Curvy Jones on: These Are My Confessions, Round IV

Hence, I’ve never really been drunk, nor have I ever had a hangover. These don’t sound fun, so I think I will maintain my streak. I don’t mind being around drinkers at all, though. I’m naturally loopy and I’m usually still going, long after drinkers are passing out. Set me up with an endless supply of Diet Pepsi and some wings/nachos/food I don’t need silverware to eat and I am good. ta. go.

On Tuesday, I had to run home at lunch really quickly. On the way back to work, I went totally out of my way to go to QT and get a hotdog. I love their hotdogs. On my way in, I passed a woman who stopped me and asked, “Ma’am, have you had your taxes done yet?” I turned to her, gave her a bright smile, and said “Yes I have! But thank you!” And walked into the store. I haven’t had my taxed done yet. I haven’t even thought about my taxes yet. I just didn’t want to listen to her spiel. I am going to hell.

I love to be needed. I love when people need me to do something because they know I rock at it. Or when I get asked an opinion because I give good advice (or at the least am very distracting with shiny things). But really, I only want to be needed by the people that I want to need me. We call it Captain Save A Hoe Syndrome in our circle. I kind of like coming to the rescue. I get great pleasure out of it. For some people. The general public and some co-workers? Do it your damn self.

I was uber proud of my Toyota Camry before a couple of weeks ago. Now I feel like people are looking at me in my car and wondering if I can stop. Do you think I should get one of those signs made that hangs in the window, like ‘I Brake for Garage Sales? It could say something like, ‘I Brake… PERIOD!” Or something equally as cheesy.

Men who watch their weight make me laugh. Last fall we had one of our quarterly Executive Staff meetings. It’s a two day meeting and all the execs fly in from their respective centers and we have big fancy meetings at the Buckhead Club. We have lunch catered and the guys always order salads and the girls always order like… fried foods and fattening lunches. I always order shrimp and grits. It’s so weird looking across the table at men eating salads. You’d think it would be the other way around.

I was actually interested in what Tiger had to say, last week. I couldn’t hear him over 1 meeeelion people who wouldn’t shut up about how they don’t care about what Tiger has to say, but I was interested. I didn’t think he had to apologize to us, the general public, but maybe to all the kids who have, all their lives, wanted to be Tiger Woods, who saw this black (plus other nationalities) guy rise to the top, who now know Tiger Woods is a real live human being with fucked up priorities. Sorry I had to show you this side of me in such a horridly invasive way. That’s how I took that. I do think it was a bad choice to hold a press conference. I get that it was something he had to do as part of his “recovery” (in quotes because I have issues with the rampant diagnoses of Sex Addiction among people with wandering penii/ vaginas lately, but that’s another post). Kids and people who idolized you can read. Release a statement, put it up on your website, get to putting your life back together. You owe the public nothing. You owe your wife, your children, your family, your friends, your God, yourself everything. I hope he doesn’t do any interviews or give any more statements. Just go play some golf, man. Go play some golf.

I went back to Target yesterday at lunch. I am now the proud owner of a pink trench. SO CUTE!

These have been my confessions, sponsored by Coca Cola, and fake fruit.