I Knew Those Cowboy Boots Would Come in Handy...

You can call me Christina, Miss V if you're nasty!

Come June, I'll be teaching high school English in the Rio Grande Valley in Texas. Just over the border from Mexico and right on the Gulf Coast....chalupas and hurricanes here I come.

Hold Me Closer, Commuter Dancer

Ok, so I often dance in the car on my way to work. Judge away, however, it really is just a good way to start and end the long, sedentary day in the cubicle. Today, I'm acting a little bit like a crack monkey while I wait for a decision from Teach for America (eeeek!). So, as I wait for 8 pm (who picks 8 pm as a notification time?), I have a lot of extra energy to expend. On the commute in, I turned up the Beyonce and rocked out only to be met with a middle finger on the on-ramp. REALLY? Who flips someone off for car-dancing? I know it wasn't particularly skilled or really all that attractive, but a middle finger? Not really an appropriate response to some morning joy. I can be as cynical as the next disgruntled commuter, but c'mon people. Absurd.

PS: When car dancing to the office, one should always stop before driving past boss-man's huge corner office windows to avoid a full morning of ridicule and impersonations. Just a thought.

What a fitting beginning...

Hungover at my desk on a Thursday. Perfect introduction. Since one of my nearest and dearest is going to Australia for the year on a Fulbright fellowship, a bon voyage party (see: too many BudLights) was in order. And, yes, I did remember that I had work this morning. The goal was, really, to drink enough so that I would forget that I even have a job.

Enough about last night (the Gatorade and massive headache are serving as perfect reminders of that) and on to more about me (one of my favorite topics). I'm starting this blog on the recommendation of a friend and because, really, like most bloggers, I think that I'm pretty darn special and others should care about what I have to say. I'm a 20something, college graduate with a desk job I can't stand and a love of throwing theme parties. I live in an apartment in the city with a great roommate and a cat that I adore, although I am constantly in fear of becoming a cat lady. The whole cat no boyfriend combo is a slippery slope. A friend of mine recently told me that as long as the number of cats minus the number of boyfriends doesn't go above one, I'm safe from cat lady status. So, for now I'm all set.

So, as a single, not-yet -a-cat-lady-i-hope, I often eat dinner alone. My roommate does not own a cat and has a boyfriend, so occasionally she has dinner plans. Not too often, but often enough. And, I like to cook...sometimes. But after a long day at the soul-sucking corporate desk job, sometimes I'm just not in the mood. And, since I would be far too embarrassed to publicly buy hot pockets (even though they are delicious, cmon now), dinner often consists of a bag of microwaved popcorn and a mug of Franzia. I find this to be perfectly acceptable--who wants to cook for one? It's a whole lot of time, effort and dish-washing that I can live without.

So, here we are, slugging Gatorade and pretending to do work. I'll make attempts to be good about updating the blog, especially because, let's face it, it's not like I do work while at work. So, that's it for now. Holler at me.