Loopier by the Minute

So, Valentine’s Day. That must mean it’s time for a gratuitous bit o’ fluff! The idea is to open up your music library (MP3 player, computer, wherever), and write down the songs that play with “Love” in the title. Lando did 11, I ended up with 15 before I got bored.

The Smiths - Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me
Sleater-Kinney - Let’s Call It Love
Johnny Cash w/ June Carter - Give My Love to Rose
White Plains - My Baby Loves Lovin’
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Rollercoaster of Love
The Decemberists - From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)
The Cure - Hello I Love You
The Sundays - Love
The Doors - Love Her Madly
Liz Phair - count on My Love
Iron & Wine - Love and Some Verses
Fiona Apple - Not About Love
Billie Holiday - I Loves You, Porgy
Ween - Learnin’ to Love
Rilo Kiley - Give a Little Love

I suppose I should stop fucking around doing useless shit like this and go sort some more crap. But I’m tired. And it’s been a long day. Mr. Meeting calls from downstairs as soon as I walk in the fucking door this morning, and wants me to come unload boxes out of his car. Then, he proceeds to want to have a conference about shit to do, etc., while we’re standing out on the sidewalk. I asked if we could, oh, I don’t know, wait five minutes and have the conversation IN THE OFFICE, but apparently no. In addition, it appears that I’m getting ready to get more shit dumped on me.

The management appears to continually be shoving their collective heads ever farther up their ass. The cases we have going on right now have been on the docket for months. The last person quit four months ago. If you guys KNEW that the newer girl couldn’t handle some of the shit, why not pass it along FOUR MONTHS AGO and not fucking a month before trial? But I guess logic is not a requirement when you’re in the legal field.

Grrr.

I’m also having something of a dilemma about clothing. Some of my clothes don’t exactly fit at the moment. However, should I actually decide to get off my ass, they probably would. I’m torn. Not so much about the shirts - a lot of that shit I didn’t really like - but the jeans. They’re REALLY GOOD JEANS. The current selection of plus-size jeans falls under the heading of “things that piss me off and make me want to choke a bitch.” Unlike pretty much everyone else, I am not convinced of the relative merits of LB Right Fit Jeans as they relate to the size and shape of my butt. The pockets are too low. They make my ass look all flat and droopy. I’m not entirely thrilled with the ones I ordered from Old Navy, either. I kind of want to order the lower-rise ones - but the low-rise pants I tried on there (back in the day when they actually had the plus-size clothing IN THE STORE) never quite fit right. But they have CHANGED the jeans (motherfucking asstards), so will the low-rise fit better? And how many of their inconsistent sizes will I have to order before I either figure out which one fits or figure out that they all suck? According to some recent reports, the claim of free returns = complete bullshit, and I’ve read that taking them back to the store is somewhat of a hassle as well. Most likely, the rejects would end up lurking in the closet until I went on another purge.

Anyway. The donate vs. hang in closet in attempt to guilt self into exercise dilemma. I am not a fan of the guilt trip, whether inflicted by others or self-inflicted, and if it were anything BUT fucking (and everything but the jeans, other than maybe one suit, is going out the door - the suit issue is the same as the jeans. Finding ones that fit my linebacker shoulders, long arms, and lack of rack is a daunting task. When I find a jacket that actually doesn’t look dumb, I hoard. I think that’s been the reason I’ve hung on to some of my college speech-dork suits. So very dated, they are, but the jackets fit, goddammit. I’m at least going to get rid of those.)

I know, I know. Less typing, more packing.

Happy Valentine’s Day to those who give a shit. For the rest, remember that tomorrow is a day filled with 50% off chocolate. (Yes, I realize that I just spent two paragraphs discussing how my favorite jeans don’t quite cover my fat ass. I never claimed to be non-contradictory. Nor can I forsee any future in which I do not consume chocolate. Chocolate is good for you. Tater tots, perhaps not so much.)

Packing. Right.