Text Messaging.
It’s something my generation just does.

If a guy asks for your number, he’ll likely text you before calling you.

The guys I know or date are obsessed with texts. Which has, in turn, made me obsessed with texting. So much so that I now have unlimited text messages. 1,000 just wasn’t enough. (Note: I usually receive more than I send.The title of this post is a nickname I received from a guy I briefly dated only because the night I met him was the MU v. KU game and texts were flying around the satellite like crazy. I like it… it has a nice ring to it.)

Lately, though, since Mr. Cop-decided-he-loves-his-ex, my phone is quiet. Abnormally quiet.

Sometimes it’s nice to not be distracted by the little message envelope on your cell phone screen, but other nights, well, watch the video….

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I am forutnate enough that I get to travel on occasion for my job. Not too much… and maybe not enough, but still travel.

Next week’s adventure: New Orleans (or NOLA, as my dad and I’m assuming the locals, call it). I’ll be traveling down the highway with Darling (aka West Co B**ch on my blogroll) and Dad (my boss) for a work conference in sunny, warmer, southern comfort food, blues playing town.

I. Am. Pumped.

Sure, I have conferences during the day but it’s with a fun bunch of people. There will be intriguing times ahead, most especially at the Friday night Historical Bar & Tavern Crawl. Why? Well get a bunch of people who like computers, Microsoft, free money and making money together in one room ranging in age from 24 (me) to upwards of 50. And don’t forget liquor. And the French Quarter. (Pictures are promised!)

 And then at some point during the bar crawl, obviously, I’ll find Brad Pitt. And I’ll just bring home with me because Angelina won’t miss him one bit. She would probably just adopt another kid to replace him.

Leaving work early to go get new car issues resolved: Exasperating

Standing in line for over 20 minutes in three-inch heels: Painful

Writing a really large check for Missouri Sales Tax: Nauseating

Having a car that is now properly licensed, registered and paid for: Relieving

Heading back to my neck of the woods to register Jack with MWood and pay stupid parking ticket that cop friend didn’t get me out of: Aggravating

Attempting to study at Panera (and enjoy a cup of soup) only to realize my wallet is on my bed: Laughable

Finding that I have no power upon my return home: Adventure at every corner!

Using my cell phone as the light to guide me up the steps: Inventive

Rocking out to my CDs with Jack’s head out the window (I had my heater blasting): Relaxing

Knowing my parents will let me crash at their place: PRICELESS

Today I spent the daylight hours at bridal shops for my friend Mel, her mom, Grandma and the three other bridesmaids who could make it for the event.

I met Mel my sophomore year in college and we became fast friends and its been that way ever since. She is actually the one who is responsible for introducing me to my college boyfriend. We dated for the last two years of my college career before I moved here, to StL and he stayed where he was. He had no plans to move outside of his smaller country town, not as much ambition as I would have liked, but he was kind, gentle and he did love me. We just weren’t in love anymore.

I haven’t seen him since February 2005 when we had our closure luncheon (a great idea, that’s for sure) and only spoke to him a few times since then. Mel’s Mom receives deliveries from Nick’s brother (Ben is a UPS driver) on a regular basic.

Mel’s Mom was telling Ben about the wedding and he said he would love to come; she said that would be fine, but Nick wasn’t invited because Nora would be there.

Ben’s response? “All the more reason to bring him. I don’t like his current girlfriend. Nora was the best thing that ever happened to him and I would love to get them back together.”

I wouldn’t date Nick again. But I won’t lie. Hearing that sure makes a girl feel good.

I have a new game plan.

Move to NYC. Meet the men who donated $5,000, $10,000 and more for ONE hot dog on the new Celebrity Apprentice. (Hey, I’m sick. That’s my excuse for being home on a Saturday night. That and I need to study. Exciting, I know.) Find out if they have sons and…. meet them! I would be fine living in a classic-six on the Upper East Side. Or the fabulous Penthouse that overlooks Central Park (three floors!) that I have long dreamed of.
Or maybe meet David Wright, the really hot third baseman for the New York Mets, and considering I’m a Yankee fan, you know he must be fine for me to switch allegiance from Derek Jeter.  Wright bought out the hot dog stand and posed for pictures with adoring fans.

 (I am totally joking… mostly. There is something very sexy about a man who rolls up in a three piece suit to buy a hot dog for charity on the streets of New York. It helped that they were good looking, too.)

Adult sick days are not nearly as much fun as little kid sick days.

Adult sick day = still have to walk dog, check work email, make own food, pick-up your own medicine and extra-strength-lotion tissues, attempt to be remotely lively when roommate is around, clean up your own mess, and no one is there to keep you company besides Gilmore Girls DVDs as you fall asleep.

Kid sick day = spend time with mom while she irons, watch soap operas where you have no clue what is going on but feel adult for watching them just the same, get stickers and lollipops from the doctor, coloring books when dad gets home and extra special treatment for a few days.

You know, the no Good Horrible Very Bad Day Book?

Well mine wasn’t awful compared to some people I’m sure, but I’m sick (I blame my roomie and his girl for holing up here while they had the flu and Global Warming since it was 70 degrees on Monday and it’s now 35) and the guy I was starting to date informs me in an email that he’s in love with his ex, but you know, still interested in me. Because that makes sense.  

I’m going to bed.