Translate

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Seasonal Allergies

It’s spring, which means middle-aged matrons have begun to twit their single sisters about their (lack of) love lives.  For two years I’ve been left blissfully alone, partly courtesy over the deaths in my family (and the first anniversaries thereof), partly seasonal chill, but in the last several weeks I’ve been questioned about (and offered advice on snagging) a significant other.  Heck, I barely have time and oomph to blog, much less fritter away the hours on some matchmaking website, judging men on their punctuation rather than the content of their character.  And let us not forget that eHarmony has blacklisted me.

This undue concern with my personal life (short and pudgy if my figure is any mirror of its condition) didn’t gall me until yesterday evening, when I attended a friend’s birthday party over on Capitol Hill.  I knew only a few of the other guests, but enough to make (what I hope passed for) polite conversation.  However, sometime after I arrived, a fellow that asked me out a couple of times a few years back arrived (a coworker of the birthday girl) and he didn’t even say hello or acknowledge my existence.  It’s not like I expected him to drop to his knees, dazzled by my beauty, and exclaim in wonder, but it was just mannerly to nod and perhaps shake hands.  Truthfully, I did look rather fetching, if I do say so—the makeup and hair were having a good day, and I’d concealed my burgeoning muffin top underneath a flowing silk and sequin halter shirt trimmed with velvet ribbons, all of a muted color.  Yet, not so much as a hello, nice to see you again.  So I came home early, miffed.

And stayed up all night watching a South Korean serial called "Boys Before Flowers".  Twenty-five episodes of great melodrama, an entertaining combination of humor, paths, suspense, and so forth.  The best subtitles I’ve ever encountered (pointed out puns).  Very romantic (no sex, and only rare, chaste kisses, though plenty of smoldering looks from a quartet of yummy young Korean men), with usually one fistfight or bloodletting per episode and several tear-sheddings.  Sweet.  Frankly a great publicity piece for the RK—I couldn’t help but wonder what Northern neighbors who were lucky enough to capture the signal thought of the thing when it was first broadcast in 2009.  Oodles of tasty-looking food, lovely clothes, settings all over Seoul and vacation spots off the coast.  Needless to say, I went considerably over my wireless internet data limit for this month (ending on the 19th) and so sent a check off to my mom to reimburse her for what will probably be an embarrassingly high Verizon bill.
I was planning to get a new set of tires today, but I think I’ll wait until after the estate sale this next weekend.  We have another the following week, and then the hoarder’s house is to be done in April.  At last we’re finally moving along—nothing’s so bothersome as only getting to work a few hours here and a few there, without seeing any significant progress made.  We have once again turned straw into gold for the upcoming sale—it looks so much better than when we arrived!  My boss is a genius when it comes to staging—it’s like an interior designer has gone over the place when she’s through.  I think the attractive presentation (not to mean our obsessive orderliness) has contributed to several of our more discerning clients (those who’ve been going to sales all over the DC area for decades) telling us that we are one of the two best companies in the entire greater metropolitan region.  I think we can legitimately claim to be.

My stomach is upset, and though I should be proofreading a former Russianist colleague's conference paper, but it's going to have to wait until this evening.

No comments: