a day in the life of ShawnaMooney

February 16, 2004 - 10:26 p.m.

To all of my internet boyfriends, whose phone calls I never return.

I'll explain what my life is like so you don't think I'm laying around all day eating bon-bons and watching Montel while you're trying to call me and I laugh at the ringing phone in the Cruela DeVil type of screech.

I wake up late, like 11am, usually after a night of bad dreams and waking up to mariachi car horns. I try to get off my fat ass and run on my treadmill for 30-60 minutes. This is a whole Process that involves arranging the proper music selections, stretching, putting on silly clothes, ponytail, water bottle and distractions from Judge Mathis, crack-criminal turned magistrate. Invision fat burning and will myself to be thin. Chant mantra of thin=happiness. (don't blame me, it's the media's fault.) This takes me until almost 1pm, due to the Process. Then I eat several bowls of Life cereal on the couch while watching the honorable Judge Milian on People's Court. Boy does that bitch kick ass. And those manicured nails! Anyway, I get in the shower at 1:20pm, and have less than 1 hour to get ready for work and get the train. All the while being distracted by Judge Larry Elders on Moral Court. Damn those negros just can't keep their dick in their pants.

So I'm off to work and usually away from home for 11 hours a day. Around midnight I trudge bitterly towards the train and prepare to fight off the public urinators, mulleted masturbating mexicans, and a whole flock of cheaply perfumed, garishly made-up, faux-fur clad imported Polish ladies who just got off of work scrubbing the toilets at my workplace. You ain't kidding anyone, ladies.

Then comes the interminable train ride where invariably there is one person who smells like sweaty balls, one person who stares, one person with suspicious movement in his pants pocket, and the gaggle of geriatrics complaining loudly in some garbled tongue about their long weary day of polishing the wood on my desk. So I stomp on their high-heeled shoes and tell them to shut the fuck up unless they want to polish wooden teeth for the rest of their pathetic expatriate lives.

God when will this story end.

Skip past the gangs, crack heads, and sexual assault and finally I'm home.

I look at my filthy apartment in disgust and try to decide whether to have PB-n-J or Life cereal for dinner. I always have Life cereal. Check caller ID and scroll through crazy stalkers from Lavalife. Delete. Sit on the couch and watch something that I taped earlier in the evening that probably got pre-empted thanks to that camel jockey war that's going on. Remind myself of my bitterness and inability to lose weight until ready to crawl into bed cold and alone, to enter a sleep full of fat and lonely dreams.

The end, till the next day.

So you see, boys. I'm a very busy, professional lady and don't always have time to chit chat on the phone.

I'm glad we can talk about these things.

‘til later,

Shawna

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