What's with the Mondays?

Here it is again...another disappointment for the home team. Without too many details, let's just say that a) people aren't who they seem to be, b) never trust a stranger from Craig's List (it seems so obvious, doesn't it?) and c) optimism does occasionally set you up for disaster.

So anyway, the treadmill guy never showed and didn't have the balls to call me about it. He sent me an email late last night and was all "the wife wanted to shop around" and "we decided on a different one." Blah blah. Tell me you don't want it and get it over with so I can go about my day and not sit around the house waiting for a phone call. Ugh, the lack of manners never ceases to amaze me.

Then I show up for work and the first words I hear (yet again) are, "Oh, you didn't know that?" If I had a dollar for every time I heard that over the last four months, I swear I could retire. No lie. While loose lips might sink ships, secrets certainly don't make friends. So I guess the question is - do you want a ship or a friend? Marinate on that one for a bit.

In other news, I somehow bent the key to the Pathfinder and almost couldn't leave at lunchtime. That would've been super bad since BB has the wagon in Goldsboro and the spare key to the Pathy with him. Bad news bears. I shoved it in there far enough to at least turn the engine over, but almost couldn't get it out. There's a reason 10 year-old cars with 175,000 miles on them end up being the third-car-we-don't-drive-but-keep-around-for-hauling-stuff-in.

Also in other news, I logged into Facebook this weekend and found this whole other world that I forgot that I belong to. (No, not the Facebook world, the world of I-used-to-know-you-when.) The world is getting smaller and smaller and people that I know also know other people that I didn't know they knew, and well, it gets confusing. I remember now why I went to Sweet Briar and lived in DC for a bit. It's that whole clean slate thing. When the world I live in gets too small, claustrophobia sends me packing. Might have to delete the profiles on Facebook and MySpace.

Somehow the lady that cleans our offices has gotten the impression that I am interested in her bowling league. I really don't know where that came from, nor do I know anything about bowling. But I've started getting weekly updates on her "frames" and "anchor bowlers" and "scratch" games. Seriously with this? I used to fake phone calls when I'd hear her coming down the hall, but she caught me with her silent sneakers today. I never had a chance.

And finally, thanks for asking, the bangs are...bangs. They're fine for now, but probably I won't get them cut again. I always think they'll be magical, but they just never are. Oh well. Live and learn.