So, the epic quest for sweats has so far failed to produce anything even remotely up to par for the kind of extreme lounging that I’ve recently been taking on. When the hell did sweatpants with elastic at the ankles come back into style? I mean, I get it, the retro 80s thing is back in this year, but seriously? Elastic bottom sweatpants? Give me a break.
I even ventured into Victoria’s Secret, hoping that by some miracle they would have some sweatpants that didn’t say Pink across the back. No such luck. Not a single pair of sweats in that entire absurdly large store without the words LOVE PINK on them. And even though they’re super soft and probably ridiculously comfortable, I just can’t bring myself to buy pants with words written on the butt. I think it’s partially because of this video, which is even more hilarious to me because it’s about Ohio State and it’s seriously TRUE. I don’t want to be an indistinguishable sorority girl.
While I was out shopping for sweatpants, though, I did pick up some peppermint truffles from Godiva, because I made the awesome decision while I was doing my Christmas shopping to get a Godiva frequent shoppers card, which is completely FREE and allows me to get free candy every month and coupons for discounts on candy, which means now I have a new addiction and I’m probably going to start spending unnecessarily large amounts of money on chocolate and making excuses to go to Easton all the time to blow my hard earned dollars on overpriced candy.
And speaking of hard earned dollars, I totally got a promotion at work, which is good, I guess, but also sort of a conundrum since I didn’t really want this job to be long-term. And now I have even less motivation to look for other jobs, which I haven’t been doing lately anyway, because I think I have amotivational syndrome. That or I’m just really, really lazy. I don’t think amotivational syndrome is a real thing though, I think it’s just a made up diagnosis for that lethargic feeling you get when you’re really stoned. Which for the record, I am not.
The thing about my job though is that my relationship with it is love/hate. I have simultaneous disdain and appreciation for the extremely laid back office atmosphere, and even though I get a little frustrated by how- for lack of a more accurate descriptive word- ghetto it gets up in there at times, I’m also extremely amused by the conversations that take place with my “team” on the loading dock. There is the girl who is the butchest lesbian I have ever met, and then the guy who is the blackest African I’ve ever met, and the one is constantly talking about sex toys, “meat curtains,” and seducing her girlfriend’s grandma, while the other is telling our boss that he needs to give his girlfriend “that gangsta love” and talking about how in Ghana they just walk naked through the jungle with only socks and shoes on, and that’s how he gets the 300 ladies he’s slept with. The lesbian is constantly trying to fix me up with her friend who doesn’t have a colon, and today the African taught me how to gangsta walk, and all in all, I really think I’m learning a lot from this place, if only in exercises of tolerance for people who are even more insane than I am.
And to celebrate the fact that I got a promotion, I went to the bar four nights in a row, prompting a discussion about whether wearing office attire to the bar is a new low in bar fly status or if it’s really just what “adults” do in the “real world.” I mean, I’ve worn sweat pants to the bar before, which I think is maybe the ultimate low in bar fly status, or maybe just the ultimate peak in not giving a shit about what I look like at the bar, but wearing business casual takes it to a whole new level. I decided not to go there because my dress slacks make me feel defeated in a way that no clothing item ever has before, so I took the extra few minutes to change out of them even if it did cut into my drinking time a little bit. Wait, am I still in college?
Also, I am finally sort of getting used to my new work schedule, since I realized that I loathe getting up at 5am basically just as much as I loathe getting up at 7am, so in the long run it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. But Colin showed me this fucking BACON-FRYING ALARM CLOCK that is probably the only thing that would make getting up before sunrise okay with me, so if anyone is ever for any reason wondering what the absolute PERFECT gift to give to the new and improved “adult” Lynsey would be, well, a fucking bacon alarm clock is it.