhead: (Pausing with a Swedish fish halfway to my mouth – mmm, Swedish fish) Why were you scared? I never call you back until you start threatening me.
Christine: But you just got fired!
Redhead: Laid off. And so?
Christine: So I was panicking and thinking all sorts of bad things.
Redhead: (Contemplating how scotch would taste with Swedish fish) Are you serious? How long have you known me? I’m not depressed. I’m not even sad.
Christine: Well…you never know.
Redhead: (Snorting) Oh for fuck’s sake! Let’s look at this logically – who would take care of my cat if something happened to me? She hates everyone. I couldn’t leave her all alone – what kind of mommy do you think I am?
Christine: (Stunned silence, then…) You’re a freak.
Redhead: No shit. (Hmmm, scotch and Swedish fish – fucking gross together) So, what did you end up doing on Saturday?
Christine: Finally got laid.
Redhead: (Now THAT depressed me) Yup, sounds like you were super worried about me.

Dating ban has been lifted: Look, I’m all for being single right now, but I need to eat. So, that whole ‘I’m staying away from men’ kick that I was on has been postponed until further notice. I’m going to need to become a kept woman for a while here, so…don’t judge me. I need someone to a) pay for me (I’m expensive), and b) put a smile on my face (if you know what I mean – wink, wink). Now all I have to do is find someone I can tolerate. Shit, as if looking for a job wasn’t enough.

Anyway…what have you guys been up to? Any dirty stories for me?


LosingIt said...

So sorry to hear about the job, but I'm glad to hear you're keeping your chin up and not letting it drag you down. Good luck with the job hunt/man hunt!

Bella said...

I like your attitude.

Beer or no beer, I cannot hit a golf ball. lord knows I've tried. It's got to be one of the most boring-est games ever to me. I'd rather run 6 miles.

So now you need a job AND a guy???
Hmmm... which will come first? :)

You'll have to check with the guys on the dirty stories and all. You know how dull my life is...

TK said...

I've never hit a golf ball in my life, so as far as I know, you're a fucking golf star.

So wait... you're lifting the dating ban so you can get free food? Did I read that right?

claps hand over mouth, walks out of room, closes door.

I'd always wondered if there was anything that didn't go with scotch. Thanks for the heads up.

Redhead said...

losingit: Thanks. Gosh, all this support is just making me glow inside. (Yes, I wrote 'gosh' - shut up.)

bella: I kind of thought the beer would make me better - works in mini golf, darts, and pool. Turns out...not so much. On the plus side, I had fun totally embarrassing my friends. Now I just need to find a man to embarrass...um, I mean spoil.

tk: That's right, I am a fucking golf star! No one else can curse and golf quite as fluidly as I can! So there stuffy golfers.

You're surprised that I'm capable of using a man. Really? No seriously, really?

Yeah, Swedish fish (which I love), and scotch (which I love) just don't go together. Aside from the REALLY bad taste, the scotch almost makes the little fishies...melt. I don't know, that may have been a hallucination brought on by sugar and alcohol.

TK said...

Hell no I'm not surprised. That was in response to your "don't judge me" bit.

Thanks for the info on scotch'n'fish. Sounds like I'll pass on that one. If I want to mix sugar and alcohol, I'll go back to drinking and handing out candy at the playground.

Aw, shit. Did I say that out loud?

Diarrhea of the Mouth said...

Dirty stories? Well I can’t help you there. My roommate tried to burn my fat ass. I mean BURN my fat ass. He tried to start my ass on fire when I was driving him to the casino. Fucking asshole.

Anonymous said...


As the saying goes, golf and sex are two of the best sports because you don't have to be good at either to enjoy them.

I chased the PGA dream a few centuries ago. It is the hardest friggin game in the world but teaches you so many lessons that carry on in everyday life.

Hang in there, girl.


Redhead said...

tk: When I said 'don't judge me' I OBVIOUSLY didn't mean you; I understand your limitations.

diarrhea of the mouth: OK, a) how did he manage that?, b) did you kick his ass?, and c) I hope you dumped him on the side of the road and let him walk home/to the casino.

Dave: Sure, take the philosopher's route - I took the drunk, frustrated, and foul-mouthed route. To each his own as they say.