blah, blah, blah

So we're at this 4th of July party with some people I know, some people I don't know, and a few good friends. It was 156 degrees that afternoon so we were all sitting in the shade and drinking appropriate ID4 beverages: imported beer. Julie's sharing stories about the dating scene, which are comical and a little bet sad. Yet the way she tells them gets everyone else to start telling their dating horror stories. Pretty soon, we're all laughing our asses off about they guy who bought Julie a sign that says, and I CAN NOT make this stuff up: "Julie's 3rd Hole" It used to say "19th Hole" but he had them change it because, and I quote, "your favorite number is 3." And then Sara says that Julie should write a book about dating because everyone loves to hear about that stuff. Then Julie says, that's true, I love to read about other people's messed up lives.

Now the point... Normally I like to wait until I have some interesting tidbit about my life to share with the world. More often than not, my life consists of the same old pattern: don't sleep, run, work, eat, don't sleep, swim, work, eat, don't sleep, bike, work, eat, throw in an occasional bottle of wine or glass of whiskey and that's pretty much every day of the summer. I don't want to be one of those people who blathers on about matching socks so I don't post that often. And a week goes by. Then a month. Then... well, you know my history.

According to Julie, people love to read stories of other people's mess up lives. Perhaps I should retell her stories? They're good for a chuckle.

I'm my own messed up life, I did a duathlon last night and it was super fun. I got kicked in the gut in the first 250 meters of the swim, but I didn't let that get me down. I didn't even get upset when I swam 100 meters (not really) off course and ended up on the wrong side of the buoy in incoming swim traffic (true). I'm just now getting the 10 gallons of reservoir water out of my nose. I inhaled a frightening amount in the final 100+ meters. It's really hard to cough under water. Just in case you didn't know. Now you do.

I'd write about work but frankly, and I'm loath to admit this, I like my job. I like the people I work with. Most of them are great people. I could write about people outside of the department, as there are some interesting characters working in higher education, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Maybe tomorrow. We have an ALL STAFF summer picnic. Free lunch. In my case, it's a $45,000 lunch as my tuition helps pay for these staff events. But I take what I can get for the money. Plus, my work buddy left for another job. She was a good people watching color commentator. I'm left alone to be snarky with people who are much to kind to be snarking on co-workers. It's a little bit sad.

Really, my stories were much better when I worked for Big Co and filled in forms all day. Better characters. Less care level for the job. Now I give a shit about my job. Probably because I'm only there 20 hours a week and only "there" for about 4 of those hours. The rest of the time I'm in meetings. Or sending emails. Or sending emails about meetings. Or typing creative briefs about items discussed in meetings. Sometimes I have to do research on the interwebs. They really pay me to do this stuff. I know, I hit the motherload.