I love listening to conversations

I've been listening to a conversation between one of the other hallway workers (assistant) and the slightly better assistant. It was rumored that they had a tryst, but now I think they're just good friends.

I like Assistant A (the girl) - she's nice, and although she's very Ivy League like a lot of the other younguns that work here (not me!) I think she's going to move to a foreign country. Literally. I want to ask her about it, but then it will become blatantly obvious that I've been eavesdroppping.

Wherever she's going, the beer is ten cents. And she's going on a Princeton fellowship - I guess. Which means I can try to get a friend in at her position. I'm so mean...

And meanwhile my boss is using the good ol' company time to deal with this society for a Caribbean island that she was born on, whose last president basically pilfered all the money away.

So despite the fact that we got a threatening don't-use-the-internet-for-personal-reasons-anymore email on Tuesday, I'm faithfully blogging again. (Although I have limited my blog-checking to three times a day.) So, sorry for the lateness. Even though NONE of you have made comments, you ungrateful human beings!!!

Other than my eavesdropping activities, life is as usual. I hate my class tonight and DON'T WANT TO GO, but I have to because I'm skipping it next week on purpose to go ice-skating with my coworkers. (Laugh if you want to - I'm serious).

And I have weekend plans! Nothing for Friday yet, which is fine because I like that night mellow anyway, On Saturday I'm doing my communal walk around the park, exercise, clear my mind, all while checking out asses of men I'll never date, and then Saturday night Jackie & I are chilling, and then on Sunday? Who knows - I may have drinks with Dyana, or sex with Todd, or both. And then, I HAVE MONDAY OFF!!!! YAYYYYY.

So, no blog entry on Monday.

And the third, and last development:
I am no longer obsessed with boy. Or at least the sadness of boy. I've been skipping over the sad songs on my Ipod and refuse to fantasize about "what might have been". I'm back to my NOTTING HILL-esque dream of "Some celebrity and I are going to turn the same corner at the same time, he'll spill coffee on me and then fall in love with me, and I'll dress like a supastar and then I'll be a big famous editor with cool books and a view of 49th street and a loft apartment on the Upper West Side with a view of the park and a kitty. And life will be great, because I'll have Elijah Wood
Adam Brody
Orlando Bloom
The other hobbit that's goregous
That British actor from BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM, when he doesn't look like he's dying and sickly

or someone who knows when to call and when to send flowers and how to do his hair and dress well and drinks coffee, doesn't mind me smoking, likes the fact that I think I'm funny even when no one else does, is preferably Jewish so I can pretend I'm Charlotte from SEX IN THE CITY and convert,
may have glasses so I can hide them - thinks its FUNNY when the cat runs across one of our stomachs when the other is between their legs
AND, the topper, is smart and funny and loves his girlfriend, who he acknowledges is AWESOME. And I acknowledge him back.

Not that I'm not happy now. But it would be preferable to live on the Upper West Side. We can live in Bklyn, but a loft apartment is still required. And even though I'm rich, I'll still take the subway and make him wear a disguise. (so everyone will wonder why the cute girl's kissing the guy who looks strangely like Mario or Luigi.) Or the giant chicken (who had TEXAS stamped across his stomach, on 47th & 6th yesterday morning - I was curious but I didn't stop to find out.), or whomever.

But that's not to be today. But I can still dream, and look into the eyes of every guy I see on the subway to see if he's checking me out. (I don't count brothers, old guys, or thugs - they check out anything with a booty)

But mostly, I just realize they're gay and they like my a) coat b) hair c) shoes.

Thank god its Thursday.