Practically a native...
Hello my lovelies,
Full disclosure I'm writing this at 3AM because my body refuses to sleep. At 9PM I can not stay away, at 1AM I am wide awake. After two hours of tossing and turning I decided to make a cup of tea and while I waited for the kettle to boil I thought I whine to you, my unsuspecting victims.
A couple of google searches have indicated that based on my age, current stress level and weight, this latest insomnia phase may be hormone driven. Yippeee! I'm sure happy I've still got all those baby making bits, that I never used, (You're welcome!) hanging around doing nothing for me, at least nothing productive. Not to say that suddenly developing the ability to grow a beard isn't a valuable skill for a single, forty-something female to possess. Amiright! Full disclosure, it's not a full beard, but the need to check daily for rogue chin hairs is really not my favorite thing, but hey, since I don't waste all those hours sleeping anymore at least monitoring the growth of facial hair gives me something productive to do. FMYLIFE!
Now as much as I know you all are enjoying reading about the special relationship I've developed with my tweezers, that's not actually the story I wanted to regale you with. This coffee is dedicated to the new breed of Coloradans that were not born here, but apparently are so proud to live here that they've labeled themselves as "Practically Natives." I am a legitimate Colorado native and proud as I am of that fact I don't actually need a NATIVE bumper sticker on my Volvo, though that would be a very Colorado way to tout my NATIVE pride.
I think Colorado is great! It's beautiful, we have a fabulous climate, the sun shines most of the time, we have amazing breweries on practically every corner that isn't already inhabited by a Starbucks, which is to say roughly 1/3 of all street corners, but I digress. Apparently, as a native I should brag about this. Unfortunately, I didn't realize, until I met with our PMO managers last week that labeling yourself as "Practically a Native" was such a braggable thing. Now that I know this fun fact, I've spent some time (not sleeping affords me lots of that) thinking about all of the things I "practically" am.
I am "practically" an ultra-marathon runner because when I am jaywalking across the street during my daily commute I occasionally have jog to avoid getting my fat-ass killed. Since I walk about 8 miles a day, I jaywalk frequently and I have not been hit by a car yet. I think that qualifies me as "practically" an ultra-marathoner and a pretty darn good one at that. (Stay tuned, if we have a rainy spring, I will likely become "Practically" an Ironman.)
Since my ultra-marathon skills have me in top physical shape (Squishy is considered a shape, right?) I think I can also consider myself "practically" a supermodel. FACT the average supermodel is 5'10" tall, I am practically that tall. In fact I am at least that tall when I'm using my little step ladder to reach crap on the high-shelves from the cupboards in my apartment. (The second shelf is considered a high-shelf to most people, right?) The average supermodel weighs 126 pounds. PFFFFTTT - paaaaleease, I practically triple that making me a super-dee-duper supermodel. Supermodels have long flowing locks of hair. Hmmm, well, I have hair, kind of a lot of hair actually, (I trust you didn't forget the intro to this little gem) and while the mop on my head certainly can't be considered long or flowing, I don't subscribe to the theory that the hair makes the supermodel, so I think I am still in the running for practically a supermodel. OK, fine, so there's that whole issue of not having a chiseled jawline, (see 126lb reference above) possessing an odd shaped little nose and far from perfect teeth, but what the hell, to be an ACTUAL native all I had to do was be born in Colorado, to be practically a supermodel I have to do a lot and it's hard. I'm not sure I want to be practically a supermodel anymore.
Finally, at the Comic Com-themed, Halloween-potluck extravaganza I think most of my co-workers thought I was practically a buzzkill. Correction, they knew I wasn't interested in playing those little reindeer games, so I was definitely a buzzkill, but you will be pleased to know that I did NOT wear a costume, avoided wasting hours at the video games station where my colleagues were hanging out, but most importantly managed to escape eating anything from the potluck tables, I have pictures, but it's 3:30am and I'm too lazy to upload them to post here, so I'll save those for another day.
My tea is gone, so I am off to bed in the hope that I can at least get a couple more hours of sleep before I have to go to work.
Until next time...
XOXO