Turning pages between articles, I clued in to the chatter happening between four nineteen-year-olds a few tables over. It's like I was caught in Mean Girls, but instead of laughing at the catty banter, the jabs were aimed in my direction. Seriously? Seriously?
Not sure if you've noticed, but I try to keep this blog positive and upbeat. I shall continue with that trend now.
Reasons why it's good to be me, alone in a pizza joint on a Friday night:
- I have a real job with real responsibility (and a real paycheck!). Yes, it kept me working late this evening, but at least I won't spend my Saturday folding shirts at Wet Seal.
- I don't have a payment plan for my car, my University of Phoenix school loans, or my Sidekick.
- I know how to cover my lady parts (on both ends).
- My next stop will be Target; a store in which I could walk into and buy any thing I wanted. Any thing. Tonight, it's a book (low maintenance this go round as I already own the rest of the store). That's right. I also know how to read.
- I've been west of Worcester.
- Mine are real.
- I can afford to have my dental work done.
- --censored for positivity--
- This is a real tan; from a long weekend spent at a rental house on the Cape with my girlfriends and Saturdays (not folding shirts at Wet Seal) at the beach.
- I'm perfectly happy being alone; I had opportunities to go out this evening but I chose to save my strength for my wicked fun, non-white trash Saturday activities. Woot.
Dear Mean Girls, get a life. One of these days you'll wake up and realize you want to grow up and be me.