I am sorry (again). You aren’t my shrink, and I pay her well. She gets to see me at my most vulnerable. She sees the funny Gigi break down and cry, have no last word, mourning, and admit “I made a mistake.” I am nothing if I am not honest. I see myself too clearly. I wish I had a bit of a blur in my vision, but this perfectionist will see imaginary pieces of lint that must be the reason why she failed at (insert relationship, endeavor, etc…)
Most of my friends are happily married with kids–and I love their children as if they were my very own. I am an aunt to my siblings’ children, as well as my friends’ children. No one will disagree with me that the married friends have barely any time on their hands to hear about which faux pas you did on what date, or how badly it hurts to be dropped yet again by someone so perfect for you, you were sure he was THE ONE.
So we listen about allergies, foul-mouthed kindergartners, and other trials and tribulations in the life of our friends who were partiers, and turned into…adults. And we are adults too, aren’t we? We aren’t children. Are we stuck somewhere between childhood and adulthood, misunderstood?
Please help me here.
Gigi, thinking so much, her brain hurts, aside from her heart
I attended one too many graduations…Why do children want to grow up? It’s a frightening thing. I wan’t to go back into the the womb.(Mom is horrified.) It was nice and comfie there. The world is cold and frightening. Fear not, I am not going to wax poetic–though I think that every girl should wax.(Okay, I just made enemies). I am so tired–in a good way, so just don’t read between the lines, because there is nary a brain molecule to be found anywhere in this blog.
For once, tame, docile, and without anything to say–
I never read the book “The Rules”, and we all know some females adhere to its commandments more than the biblical ones of Moses’ fame. I don’t play hard to get–in fact I don’t play–I answer my phone when “you” call, and do all the “Thou shalt not”s–Is that why I am still single? “No good deed goes unpunished?” The AUTHOR got divorced!
That is why I decided to work on GIGI INTENSIFIED. I want to market myself in a way that I am the one that is wanted so badly–I did NOT just write that–wow, I did. And to think I am commitment-phobic. I don’t know what I am trying to prove, but when I turn my perfectionist knob to high, things go badly. I am an extremist by nature. Yet, the summer is here. What better time to be the best Gigi I can be?
I found out a bit of disturbing info today and I am trying to figure out what to do with it. Seems one reference that I give on my resume’ badmouthed me in a job I really wanted. I am now stuck with wondering who it was, and I have two vague suspicions.
I know blogging is supposed to be light-hearted and very witty, but I am not feeling really funny now, and I am still jobless, and feel that there isn’t much hope. I am far from stupid. I am not saying this to brag. Trust me–I have many flaws–but I can work, multitask, and get a job done–if it is a job that is suited for me. I only apply for jobs suited for me.
I feel weird that someone would be giving bad information about me. I am a nice person. Who would do that? I didn’t give anyone that would say I was incompetent…Yet I DID give someone that has the motive and is actually looking forward to seeing me Monday and working with me, and that person was a last/worst case scenario job.
Methinks I am too gullible.
Gigi, weekend already feeling bad
I am starting to hyperventilate. The myriad of choices of where to go for the weekend puts you in the category of who you are in the hierarchy of singledom. Hamptons–which part? Where do you stay? Which nightclubs allow you in? Do you fly for the weekend with a few friends to South Beach? Same questions. Oh, and make sure to have an awesome tan pre-trip. HELLO HOLLYWOOD TANS. Selective Amnesia for a moment or two about the dire effects of the cancerous rays of the oven. A Sylvia Plath thought. Woah! Back to where to go. Make sure you look young and hot. If you aren’t doing Botox yet, get some good scotch tape and tape the sides of your face upward, a la The Bride of Wildenstein look(Children and Adults DO NOT do not do this at home or anywhere, for this matter.) Have mind-blowing photos to plaster all over the newest place to be–nope, Friendster seems to be passe’, though I love it dearly–Facebook seems to be the place to be if you want to BE. Make sure to have some great photoshop program edit out all the jiggly cellulite and ugly photos, and enjoy the oohs…and ahhs…
Okay, I just re-read what I just wrote. I am a JAP at mind, but not at heart. Or I am the River in Egypt (Denial).
Nah, I’m just a wacky chick that sees life in a weird light and you guys read me…Who are you???? I thank you all.
I believe I need some major rest. Okay, have the line-up for the Subway Series, and I am rooting for my team–but I cannot tell you who they are….
Gigi, getting ready to get chummy with some Cherry Garcia and The N.Y. Post
I am not going to mention 22 yr.old in the clarity of this murky, almost-rainy day, with pollution hovering over my head, and pigeons flying dangerously close to that vicinity as well. I know I push nice people away. He had the choice to run or not. And I didn’t physically push him. I am not talking about it at all.
I decided this morning, as I did interval training on the treadmill, that if females are expected to look good–and we WANT to look good for our Boyfriends/P.B.s=Potential Boyfriends/W.T.(I.H.C.B.)Wishful Thinking(Insert Hottie Celeb Boyfriend/F.H.=Future Hubby/U.P.S. Guy, etc…THEY should take care of themselves as well. As I see it, it’s a maximum glute for a maximum glute. Feelin’me?
The same way our men want us to look really hot and take care of ourselves, they should do the same, and not drink beer like it’s going out of style, consider picking up the remote bicep curls, or carrying the groceries from the supermarket to car, an intense worket(comprised of 1.5 beads of sweat.)
All is not fear in love and its handles–or is it?
Talk To Me–