Pocket Money
Some girl at work posted a message on the bulletin board, calling for old denim, khakis, and cords. She's making quilts and selling them to fund an adoption. I think that's really keen. I hope it's an American baby. I know that sounds horrible, but there are kids here and I'm pretty tired of hearing about people who went to China or Russia to adopt a child because it's fashionable to do so.
I didn't ask.
I cleaned out my closet shelves. It's important to note that the quilt girl is also collecting cell phones for a local women's shelter. I might take my old one and give her that, too.
I'm giving her 9 pairs of jeans. One of them is too small; the rest are too big. It feels like exorcising a demon. If I could clean out my t-shirts that I don't wear, I'd be all set. I don't feel good about accumulating too much stuff.
I'm not a fan of stuff.
I got my new work phone today. It was supposed to be a Blackberry, so I could get email on the go. They decided that the phones in those things are too crappy, and I have a laptop, so they gave me a RAZR instead. Hardy har. Now I have two. They offered to port my number, but I like my personal phone to remain personal, thanks. Besides, if I quit, they wouldn't let me keep my number. No good.
My boyfriend, as I have said a million times, is the sweetest guy in the world. But this little anecdote proves that even the sweetest guy in the world seems to miss the bigger picture, once in a while. Context evades men.
We were in my bed on Sunday, doing that cuddle and chat thing, when my darling boy proceeded to tell me a cute little story about how much he has always loved blondes and red heads. Oh, his whole life, he has favored them. Even his ex-wife, in fact, had red hair. And that's all well and good, and cute. But could he have picked a better time to share this little bit of info with me? Perhaps not when he was laying in bed next to a naked brunette, his girlfriend, who was sort of sinking in esteem, as he talked?
What is it with guys? I got that same rap from Michael, who told me that he preferred redheads, but I was ok. WTF? You know, I had red hair for a decade and it never got me anything special. Everybody had red hair, it seemed. What's so damn special about a girl with red hair and blue eyes? Nothing. Dark brown hair and blue eyes? Less common. Hence, the reversion back to my natural color.
Now, I look in the mirror and just shake my head. I can't win. It's so crazy, how men have these ideals that they tote around. Blondes, gingers, long hair, 100 pounds or so, whatever. They all have these little hangups about appearances. What do I want? Somebody who's intelligent, has some integrity and respectability, and doesn't treat people like shit. Ability to accept me as I am, a plus. Someone who wants what I am is even better.
Sometimes, I'm quite sure that doesn't exist--at least not without a wife in tow.
It's a damnable thing to fail because of how you appear, having done nothing wrong in deed. It makes me want to snatch the eyes out of the heads of every boy I see, to make them learn to know people by heart.