the sloppy copy

I recently wrote about my impending birthday. To be honest with yas, I’m still back-and-frothing on whether I’m looking forward to it or not. This thought sounds foreign as it rattles around my brain – I’m generally a lover of birthdays and the associated hoopla – but it’s a thought that’s been popping up a lot lately.

Thankfully, though, my excitement thus far has outpaced any dread. And funnily enough, it’s because I’m looking forward to the date in a New Year’s Day-type way. One of my coworkers is doing this thing where they take a selfie every single day for a year. Something about doing something every day for a year (aside from the obvious, like tooth brushing or peeing or whatever) interests me. Maybe I’ll do something every day for a year! I thought. But what?

I have ideas, we’ll see how they pan out.

More importantly, I’m looking forward to an opportunity to pursue long-neglected interests… making a concerted effort to re-incorporate things I used to do more often back into my daily fold. Nothing life-changing, really. Just getting back into the swing of things.

I think it’s going to be a good year.

As I write this, Cat is laying on the floor at my feet, pouting. Seems he wanted some of my Jimmy John’s earlier and I had the gall to not share. Whatever, punk. Life is hard. Learn to deal.

Aaaaanyway, today at the grocery store I purchased (among a cartload of other purchases) a 4-pack of Activia yogurt. Not because Jamie Lee Curtis told me to. Not because I need to poop, like, real bad. But because I find the taste enjoyable. Are other yogurts just as tasty? Sure. But, to my particular taste buds, this brand of vanilla yogurt is, like, fucking awesome.

Cashier: Oh, Activia? I tried that before, but I didn’t like it.
Me: Hmmmerghhmmph. (noise of acknowledgement that someone else has spoken words)
Cashier: I think it’s because I just got a bad batch.
Me (thinking): Okay, that’s gross. Why would you talk about rotten food as you’re trying to encourage me to buy more?
Cashier: I mean, it totally worked though.
Me (thinking): Jesus Christ. I don’t need to know about how fucking regular your bowel movements were that one time. Seriously. Fucking A, lady. Fuck. Ing. A.