More often than not, I put lipstick on over my chapstick before I go to bed. When I do, I wear bolder colors than I ever would during the day – rich reds and pinks, even some shades with a purple tint.

Why do I wear perfectly applied, vibrant lipstick to bed? (And now you’re wondering if it gets on my sheets, which it sometimes does, but I’m a freak about washing them so it doesn’t matter). I’ve never sussed out a satisfactory answer to this question, but I suspect it has a lot to do with the hours I spent watching Disney movies about princesses when I was little. Sleeping Beauty had perfect lips, right? And she got the kiss of a lifetime, not to mention a very sexy prince who moonlighted as a singing sensation.

Now before you go calling the nearest psychiatric center, keep in mind that I realize no prince is going to waltz into my room at two AM, impressed by my mouth, and kiss me. I guess wearing lipstick to bed just makes me feel sexy. (And now that I’ve confessed, silly).

Do any of you have a harmless secret ritual, something you do that no one knows about? Tell me! Please?

Guess what?

I am an amazing human being. (Pause for applause, applause). Know why? Because I can water ski! I was like a pro, up on the first try without any effort – and I managed to stay up, despite drifting back & forth over the wake and the curving of the boat. I’m sure I looked spectacular, wet and strong and invincible!

And, as Heidi pointed out, I obviously do not need accolades of any sort; I’m my own best cheerleader.

Our brother Joel was there, and he did a great job too, considering he’d never been skiing before. He had the best wipe-out; we watched him fall forward and face-plant in the water while his back leg kicked up. It looked like he knocked himself in the back of the head with the ski. Luckily, he didn’t actually, and no one was injured. (Except, of course, me. Being the always graceful person I am, I fell forward into the boat after climbing up the ladder and bruised my left ankle. It’s a pretty, royal purple color.)

We also went cliff diving jumping & had chicken wars – that game where you climb onto someone’s shoulders in the water and try to knock the other team down before they drown you? I admit to feeling awkward about being on my younger brother’s shoulders, but mostly because I was afraid I would break his neck or something since he’s about twenty pounds lighter than I am. Damn teenagers and their non-stop metabolisms (oh, FINE, the truth is I’m overweight. And you can bite my fat ass).

Another bonus: my tan! It’s actually becoming a tan, finally! Instead of a darker shade of white, I appear to have turned a light, toasty brown color. Not even close to almondish, but still brown! Maybe sort of like muddy water? ANYWAY. The point is, I’m golden. Golden and blissfully happy and exhausted.

Here’s to many more days like this one before the summer ends.

Let’s review:

I live in a small community in a rural area. Population: approximately eight hundred people – and that INCLUDES the surrounding farms. (I can hear you thinking, “Why, that explains her problems perfectly!” And you are RIGHT).

I’ve been stagnating at my job, and by stagnating I mean contemplating putting out my eye with nearby sharp implements – scissors, pens, letter openers. Whatever’s handy. My newest co-worker (the one with the nonexistant sense of professionalism, if you recall) isn’t the only one causing me to fantasize murder scenarios at work. Although, to be fair, he’s still in first place. Someday, I’ll reward him with a pointy blue ribbon right through his eye socket.

(What IS it with me and eyes lately, anyway? It’s not like there are no other squishy body parts.)

That said, I obviously need a vacation. Right? So I took one. I’ve got eight days coming very soon. At first I was delighted by the prospect. I can go camping! (There’s a huge lake right around the corner). I loved the thought of packing a tent and a cooler and disappearing for a few days, leaving civilization behind.

Except, that’s it. I don’t have many friends here (I’ve always been a firm believer of quality over quantity), and the ones I do have are married and/or have children. They can’t just jump for a good time on my whims (but what a perfect world THAT would be). I don’t have a lot of money set aside, so I can’t go anywhere else.

Essentially, I’ve sentenced myself to eight days at home, alone. With nothing to do.

In the future, remind me to engage brain before engaging pen & request forms. Capish? Great. Now then, I’m off to make a list of reasons I should start saving money. This being the first one, obviously.

I was wrong.

I’m not someone (who IS someone, really?) who easily admits to my mistakes. I hate knowing that I was rude or thoughtless, and more than anything else I hate dealing with the fact that I am responsible for humiliating myself. It should also be said that I’m my own worst critic, and am easily shamed by my actions if I don’t think they’re acceptable.

I had some drinks (note the use of the word ‘some’ as opposed to, say, ‘a few’) and voiced my opinion, as I’m prone to do, about someone who was – quite briefly – a friend of mine. I wasn’t aware that someone’s daughter was sitting behind me, stewing about every word.

Everything I said was true, but it was the wrong place and time, and in pretty poor taste. As much as I hate eating crow, I hate hurting people more. Even people I’m not fond of. I was ashamed, and so I apologized. I was taught that when I’ve done something wrong, and recognize it, I should then do everything in my power to make it right.

I still feel bad about it. I wish, for once, I’d kept my loud & opinionated mouth shut. Something to work on for the future, maybe.

I had way too much time on my hands today while I waited in the McDonald’s Drive-Thru, as evidenced by the following:

The sign above the first window, the window where they typically accept payment, says: “Thank you for having your payment ready.”

I was bothered by it. Greatly bothered, the more I sat there and glared at it. They were already thanking me for having my payment ready, except that I didn’t have it ready. They were willing to ASSUME I was just going to hup to and adhere to their demands. My inner child stirred in rebellion, thus causing me to wait until the cashier was twitching with impatience before I fumbled my credit card out of my purse.

What, I ask you, is wrong with a sign that says, “Please have your payment ready”? Isn’t that better on every level? It’s a polite request. A request that makes me (personally) WANT to be polite in return, and actually HAVE my payment ready. As opposed to the former, which makes me want to take a not-so-brief nap before having a lengthy argument about why they no longer accept checks.

Yes, yes, I’m a bitch.

As if you didn’t know.

Yesterday morning I came to work at eight. Since our part-time help quit last month, I haven’t had time off. I’ve also been working three different shifts, back to back. I had a feeling of dread when I woke up (that could be contributed to lack of sleep), so I grabbed a cappuccino and a donut on my way to work.

The one-two punch of the sugar/caffeine combo is probably what saved my job (and my sanity). I found out shortly after arriving that I was supposed to spend the day training the newbie. Did my boss see fit to inform me that I was training someone? NO, she DID NOT. Which was annoying, but whatever, I adapted (and I deserve EXTRA credit for that because ask anyone, I’m not so great at rolling with the punches).

Anyway, the recruit and I got down to work. And he occasionally felt the need to repeat some of my instructions in short, tone-deaf songs. Okay, I said to myself. Maybe he’s got a pleasant, cheerful personality. So I stomped on my urge to get annoyed. I can be quick to rush to judgment (all of you: NO! Really?), but in the interest of maintaining a pleasant work environment I resisted my instincts.

A valuable lesson: I AM ALWAYS RIGHT. (About people).

He started arguing with me about piddly little shit. And refusing to cooperate. And when I reported this to my superiors (obviously outraged, and with good reason) I was told I can be ‘pushy’ and ‘overbearing’ and that maybe I should just observe. WELL, FINE. I observed. But when someone is doing something WRONG, it’s my responsibility as trainer to correct the mistake, is it not? So I quietly pointed out the error and explained how to properly fill out the form, and he FLIPPED OUT. He cursed at me! He said I was making him feel like a ‘fucking idiot’ among other things.

Me: Suitably appalled.
Recruit: Muttering under his breath incessantly, about what: who knows and who the hell cares? Someone forgot to take his pills, and if I had to wager a guess I’d say the bottle is labeled ‘IN CASE OF CRAZY’.
Me (in a strained, carefully polite voice): “There’s no need to swear at me. I’m trying to help you.”
Recruit: Says other unpleasant things that I do not remember because at the time there was a red haze creeping into my vision and a voice screaming at me to choke the little fucker until he learned some R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Remarkably, I didn’t kill him and time continued to pass (at an unreasonably slow, turtle-like pace). Get this: his mood swings make your average pregnant woman seem lovely and level-headed. He was pleasant for a while after that, and then WHAM – back to refusing to follow the rules and questioning everything. Did I mention that he’s the sort of person who employs sarcasm in an untalented, grating manner? As though his goal is to annoy the holy fuck out of you but he’s ‘just kidding’, ha ha?

I spent the rest of the afternoon fantasizing about piercing my pen through the wide, shallow dimple in the fat of his cheek and wondering how to get out of training him today without seeming like a spineless pansy. My conclusion (sadly and with MUCH regret) was that I couldn’t get out of training him without seeming like a punk, so I came in today resolved to remain polite and behave (as in, not acting out any of my multiple murder scenarios, most of which have very satisfying endings).

My patience is wearing thin, people. Thank god there’s only a few hours left (and thank god for long lunches, which is less about my being nice and more about getting him the fuck out of my hair).

I will not kill him. I will be polite and helpful (only when asked). I will NOT be condescending, as my  condescending co-worker (interestingly enough) accused me of. I will go home and inhale a pint of maple nut ice cream, as is my right.

I rarely cook. It’s not that I don’t like to – I actually enjoy it – it’s just that I hate to eat alone. Food should be shared. One of my favorite aspects of the holidays is the food because my family cooks together and then eats together. It’s the memories I love, and there’s nothing memorable about wasting time cooking a dinner no one will eat but me.

Today Heidi was giving me grief about my refusal to cook, calling me out for making what could very well be a TOTAL of four to six meals in the past few years. Who am I kidding, I’ve barely made that many since becoming an adult.

That having been said, I spend way too much money eating out. Quick math tells me somewhere around $120 a month. To some of you that might not sound so terrible, but please consider that there are only THREE restaurants nearby: a cafe, a steak & shrimp place, & Subway. No Chinese, no Mexican, not even a McDonald’s (which, considering my weakness for the McGriddle, is definitely better for my ass).

That’s three options, and if we’re honest with ourselves Subway doesn’t really count, so it’s actually two. And after Heidi’s comments today and my quickie math, HOLY GOD. I need to start buying groceries, and that means at least a half-assed attempt at planning some meals in advance – which sounds like about as much fun as watching paint dry. UGH.

All this unnecessary evaluating of my spending caused me to make spaghetti for supper. Don’t go fancying me a gourmet – garden variety Ragu does NOT a top chef make. I tried to convince myself it was fun by jazzing the sauce up with some other herbs I had. I played music. Obviously the cat thought I was doing something right, because I had to boot her fat ass off the counter about seventeen times despite her overflowing food dish.

Still, when I sat down at the table to eat I felt lonely. I never feel lonely when I’m grabbing a sub on my way to work or eating take-out over the sink. I remember now why I spend $120 (approximately) eating everywhere but in my dining room. I cooked and ate and saved a chunk of change, but I felt empty anyway.

My brother-in-law is a pretty great guy. For starters, he’s crazy about my sister. He’s also funny, charming, & thoughtful. But in my opinion, and bowing to my materialistic nature, I believe the BEST reason to love him is because he has a boat, skiis, and a willingness to share with others.

Such as me.

I had such a great time yesterday afternoon/evening. I met my family out at the lake and we took advantage of the sunny, perfect weather. We all went water skiing (or at least they did, because I couldn’t get my lopsided, toe-crossed ass out of the water for more than five measly seconds – the driver of the boat kept shouting that I should pull my knees into my chest and relax and I kept doing the splits and swallowing lake water – not that any of this kept me from stubbornly trying to do better multiple times).

I’m proud (and more than a little jealous) to admit that Heidi is awesome. Or at least she stayed upright and mobile until she chose not to, thus cementing her continued status as the better athlete. The jerk.

When the sun went down we lit a fire and made s’mores. Unlike my sister, I have no patience, and so I always burn the marshmallow to a crisp rather than make it golden on all sides. We drank a few beers (Bud Light Lime, to you I say: EWW) and told some bad jokes.

It was one of those great summer days, the kind that linger in your memory and make you smile when you’re stuck at work, organizing files. I hope everyone gets at least one day like it before the summer ends.