Okay, so I did make my semi-daily trip to the cafeteria to hunt and gather my mid-day meal along with some co-workers today. Much to my surprise, there was no tuna to be had…. This makes me incredibly sad, but we can contemplate the fate of mercury-ridden tuna another time. The issue at hand is simply - I had no alternative! I am very much a creature of habit and had no clue what to order at this point. I don’t partake of any meat coming from a pig’s body, so I couldn’t enjoy a thick slab o’ ham on some white bread dripping with mayo. Okay, I think I just threw up a little. Sorry about that. I ventured over to the other end of the dining area, if you will, and found a happy little section of Mexican food, which I do truly love. I am fairly certain that in my past life, if I had one, I was some degree of Hispanic and/or Italian because the food SINGS to me and causes my cellulite to multiply at the mention of cheese and pasta. I digress. After much perusal, I decided on a chicken taco salad. This sounds tempting, and the chicken looked fairly fresh, as did the vegetables associated with this dish. After a one-minute frying technique, I had a fresh tortilla bowl as well. I was certain that I had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The wonderful (and cute) food preparation expert then followed my requests and loaded some lettuce, fried rice, chicken and salsa into the lightly browned bowl. At this point, I asked for just a little sour cream, to which he responded with a thunk of the spoon that had been resting in the dish containing the white substance. Needless to say, a LITTLE sour cream turned into EXTRA sour cream. Being the flirty girl that I am, I just laughed and said thank you, while giving him the “come hither” eye. Okay, maybe not, but I did just laugh and say, “It’s fine. Thank you.” I had to give the full details because you, as my most observant readers, will notice that I completely forgot the CHEESE, one of the most important pieces of the taco salad or Mexican ANYTHING……. I’m devastated. I will have to choke this salad down, with the excess sour cream, and suffer until I can get home and nibble on the pound of heaven that is sitting in my cheese tray. 
Lunch revisited
May 1, 2008 at 4:58 pm (Work)
Tags: chicken taco salad, lunch, sour cream
So, yeah, I’m a flirt
May 1, 2008 at 4:17 pm (A day in the life, Uncategorized)
Tags: boys, flirt, men
This is pretty much the truth. I can’t help myself. I am DEFINITELY a flirt. I don’t know how this came about or why, but it’s been true since my very first exposure to the opposite sex unrelated by blood. I am coy and giggly. I bat my eyelashes and appear demure. I do my best to find absolutely everything hilarious and I attempt to be witty and intelligent at the same time. This, my friends, is NOT easy.
Why, you ask, do I flirt? Well, let me tell you, it’s just plain fun AND I can’t control it. I can be standing in line at the morgue, cuz that’s what all the cool kids do in their spare time, and see someone who appears to be remotely nice, intelligent, handsome or just breathing, and I will speak to them. Generally it’s something that causes a giggle to erupt from my own throat, and a crinkle of my eyes with something resembling a smile.
How does that happen, you ponder. You see, I am starting to think it’s in my DNA, that’s my genetic makeup for those of you not aspiring to a life in Biology. Basically, I was born with it. I would go so far as to say it comes from my family, since both my sister and brother are shameless flirts as well. They catch more attention walking down the sidewalk on an overcast rainy day in Tacoma, Washington than Halle Berry does butt nekkid on Rodeo Drive shopping for sunglasses. Okay, maybe not that much, but close.
This is NOT to say that I mess around on my man. I am a very good girlfriend and I don’t stray unnecessarily, but I can only be who I am, and that definitely includes a flirt. It really doesn’t matter where I’m at, work, softball, class, grocery store. I can appreciate a nice looking man as much as anyone, and I actually enjoy the attention. I like to be considered cute and funny and nice. It’s an ego-boost, and I think that my man should appreciate that as well. It means he’s not dating some gross, shy, introvert, emo girl who has the confidence level of a brown paper bag. He’s got someone who can carry herself in a manner that invites conversation and who looks approachable. I’d take that in a man over the homeboy with the don’t-eff-with-me attitude any day.
Come on over, let’s talk….**wink, wink**
