penelopetrunk
Scheming a date night. A friend suggests couples yoga would be a good date. But I am way too good at yoga to be bogged down by a boyfriend.
| In Madison, I am out to dinner with my buy-local farmer. At the table next to us, people are eating his beef. |
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| Sneaking a peek at my butt in the bathroom mirror at work. Fat Girl Slim is liposuction in a jar, and I love blissworld.com for selling it. |
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| For my six-year-old's birthday he asks me to learn to play Super Mario on the Wii with him. It looks like an LSD trip. I'm lost. He's happy. |
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| I set an interview for Monday. Candidate says he has kid stuff. I suggest Saturday night. He says Why don't you have a date? No job for him. |
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| Life in Wisconsin is billboard-free due to lack of interest from advertisers. In NYC today I am inundated by ads, and I feel flattered. |
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| Driving WI to IL. All farmland. Used to be boring. But after dates with the farmer, this drive is like a physical incarnation of Match.com. |
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| Talking with a big company about buying Brazen Careerist. They turn out to be as day-after-difficult as a one-night stand without a condom. |
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| Asking my therapist: on my blog post about kissing the farmer, should I leave the comments from my not-yet ex? http://tinyurl.com/5rfwa3 |
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| Divorce-inspired shopping spree for clothes that are easy to take off. In Nordstrom's lingerie section I ask for bras that don't oversell. |
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| Breakfast with Guy Kawasaki. I spend too much time with a curling iron. Late, frazzled, and frizzled. This is why women earn less than men. |
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| San Francisco. Lunch at Wired magazine. We eat amazing food at the company cafeteria while I explain why my column is five months late. |
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| There are tornados everywhere in Wisconsin. But not where the farmer lives. I take this as a sign, and I agree to eat livestock for dinner. |
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| Hotel in Bismark, ND. My mom calls while I'm on the treadmill. I pick up and choose hill climbing so I am too breathless to fight with her. |
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| I kissed the farmer! Yum. http://tinyurl.com/6gymf8 |
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| Late-night run, moon-filled sky, in the forest by my house, runner's high. Look up to find a star to make a wish: I hope I don't get raped. |
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| In Tulsa. Blogging from airport to hotel. Driver: Do you write a lot? Me: Yes. I'm a journalist. Driver: Cool. I try to keep a journal, too. |
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| Working on Sunday. Locked out of my office. Sharing Ryan Healy's. I hide my screen so he can't see how much time I spend writing a twitter. |
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| NYC with my kids, staying at my mom's new condo. For 36 hours I pretend to get along with my mom while I stockpile my cynicism for Twitter. |
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| In Orlando. Last time I was here my parents fought. Hotel staff gave me a Mickey doll and a separate room: Domestic violence for rich kids. |
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