Some of a novel I'll never finish..

Boredom.
There are worse things.
When you’ve been doing the same thing everyday for as long as your memory allows you to recall and you enter into the monotonous busybody life style of all work and no play, what does it matter if millions of other people would give their first born to be in your place?
You start to question your sanity.
Or what’s left of it.
I, Samantha Montgomery have the dream job. Not just a dream job, THE dream job. Everyday I get the prime attention of a makeup and hair stylist for 2 hours. Fashionistas dress me up in the latest looks that cost more than most people make in a year. The rest of the day I get to rub elbows with the most beautiful and talented people in this god-forsaken world.
Then I go back to my trendy penthouse apartment, feed my cat, and brood over the meaning of my existence. Enter boredom.


Friday night and I’m fondly remembering who I had the pleasure of exchanging words with today
Swoon.

And jealously guessing what my accountant friend might be doing right this minute at the bar she frequented.
Probably downing another free drink some hot, single 20-something bought her in a not-so-subtle attempt to get into her panties, I thought with a smirk.
Nikki liked to think she charmed her way into guy’s hearts. I’d put it more like they charmed their way up her skirt.
Nikki had invited me out, but I gave her some excuse about having to write something up for the show. I didn’t feel like watching my oh-so-sociable best friend working the room while I was in this mood.

I was bored with my job, bored with my apartment, bored with cat. Spike didn’t mean to be boring, but I’ve always been more of a dog person. Cats don’t play fetch and that one time I tried to put him on a leash and walk him down the street I wasn’t sure who was more appalled, Spike or the unfortunate witnesses driving past.

So here I sit, curled up on the couch with the cliché pint of Half-Baked Ben and Jerry’s and watching Grey’s Anatomy reruns. Typical Friday in this typical life.
~
I work on Saturdays.
Yay for me.
~
So you know that 'have to dance in your knickers, sing off key at your cat, spin around until you barf' feeling you get when you KNOW that he's the one?

I also get that with Confetti Cake ice cream at the local dairy.
It makes me drool.
Pieces of multicolored fat infested yummy cake swirled in sweeter-than-sin vanilla ice cream with blue lard icing that makes me want to run on the treadmill until my shins ignite.
orgasmic.

However the lovely piece of humanity currently walking towards the set right now is igniting other parts of my anatomy.