In the spirit of lists, I mean New Years!

It would seem that new years is the season for lists. ½ the blogs I read regularly feature lists as their most recent posts. I’m not one to let an obvious trend pass me by and I really love making lists for no reason at all anyway so here we will have 2 lists for the past year and one for the New Year.
First, the obligatory “ 10things I learned in 2005”
1. Collage did not suck as much as I thought it did at the time, in fact it may have been the most fun I would ever have.
2. Having a boyfriend does not have to be heart-poundingly exciting or stomach-turningly disturbing at all times.
3. My metabolism is not infallible.
4. The internet is bringing me closer to the world. In 2004 I discovered the world of internet dating and met my amazing boyfriend and this last year I started this blog and met kt who is just as or even more fabulous in real life than her blog would lead you to believe.
5. Skiing is as important as breathing or sex. I cannot believe I never did it before. In fact, as first time experiences go, skiing was much more impressive than sex. Then again I had a much better partner for my first time skiing.
6. I HATE moving.
7. Political leanings are not very important in romantic relationships. Moral values are.
8. Vacations are important.
9. I believe in God. I’m not sure who or what God is and I’m still wildly skeptical about any type f organized religion but at least I have the God thing settled.
10. Pay attention to fortune cookies. Those little bitches know what they are talking about.

Now that we have covered lessons learned we will cover “5 things I regret” because you should never regret too much.

1. I should have visited my uncle more while he was in the hospital. As painful as it would have been to see him that way, it is more painful to think that he is gone and I can’t see him at all now.
2. I should have done more training before attempting to climb Rainier. If it was not for me we would have made it. Not that I regret trying, it was an awesome experience in the truest sense of the word.
3. I should have spent more quality time with my awesome dog.
4. I should have done something to keep my sister from getting into the situation she is currently in because even though it is not my fault I feel like I have failed as an older sister and a friend.
5. I should not have had so much to drink at the Halloween party. I am sorry I acted inappropriately, tried to fix the problem while drunk, and have no recollection of the evening whatsoever. (Sorry Josh, Sorry Mama)

Finally, we have a list of “10 things I will do in the coming year.”

1. I will pay off debts.
2. I will train my dog to run agility courses.
3. I will learn to cook using more wine in the food and drinking less while I make it.
4. I will help Tacompton Tiffany by becoming the gym Nazi for her sake and my own.
5. I will go rock climbing more because I love it and I don’t make enough time for it.
6. I will go to the dentist because I have not been since high school and that’s just bad no matter how good your enamel is.
7. I will get internet access at home.
8. I will be a better friend to my Mother because she deserves it.
9. I will take more pictures.
10. I will buy a real ironing board because I LOVE to iron and this half-assed table top thing is ruining it for me. Besides they cost like $15.00.

Hopefully we can all pull together and keep me on track because as you may have noticed I am as easily distracted as an ADHD 5 year old on crack with a sugar high. Yum sugar! I could really go for a peppermint mocha right now. Wait I just had one of those a few hours ago. I like puppies! What was I saying? Oh well here is a picture!




It's me and Boyfreind at a reasonably civilized party! (I know, pictures of me on my own site! whodathunk?)

Taking a break to help eat and drink all that holiday crap

In the spirit of the season, I am having a panic attack. There are a lot of things I have not done and tomorrow is Christmas eve. I have managed to buy most of my gifts and wrap ½ of those I bought. Still, I have a lot to do so wish me luck and if I’m not back by new years you will know the stress killed me. Either that or I was run over by Santa and I’m too engrossed in the pending law suit to care about a stupid blog. Now matter what happens to me I am whishing everyone a safe (but not “wear a helmet” kind of safe) happy (but not the kind of “happy” that gives you a headache for 3 days afterwards) and memorable (but not the “remember that time you were arrested on Christmas” kind of memorable) holiday. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Fun with water

So here I am at work again. I got up record-brakingly late today and still managed to be here ON TIME. Something I have not done since my first week on the job. I thought I was in for a day of luck and joy, stuffed to the brim with the kind of fortunate happiness one might imagine a 6 year old girl experiencing should she find an entire box of puppies on her front porch. Alas, this was not to be. Friends, I arrived to work today to a ½ empty (yes I’m a ½ empty kind of a person) bottle of water I had left on my desk yesterday and because I am weird, I decided to swish the water around in the bottle to do away with all the accumulated condensation on the inside of the bottle. This included turning the bottle all the way upside down which I did, as any sane person would, DIRECTLY OVER MY KEYBORD! This action alone would be fairly innocuous except for one thing. In my desperate attempt to get out side and away from my windowless cube, I tend to do things like leave my computer logged into or forget my Tupperware for a week at a time or screw the lid to my water bottle on HALFWAY instead of tightly fastening it onto the bottle. Therefore I had to rush though the ever changing labyrinth that is my workplace (did I mention that the door nearest my cube is now a wall? It has drywall and everything) attempting to track down some absorbent material of some type. Returning with some paper towels, I clean up my mess as best I could. Still, small splashes are gurgling out around the “S” key and there is a strange swishing noise if I move the keyboard out of the way. Good times, Good times.

Blah Humbug

I am angry at the universe for raising me to believe it is my God given right to get 2 weeks to a month of vacation for Christmas, only to recant its offer 24 years latter. Why do kids and Europeans get so much damn vacation? I could not quite figure out what my deal was yesterday morning. It was much worse than a normal Monday. Dragging my self to the office un-showered and 15 min late I realized that, in 24 years of existence, I have never had to get up before noon on the 19th of December for anything I did not want to do.
Who voted for this? I want a recount! I think that my uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm for the holidays can be 100% blamed on the lack of time having a “real” job will give you. I have not had time to go shopping, wrap gifts, decorate much of anything, find the prefect holiday party outfit, or go look at Christmas lights. Usually by this time I have decorated everything stationary, bought something for everything that moves, tied up all purchases is coordinated ribbons and paper, renewed people’s hate of Mariah Carrey with my instant love of her Christmas album, and happily sipped hot buttered rum while oh-ah-ing at brightly decorated houses.
Last night I told boyfriend that he was a snob and hard to buy things for. Are we seeing the difference here? If this is me as an adult, screw it because THIS SHIT SUCKS!
In the magical holiday wonderland that is Whistler, I had an awesome time but then again, I had time. Time to spend on doing nice things for myself and my friends. That is what this season is about to me. Next year I am taking the week of Christmas off.

Nothing says Christmas Like a List and Pictures of Taj

Today I received a glass Rooster wrapped in not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR Crown Royal bags at my office’s White Elephant party. 100% re-gifting material. Still, as I sit at my desk this little rooster reminds me of the other terrible things I have gotten as gifts. And now I give you. . .

T-Town's Top Five List of Gifts so Bad they Make a Good Story

5. This is a combo. The badness of either of these gifts would have earned them a spot on the top 10 list but the fact that they were given to me by THE SAME PERSON less than ONE YEAR apart from one another makes them definite top 5 material. I had in a previous post mentioned a small dope pipe that burned my lips, well for my birthday the same individual gave me hand-blown glass steamroller. The icing on the cake is that he, not I was the major pothead in the relationship. The steamroller was cheep and broke in less than 1 month; the dope pipe was mysteriously “lost” when I may have thrown it out the window of a moving car.

4. In my mother’s defense, she gave me this gift because she KNEW it was bad and it was actually for my dog not for me but I think we can all agree that makes it even worse. A CD of dog songs for my dog. I will spare you the terrible details. Needless to say it was never opened.

3. A stolen in dash CD player/stereo complete with install and a stolen collection of over 50 CDs. The interesting thing about this gift is that the 2 components (stereo and CDs) did not come from the same people. I received these 2 things on the same Christmas from 2 totally separate people, Yeah, I used to run with a “don’t ask don’t tell” kind of crowd. Although the CDs were stolen out of my car just over a year latter along with all of MY CDs. The stereo outlasted the car.

2. A call from jail. For Valentines Day one year, I got a phone call from a boyfriend who had gotten arrested on the way to see me. I gave him his lawyer’s number and dumped him. Too bad I took him back within a month.

And the number one gift so bad it is funny of all time. . .

1. One year at my friend’s annual Christmas party, my gift exchange gift was a happy meal with the fries already eaten. Thanx Jason.

And now, in the spirit of CAP are random pictures of my dog.


Don’t move! I am attempting to move the bag of “Beggin’ Strips” with my mind!











Um. . . You aren't going out like that. . . Are you?

Rewards

Let’s face it, most of the time work is well, work. You go somewhere you would rather not go and do something you would rather not do and sometimes you get paychecks. There are those days however, when work is very rewarding. There are those days when driving around in Hicksville amongst the “No Trespassing, my rabid dog, sawed off shotgun, inbreed children are getting hungry for some blood” signs almost seem wroth it.

Because if you can make it down these stairs



sooooooooooo not to code

you may end up on a beach with this view

And that, my invisible internet friends, is what winter in the Northwest looks like.

DISCLAIMER: These pictures may or may not be property of a very important government agency and I may or may not be in no position to post them on the internets. I deny everything.

How to booze your way though almost anything: Holiday eddition

It is that time of year again. The time when you must search your soul and scour the earth until you know the answer to the 2 most important questions of the season. The answers to these questions will shape your entire holiday season. They will define how you are remembered this year. Will you be generous and creative and charming; full of holiday love for all? OR will you be cheep and disorganized and embarrassing; sloppily slurring your way through “Frosty the Snowman?”
The first question is what do you buy for all those “bring a gift anyone would want” occasions? You know you have 12 of these parties to attend. Either White Elephant or draw numbers gift exchanges. It is hard enough to shop for someone you don’t know particularly well but it is ridiculously hard to shop for someone that you don’t even know the gender of mainly because although everyone I know could use some vanilla bean hand lotion form bath and body works, I doubt that many men would appreciate the thoughtfulness of such a gift. No music, clothes or movies; those all depend on taste. No gift certificates or money; then it seems like you didn’t even think about it. You are left with non-gender-specific, non-personal household and food items. Like cookies that come in a Christmas mug or a basket of assorted pasteurized processed cheese food spread with crackers or the fruit cake you were given 2 years ago.
The problem with that is that no one wants more food around Christmas and they will just bring the basket or cake or cookies into their office where women from all walks of life will be forced to succumb to the soft beckoning of snowflake shaped sugar cookies with icing and sprinkles therefore ruining their yearlong dedication to fitting into their “skinny pants.” Once their will is crushed they will eat their yearly calorie limit in one month and swear on their favorite Dolce Vita shoes that next year they will lose the weight. Do you really want that on your conscience? That is why I think I will just bring wine for everything. Who doesn’t like wine? At least the calories in wine are good for you. European people drink wine all the time and look how happy/healthy/skinny-as-hell they are! So if your price limit is $10.00-$30.00 I suggest wine. Over $30.00; Scotch. I don’t even like scotch but to have a real liquor cabinet you must have some decent scotch to offer people. My guess is that if you get some good scotch for someone they will either like it or they will be happy to have your help rounding out their liquor cabinet.
All this talk of liquor brings me to the second question. To drink or not to drink. How much “holiday cheer” I’m I really ready to spread around? One year when I worked for a bank we went out to an Italian place and I drank myself under the table. I blacked out before I got home and everyone there treated me a little strange after that. I never quite found out what happened. In my defense, I was 19 and just thrilled that I was getting away with drinking in public. I now have a formula for figuring out how much I can drink at a party. You start with 2 drinks for every hour of the party. This is your base. Then you subtract one drink for everyone who will be there who makes more money than you and has never seen you drunk. Then you add one drink for everyone there who has either held your hair while you puke or filled you in on things that happened when you blacked out. I know this is a lot of math but it is flawless. You just have to stick to the plan and remember that it is a drink LIMIT. You an always have less.
Now you are ready for the holiday season. Bring booze and know how much of it you can drink.

Christmas as an (supposed) adult

My first Christmas as an adult I came home from my college dorm to find that my grandmother had moved in to my bedroom and I had to share with my sister for the length of the vacation.
I bought my boyfriend $100.00+ Okley sunglasses. He bought me a $12.00 pot pipe that burned my lips because it was metal.

The next year I had moved in with the spectacular gift giver of the year before (we have discussed James and all his glory before) I was incredibly ill and just wanted some peace and quiet in our smaller than small studio apartment in Seattle. We got in a fight on Christmas Eve while I was trying to sleep he was wrapping presents to some very loud Christmas music. I moved out when he broke ½ the ornaments on my tree. I left his gifts and he kept the things he bought for me.

The next year I was still with Mr. wonderful. We no longer lived together and I picked out my own present and he paid for it. At the annual Christmas Eve shindig at his mother’s we got too drunk to drive me home and stayed at his mom’s house smoking pot and playing GTA with his mom and brother all night.

In 2002 I had finally given up on James and was dating the man who is now my ex-fiancée. I met his family and he showed me around his life in Twin Falls Idaho. I got him a leather jacket I could not really afford because I knew he would look good in it. He got me a book, some pajamas and a Ring. There was snow and music and love. Christmas had never been so perfect before.

The next year I was newly unengaged and back in my hometown. I was without a boyfriend for the first time. I discovered the joy that is bar hopping on Christmas. I shamelessly seduced my hotter than hot and dumber than dumb co-worker only to find out he had a Girlfriend.

Last year I had just had the “Define the relationship” conversation with boyfriend. I met everyone in his family. He came with me to pick and cut a tree. We went to the nutcracker. I gave him books. He gave me a book and a necklace and a dish he made himself. Everything was new and bright and happy. I felt the season in my bones.

This year I am trying not to get my expectations up but it is hard because so far, everything is wonderful. I have already had a fabulous Whistler weekend with Boyfriend. I know what I will get for him and it will be awesome. (I can’t tell you because on occasion he reads this blog) I am looking forward to the out of town friends, the diet defying food, and the romance of an untouched new year.

I love my Stevie Wonder Christmas on vinyl. I love mulled spiced wine at the Swiss. I love the lights in Westlake center. I love peppermint mochas, white elephant parties, Christmas socks, hot buttered rum and the smell of the Christmas tree. There is nothing that can ruin Christmas and that is the beauty of it.

"Heaven has fallen, and it is full of happiness and Diamonds!" or "How to solve all your problems using baked goods"

Whistler is Heaven. It is not that Whistler is very much like Heaven; it is that Heaven fell from the sky and landed in British Columbia and now they call it Whistler. I lost track of how many runs I took, falls I lived through, drinks I had, and American dollars I spent. The entire weekend was a blissful blur of powdery snow, breathtaking views, relaxing hot tubs, hopping night life, amazing food, and great company. To top it all off, my friend came home with a Big Ol’ Diamond on her finger. I would say more about that but that is her story not mine, I will however, say Congratulations to the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Tacompton Tiffany! I will also say that I am now much more confidant about my skills on the skis and I am drooling desperately over the prospect of getting to the mountain this weekend.
Because it is the holidays and because I am broke, that may or may not happen. You see, this weekend is Christmas Cookie Day. Christmas Cookie Weekend (as it has been more recently) started out as an innocent enough tradition. My mother and her two little girls (that is, me and the little sis) would cook up 3 or 4 kinds of cookies and give them to people in pretty hand decorated “Christmas” bags aka plain brown paper lunch bags with tiny trees and snowflakes drawn on them. Over the years however the entire operation has taken on a life of its own. Last year there were at least 10 participants and over 20 kinds of sweets that went out in fancy baskets and tins wrapped up in cellophane with ribbons and bells. It took 3 days to bake, decorate, and package all the goods. We hired cheep illegal immigrant labor to package and deliver all 5,000 baskets. We set up a package tracking system ant outsourced it’s maintenance to India. Ok, so perhaps only ½ of that description is true but the point is that the event has taken on a life of its own and it needs to be stopped.
Luckily, my mother and sister agree. After being forced to put on a thanksgiving where there was no culinary theme and there was an entire turkey (my family usually has small, themed, meatless thanksgivings where we listen to Alice’s restaurant and eat in the clothes we cooked in) my mother deserves a break. Her holiday stress card has been maxed out and it is only the beginning of December. So we decided not to invite anyone else to Christmas Cookie Weekend and we decided to change it back to Christmas Cookie Day. It will once again be just the three of us. Now that we are older we can get more done in a day and will probably have 10 kinds of delicious confections in pretty baskets rather than paper bags with Santa stamped all over them but it will be seriously toned down compared to last year.
It is this plan that has given me the hope that I may go skiing this weekend. If everything goes as planed I can pull of my scam and make it to the mountain. This plan is brilliant because it takes care of both of my problems at once. The first of my problems being that Christmas Cookie Weekend was taking up a whole weekend. We now have hope that it can be reduced to one day leaving an entire other day to hit the slopes. The second of my problems being that I am broke and don’t have money to do Christmas and go skiing. If I get enough things baked and find a good discount on baskets, I can give them as gifts and selfishly spend all my money on my newly acquired adrenaline addiction.

The walls around me are crumbling but Gmail has helped restore my faith in America.

So I know that I said we would only be discussing the wonders of the slopes but I am, as we have previously discussed, a fickle person. That is not to say that I am no longer obsessed, because I am. It is just that sometimes in life something will present itself to you and it will be so unexpected that you must talk about it, even if it is something wildly inappropriate like sending human poop to someone in a pretty gift wrapped box.
I will now explain. Because there is disruptive construction going on in our building that causes the already maze like layout to take on a much more frightening labyrinth-esque feeling (I can actually hear David Bowie singing and I think my cubicle may be upside down) I am more isolated than usual heare at the office. Because of terrible weather (oh my God! A melting snowflake! At sea level! RUUUUUNNNN!) I am stuck in said isolating, upside down cube rather than getting to spend some time in the field like I was becoming accustomed to doing. In short, the walls are falling down around me and I am alone (I sit next to some guys but they are engineers and therefore do not qualify as significant human contact) Therefore all e-mail has become important. Every comment on this blog, every notice from my student loan lender, every ticketmaster update is being read and relished as a form of semi-human contact. Therefore, I have become one of those people who will forward you anything slightly amusing in an attempt to get a response.
I received a mildly amusing European condom commercial from my friend yesterday and this morning I forwarded it to many people (including my mother, who has not responded) hoping someone would write me back and someone did. I got this response a little while ago.

You know, when I saw this, I thought, "I wonder if it's going to be that old condoms commercial?"

And it was. :) I agree, that's a fantastic commercial. And so un-American. Which makes it awesome.

The response in and of itself is not shocking or particularly riveting. And I would like to point out that nowhere in this response are poop or delivery-grams of any type mentioned. Still the good folks at Gmail decided that this response and “fecal-grams” are directly connected. Yes I said (or wrote rather) “Fecal-grams”. Now for those of you who don’t have Gmail, it is a different kind of e-mail service and one of its many different things is that you get sponsored links that pop up on the side of you e-mails. Gmail scans your correspondence for key words and then brings up things that are supposed to be related to you conversation. So like if I have a conversation about an upcoming ski trip (See I brought it back around) I may get links to ski resorts or online discount stores selling ski gear or online ski report sites. Usually I ignore them but they have on occasion come in handy but in this instance I am just vacillating between amused and disturbed. Amused because, lets face it, poop in a box is funny, especially when it is sent to someone else. But I am disturbed because it is scary to think that one day you could come home to one of these on your porch and it must be a rather confusing interpretation of our conversation to have been linked to such a site.
In conclusion America the land of the free is an amazing and joyful place to live and no greater evidence than the successful business that is fecalgram.com is needed to persuade me into believing in my country. I will, as long as I live and breathe, cherish my God given right to order and ship a stranger’s shit to anyone I know. Now that, my friends, is what freedom looks like.

The crack that is skiing has moved Brittney Spears into a position of importance.

Did you know that a season pass to Crystal Mountain Washington for a child is $25.00? That is ½ the cost of a single adult lift ticket. You can outfit a small child with skis boots and bindings for about $150.00, less than the cost of a pair of boots for an adult. Why? It is because the ski/snowboard industry has learned a lot from your neighborhood crack dealer. If you let these fearless speed daemons tear down the mountain when they have less than 3 feet to fall and no sense of mortality, they will get good at it. They will crave the freedom and intensity of the slopes. They will grow up, get jobs, make money, and spend it on better gear, bigger thrills, and longer runs. Most likely they will even have children. Unaware of the traitorous plot behind it all, they will be pleasantly surprised at how inexpensive it will be to tech their children the joy of high speed snow sports. They will sign their kids up for lessons, strap some type of something to their tiny feet and drag them down the tunnel of addiction, gleefully leading the way.
I know this because I am one hundred percent hooked on skiing. I went last weekend, and the weekend before that. This coming weekend I am going up to whistler to ski the whole time. I dream of skiing, I look at skis online, I talk about snow conditions and have decided that when I get married I no longer want a honeymoon on a beach with drinks that have umbrellas in them. No, now I want a ski vacation full of snow and hot tubs and hot buttered rum.
All this and really hate to be cold.
Until now I would have classified being cold as one of the top 5 things I hate the most in the history of the universe. It would be like, The Holocaust, Wal-Mart, washing dishes by hand, spiders, and being cold. Now I will have to remove it from my list and actually acknowledge Britney Spears as significant in some capacity. The fact that it is in the position of being one of the worst things in the history of the universe is some small consolation but it is still a bad state of things.
The point is that this site will now be about skiing and how much I love it for the next few months. If you don’t like the slopes you should and I say that with all the authority of an overzealous convert. Much like a newly baptized Mormon, my enthusiasm knows no bound so get ready. So to sum it all up; taking up Skiing is like joining a cult that loves crack and I have joined wholeheartedly and am addicted and Britney Spears is significant only in her determent to the human race. Now, back to browsing REI outlet for some boots.

Slip-Sliding Away

For his birthday, Boyfriend wanted to go skiing; with me. Even after I explained that his teaching me how to ski was going to be fun in the same way that plucking your pubic hair with rusty, red hot tweezers would be fun, he still wanted to go with me. Before we went to rent skis I had another talk with him, attempting to make him understand what he was really in for. You would think that a sane person would take warning when a conversation begins with “I have had a lot of anger management therapy but there are situations where it has had no affect on my behavior whatsoever.” Still, he wanted to take me to the mountain. I explained to him how we could best avoid breaking up over this. I told him that we would start the day out all excited and happy but about the 3rd time I fell I would tell him I hated skiing. The 5th time I fell I would scream at him that I hated skiing and wanted to go home. I would then need to go to the lodge and drink some hot chocolate flavored Bailey’s before continuing. The retreat would do me some good and the alcohol would do me some better and I would fall down 5 more times before telling Boyfriend that I hated him and making him leave me alone to fall on my ass in peace. I figured that I would then get in two more runs before retreating to the lodge for the rest of the day where I would spend more than the cost of my lift ticket on drinks much stiffer than Bailey’s and hot chocolate. I told him that our relationship would survive only if he left me alone when I told him to and did not come into the lodge attempting to get me back on the slopes. He was still relentless about the idea of going but seemed duly concerned after listening to my predictions.
Upon arriving I was excited. After putting my skis on I was worried. Before I even got on the lifts I was upset and the second time I fell down I cried. In fact, I cried a lot all morning. I yelled a bit, but only about how I hated skiing and I couldn’t do it. I did not release the slew of degrading insults that came to mind every time Boyfriend worriedly gave me much needed pointers. In fact my harshest words were slung unthinkingly at a kind stranger who helped me untangle myself on my third run. When he smilingly asked me if I was going to make it I snapped at him that I had to get down this damn mountain somehow. Sorry Nice Ski Guy, I was having a hard time of it.
After that incident I did send Boyfriend away so that he could have some fun and I could fall down and yell at people I did not have to ride home with. But after 3 runs by myself on the bunny slopes I decided to venture further up the mountain with Boyfriend and the rest of the day was spectacular. I have never had so much fun outside in the cold before. We squeezed in as many runs as we could before closing. He would ride up with me and then take another lift to the top and catch up with me on the way down as I slowly and carefully switch backed down the mountain.
I want to go again. I would go right now if I had money and did not have to work and wasn’t so sore that THINKING about moving is excruciatingly painful. I might use my long weekend to go, maybe twice. Now excuse me while I reapply the icy-hot to my entire body.

Hot Geeks

I am, as we have discussed before, a huge geek. My sister/roommate and I were both raised to value this particular trait in ourselves and others to a point beyond reason. I am impress by people who know which characters crossed over from “Star Trek: The Next Generation” to Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.” I find people who frequently discuss the math and science I have no hope of ever understanding inspiring. And I have a major soft spot for themed parties.
Because I am broke and stubborn, I decided we would not turn the heat on until the 12th of November. Because we are geeks, we decided that “Turnin’ up the heat” is a reasonable excuse to have a party. But not just any party, a party with HOT buttered rum, HOT mulled wine, HOT spiced cider, HOT Cheetos HOT tamales candies, and fire HOT jolly ranchers. See, we are big geeks.
The party was a success in that most of our friends had a good time and much of the HOT food and beverages were consumed. The party was not a success in that 2 people had their wallets stolen. The party was a success in that one of our guests brought us “Down in Flames” t-shirts (thanx Ben!). There are no pictures because I am not much of a picture taker. In fact there is little evidence that this party happened at all save Aarwenn’s missing wallet and the fact that I finally put my guest room together. It now has a bed and does not have any of the following 1) an Ikea hanging pan rack, 2) 15 sets of cheep Venetian blinds banished from the windows for their complete lack of tastefulness 3) empty cardboard boxes which originally contained such things as “hand painted ceramic oil/balsamic vinegar and bread service for six” No sir, all those things are now under the basement stairs where they will live full and happy lives with the spiders until their whole society is consumed by spring cleaning (scheduled for late summer 2008).

"I am Back" or "The Slippery Slope of Downhill Skiing"

You may have noticed I have been MIA lately, well no more. I have been blessed with a temporary government job and long with it, internet access. The wonders of this new job (which I LOVE) will be discussed ad-infinitum at a later date right now I want to talk about being broke and skiing. You see, because I was unemployed for a week or so and I am on the standard 2 week delay for a paycheck I will not see any money until thanksgiving. I have no more extra cash. In fact my not-so-minor transgressions at the Minus The Bear show last Friday (Such a cute zip up!) have left me “delaying” my credit card payment. And to think I have a less than average credit score.
All this could be considered par for the course but I decided I want to learn to ski this year and that takes a lot of money especially if you have no ski experience or gear. I know it is shocking that a person of my ability and class does not know how to downhill ski but in my defense, my parents are into cross country. I spent many a winter weekend skating around behind my mother on skinny ass “skis” thinking I was on a ski trip. Oh the horror of discovering in the 7th grade that other people were referring to a far more dangerous, expensive and therefore better sport when the spoke of skiing. The shock has left me dumbfounded and paralyzed until this year.
Last years terrible season (or lack of season at all) left many of my close friends sitting around with me all winter. As I watched them suffer and sat through night after night at the bar listening to them whine I thought “hey, downhill must be something a person can be addicted to!” In general I LOVE anything a person can become unhealthily addicted to and therefore I decided this was the year I would start my hopefully damaging relationship with the slopes. So now I have my determination to love skiing, my total lack of experience, my desperate withdrawal from any type of retail therapy, lots of advertising for ski gear and slopes, and absolutely no cash. Good thing I got offered overtime tomorrow while all my friends are going skiing, otherwise I might have decided to “delay” my student loan payments too.

Ok, I admit it

I remember living in our top floor apartment with a view (just the bay, not the mountains but hey, it was a view) and waking up at noon to the sun in my bright, large bedroom. Aarwenn and I came and went from that space in what must have looked like a tightly choreographed ballet. I had school and a demanding job as a bartender at an upscale restaurant. It seemed like I knew everyone in the world and no one could tell me what I should do. It seemed like I had so much time. In one day I would go to work, go to class, hang out at a coffee shop, have dinner with friends, watch Law & Order and still have the energy to go downtown for martinis or to 6th Ave. for Karaoke.
All day long I could be whoever I wanted. I could change my personality for every first date. At the same time I had rituals that grounded me in my life. Every Sunday I met a friend for Sunday breakfast at 11:00. About once a week Aarwenn and I would watch Law & Order to a bottle of wine.
It seemed that my life working hare at Evil-Doers-R-Us had become mainly routine but I realized that it is not about the routine or the rituals. It is not about the hours I keep or the alcohol I consume. I have been most afraid to become me. I have been most terrified of giving up the luxury of being whoever I wanted all the time.
As my life has calmed down, I have started to make choices; big choices about who I want to be and how I want to live. It is not that I am “finding myself” it is that I am narrowing down the path that self will take. As my one year anniversary with Boyfriend approaches, I have just become aware of the fact that I really like most of my life. I really like the fact that I am me all the time. I am accepting things about myself that I have rebelled against my whole life.
I am not spontaneous. I have always wanted people to see me as spontaneous because it is fun and so care free but I don’t do well with changing plans and I do even worse with a lack of plans.
I am not good with money. Money is strange because I like it but I seem to have an intense desire to rid myself of it as quickly as possible.
I cannot drive. I wanted to be that awesome chick who can just drive the shit out of any car but honestly, I am too ADD and I burn my clutch and kill my car at lights and I really just can’t drive.
The point is this: I don’t want to leave my life of gym appointments and Netflix. I don’t want to go back to working weekends. As exciting and interesting as my life would become again, I don’t want to give up the gentle security of my generally predictable life. Sometimes I am scared about how people I know will react to my less entertaining self. I still want to go out and have drinks with my girlfriends but some how the humor of Puking on the side of the road (Tacompton T, you know that I am talking about) seems to exist better in the past.

Let's hear it for unemployment!

So I have finally quit my job. (cue “Hallelujah” chorus) Tomorrow will be my last day. I must say that things are going better than expected. No one has threatened me and my supervisor said he was not surprised. Really, I’m not sure how anyone could be surprised seeing as how I am only the latest participant in the company’s growing “Jump Ship Now!” program. Still it is kind of eerie how little of an impact my departure is making.
I will be spending today and tomorrow cleaning things up. Fixing or passing off things in my long term “hold” box and updating people on my projects.
Hold the press!!!! As I am writing this I received an e-mail that our receptionist is leaving as of November. I am not making this up. This is ridiculous.
The point of all this is that you, my lovely internet friends, will no longer have to listen to me rant about my job. This might be a good thing but then again I have been told that I am at my most entertaining when I am angry. That is why I am warning you that, much like She Walks, I may become what some would call “less funny” in the near future. I will preemptively defend myself by saying that like Tacompton Tiffany, I am not here to entertain you. Oh, who am I kidding; I am here to entertain you but my first priority is me. That’s right; I am that selfish.
So I will continue to strive to bring you the best free entertainment I can. But you can expect to hear a lot more about my dog, car problems, job hunting fumbles, family issues, and general lack of skills and a lot less about my job and how much it sucks. See, I will still have plenty to say!

My Fulfillment Vacuum is on Full Power but I will Soon Have Access to a Lot of Liquor

There is the slight possibility that yesterday I got completely fed up with my job and the complete lack of fulfillment it brings to my life. It is actually not just a fulfillment-less area, it is a fulfillment vacuum; sucking up fulfillment from entirely separate areas of my life. Like I will be all happy and content watching Gilmore Girls reruns at 5:00 on a Thursday and Jason (remember Jason? I liked Jason. I kind of miss him and because Luke was already a character, I feel like there is a hole in the show but this has very little to do with me) anyway so Jason will be being all worked obsessed and I will think “why am I not more into my job” and I will answer myself “because your job is worthless. You spend ½ your time convincing your company not to rip people off and then, when you fail, you spend the rest of your time attempting to not feel immensely guilty about it.” So now, out of no where, I am all upset about my job and I have missed at least 3 lines of witty banter and the fact that I have already seen this episode is no consolation. If my job can suck the fulfillment out of Gilmore Girls, it really really has to go.
So perhaps I decided that I cannot wait for any branch of the government to go through its lengthy hiring process. Perhaps I decided on a whim to apply for a bartending job just to hear someone say they might like to have me in for an interview sometime before my ovaries shrivel up and die with a defeated and pathetic sigh. Perhaps I turned in my resume, got an interview, and was offered a job all in the span of 4 hours. Now that I can throw caution to the wind and just quit; now I am scared.
So here I sit, piddling away my conscience, integrity, time, and youth. I have a back up plan. I have applications in. I am really pretty good to go, so why can’t I just tell my job to suck it and screech out of the parking lot laughing hysterically? I think it is because I still want to fix it. I still want to make this place shape up and do right. I want to make a difference damn it! I am so mad that my motivation has died along side pride in my work. Maybe after lunch I will do something for the good of humanity. Maybe I will be inspired by something outside these walls. Maybe the ultimate good of the world will revel itself to me ant hope will be rekindled in my hart forever. More likely I will over cook my left over Mac & Cheese and burn my mouth causing me to cuss with a lisp for the rest of the day.

When you are done going poop, you want to go get some Guns and Liquor?

I may or may not have actually said that sentence to someone this past weekend. Sadly my diet is what has gone down the toilet. I was doing very well for quite some time and then came Halloween. Full of candy and liquor, it is Halloween, not Thanksgiving that leaves my good intentions passed out in a steamy pile of their own vomit. For this sweet toothed girl, nothing beats a good Carmel-apple-tini. It is not even Halloween yet and already I have paid for my numerous transgressions by washing my scale in a pool of my own sugary, alcoholic tears. By the time all the candy at the office is gone, I will in no way shape or form fit into my tiny costume.
I will have you know that I did go to a party this weekend. I did wear a costume. I did look great. I did not eat enough before I went. I did not drive. I did not feel well the next day. When you wake up and go to let the dog out and think you may have left your head upstairs you know it was an interesting night. When you and your friend agree that no more drinking should be done EVER for reasons no one wishes to discus, well then it is time for McDonalds.
I have McDonalds about 2 times a year. Something about the greasy nastiness of McDonalds drives the point home. The point being that I can no longer drink like I used to. The point also being that candy is the more enjoyable of the Halloween vices once you factor in massive hangovers. Lucky for me, I get to be DD for the next party. (Yeah, I know you aren’t supposed to WANT to be the designated driver but I am strange like that)
It is at this point in the post that I realize my Mother might read this. Sorry Mama.
Back to the candy. Fun sized candy really is fun. Anything that is smaller than normal is fun. Being small makes the candy seem less threatening; like your waistline will not suffer because you ate 3 small Snickers instead of 1 large one. The fact that this sense of security is an illusion really just fits into the whole Halloween theme. “It’s not real.” You can tell yourself. “Someone has rigged my scale in an effort to frighten the living daylights out of me.” (Discussion question: Are there “living nightlights” or “dying daylights”, or even “living day-darks”?) So now we have established that my Halloween will include more candy, less drinking and no scales of any kind. About the time I recover it will be time to take on Christmas cookies and hot buttered rum. Damn the gym for not being more fun.

No Parking

I would bet that the majority of you have not spent enough time lauding the abilities of those who design the parking lots you use. In fact, you are probably the kind of selfish inconsiderate people who occasionally bitch about the inadequacy of parking facilities you use on a daily basis. I would like you all to know that designing a parking lot is not nearly as simple as you think it should be. It involves the government for God’s sake! Yes you can add that to your list of things to blame Bush for, not because it is his fault directly but because he is an asshole and he looks like a monkey on crack that was just whacked upside the head with a lead pipe. I believe that may be an accurate description of his day-to-day brain capacity as well but I digress.
I have spent all morning and early afternoon attempting to design a parking lot for an office building. I cannot make it work. Between planting strips and drainage calculations and square footage requirements and retaining walls, and and and the whole thing is a mess. It is a big, scary, “Where are the weapons of mass destruction?” size mess. I want to run screaming from the gargantuan pile of scraped site plans that has taken over my desk (in the most hostile of ways I might add). The frustration was really getting to me by lunch. I went out to the bathroom and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked disheveled to say the least. Not in that sexy “I might have just rolled out of bed after a long night (and perhaps morning) of amazing sex without the energy or care to make myself any more presentable” kind of way. No, this was much more like I had just been run over by a street cleaning truck at the end of his shift when the street cleaning brushes were all full of stagnant beer, bum piss, and pieces of paper people used to get dog shit off of their shoe. It was at this point I realized that I have had lots of caffeine and nothing to eat all day so I went to lunch.
It is now after lunch and I have to say that while I might look a little less like mentally deficient squirrel on meth flattened by a semi desperately clinging to one of its “I heart hooters” mud-flaps I still feel a little like I might just snap. So next time you feel like complaining about the parking lot at Safeway or your doctors office you might want to consider that fact that I could be somewhere near by and I am way overdue for some more anger management therapy.

I may have inadvertently sent my hands free headset to a remote location in hell.

Never once in the entire time I have owned it have I cleaned my car. It is not that I have never cleaned OUT my car; I have. On occasion the backseat fills up and as I toss an empty soda can or superfluous stiletto into the back, it bounces off the massive conglomeration of consumer goods behind me and hits me in the head. At that point I know a purging of my vehicle is long past due. Within about a week of this realization, I will take an armful of belongings into the house and a few bags of trash out to the can. If I am feeling ambitious, I may hang a smelly tree from the rearview mirror. That is the extent of my car-keeping abilities.
Once it did occur to me to wash the outside of the car but then I realized that I have never done that. It seemed a shame to ruin that record so instead I tell people not to lean up against the car if they like their pants. I have become accustomed to the pine needles in every corner of the floor. I know where every sticky, oozing, pile of spilt Diet Coke sits as it refuses to decay at a normal rate. It may or may not be the case that I have on occasion found fries or ½ of a breakfast bar while I was searching for my checkbook or a Decemberist’s CD. I have so carefully cultivated my mess and now I feel rather attached to it.
But here is my problem, somewhere inside this previously unexplored 12th layer of hell, is the only thing standing between me and a fiery crash resulting in my own death; my hands free headset. Since Boyfriend gave it to me, I have had fewer brushes with death. In fact, I have not been honked at, yelled at, or flipped off while driving on the phone even once in the past 6 months. We had such a good thing going, me and the hands free headset. We were really getting to know each other and I’m not sure why he ran. The last time I saw him he was all tangled up with two of my scarves. I thought he may have run off with one of them but after tracking them down I discovered he had abandoned them too. After lecturing them on first date threesomes, I thought that perhaps he had left us all. Maybe during my last purge he escaped. Could it be that my earwax or breath had become unbearable? Or was I just o careless with him? So, hands free headset, if you are out there, please come home.

“Can I Just Watch the Movie?” or “Crazy Mad Bad Movie Ruining Skills”

The first time I knew that Boyfriend and I were meant for each other in that cosmic kind of way was when we watched XXX (a movie staring Vin Diesel not a movie staring Jenna Jameson) together one rainy afternoon. We had been dating for a few months and had survived the holiday season, but anyone with a decent IQ and some perseverance can do that. On this particular day we were bored and a bit crabby on account of being stuck inside. We decided to watch a movie. The video store was almost an entire city block from my front door, so we decided to go though my then roommate’s (Aarwenn) DVD collection. While it has been suggested that Aarwenn and I are not two separate people but in fact a single person trapped in two bodies, this theory is strongly discredited by the fact that we do not share the same taste in movies or music. Case in point: she owns XXX. Having nothing better to do, Boyfriend and I decided to watch the movie.
Before the opening credits were over Boyfriend had systematically picked apart every second of film we had seen. Pointing out logistical flaws, repeating the comically testosterone laden catch phrases with his own sarcastic twists, and emitting a barrage of general snide comments pertaining to everything from the costumes and acting, to the cinematography and plot. I was instantly in love.
It may or may not be the case that I have been banished from watching movies with certain individuals. Aarwenn, for example, once started a movie over because I was talking over the MUSIC during the opening credits. Extreme cases such as that aside, I admit that I have a tendency to ruin movies for every one who will watch them with me. This, like all things, is ultimately my mother’s fault.
My entire life my mother has spent our TV time pointing out the logistical flaws of bad movies and shows and predicting the plot twists of everything. Her sarcastic attitude and biting commentary were iatrical parts of my viewing experience. I learned from this master how to use generally ignored clues to increase the accuracy of my predictions. How much time is left in the movie or program? How often have we seen or heard about this character? What is the music like during this section? I have gotten good enough at this to be extremely annoying. I was actually kicked out of a theatre once. Still, my mad movie ruining skills are no mach for my mother’s.
Boyfriend is the only person who I am not blood related to that can rival us in this department. Not only has he out predicted or found more logistical flaws than me once or twice but his comments are funny and clever. Even better still, we work well as a team. Often we can predict every single plot twist in a move between the two of us. Together we are quite unstoppable and even my sister (who is not a stranger to picking apart movies herself) will sometimes get annoyed.
Together we will destroy the world’s enjoyment of mediocre films. We will fill every theater with dread upon our arrival. We will drive my Father to throw out the television in protest and my Sister to run screaming from the house at the sight of a Nexflix envelope. MWAHAHAHAH!

My Mastercard May be Bi-Polar But We Are Going to Work Things Out

Today I took a quiz about my relationship with debt. Now I will admit that I don’t really like debt all that much. Most people agree with me. Debt is not Mr. Personality. Still, I assumed that debt and I were in a pretty non-damaging holding pattern. Not so. Apparently I have a bad attitude.
The fact that I have a bad attitude about my job or decaf coffee or the mysterious comeback of the Mullet is no surprise but quite honestly, I had always thought that my problems with Debt were Debt’s fault. You see, he is very much like my ex who we will call James not only because that is his name but because he is such a worthless a-hole that he does not deserve to remain anonymous and if he knows about my blog and reads it, he deserves to know that I think of him as a slimy, soul sucking parasite on the ass of my personal history. You see, James and Debt are both bi-polar. Not in the way that I am bi-polar where I am either very hyper or very lazy and I use the phrase to exaggerate the actual intensity of my mood swings, but in the way where they need medication and have drastically different personalities when they are in a good or bad mood. When they are being personable they seem so wonderful. Debt is still Credit at this point. Credit is Debt’s alureing alter-ego. Credit will woo you with the promise of immediate gratification. Like James, Credit is charming and impresses your friends. He will buy all the drinks, he will get you into nightclubs, and he will take you on a Valentines Day vacation. You will feel happy, valuable, and oh so pretty but things will change.
Yes, one day you will wake up in the ghetto at 3 in the morning to a phone call from James’ lawyer telling you to clean out your bank account to bail him out of jail. One day Debt will start to pack on the interest and proceed to tell you how fat you are. One day these two will ship you off to the middle of the country with nothing and expect you to wait there while they get their shit together. They will be surprised when you tell them you are through with their BS. If you ignore them they will continually pop up and the whole mess will have gotten worse while you had your back turned. The only way to relive yourself of such ailments is to continuously chip away at destroying their power over you. If for one second you think that you could be just friends with them, they attempt to reel you back in and betray you. I think that this is a perfectly acceptable and healthy attitude to have. I think that after all the times I have let Debt get the best of me, the smartest thing to do would be to try and eliminate him all together. But apparently dealing with debt and dealing with the rank and rotting waste of oxygen you dated during high school and college require different tactics. Because moving to an entirely different state to escape Debt is not an option. Because Debt can do good things for you if you know how to coax it out of him. So I am supposed to improve my attitude toward Debt by getting to know him better. By understanding why I need him and what I can do to improve our relationship. Because unlike men, Debt can change. I read it on the internet. It must be true

Sick Week

I have been gone for a week and I know you are all dieing to know why I have been ignoring you. Well I have been busy being sick. For 3 days I tried to sleep it off and for the past 2 I have been trying to ignore the lingering vestiges of my killer cold. I reward for fighting off death, I get to come back to work.
I know when I promised to quit no latter than October 7th you all cheered, knowing that the endless griping would come to an end. I know I have mislead you all and let you down but hey, I need to make money somehow and the steady stream of rejection letters I have been receiving will not pay the bills. So here I am, at work. If only someone would offer to take me hostage and feed me maggots while making me listen to the original Backstreet Boys album, maybe then I would not have to subject myself to this kind of brain killing, soul sucking, vomit inducing, torture day in and day out. I once had a debate with Aarwenn about which was more effective as a form of torture, Christina Aguilera’s music or repeated, unnecessary Lasik eye surgery; clearly our imaginations were unable to grasp the true essence of torture. Torture leaves you dreading the prospect of living to see the sun come up.
Needless to say, I am ready for lunch.
In other news I am attempting to find something to be for Halloween. Boyfriend and I are at a loss. I think he wants to be something clever that might take you a few moments to get but is wildly entertaining once you do. I want to be something as a pair where I get to look hot and if it is entertaining and clever, well that would be an awesome bonus. Any and all ideas will be considered and appreciated.

I am It

In general I protest this tagging thing but because I am fickle and bored and because I really, really love music, Thanx for the tag KT! I also have been listening to the same 2 albums on repeat but mostly only in my car which saves boyfriend from my annoying obsessive behavior. Ok, it only saves him from the untimely death of his tolerance for the new Death Cab for Cutie or Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah.

And now THE RULES: List five songs that you are currently loving. It doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the songs in your blog, then 'tag' six other bloggers/friends to see what they're listening to.

Death Cab for Cuttie
1) Marching Bands of Manhattan
2) What Sarah Said

Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah
3) Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away
4) Gimmie Some Salt

Jakie Greene
5) A thing Called Rain

I am tagging anyone who reads my blog and has not been tagged.

Back to Where I Belong

I would like to welcome my boyfriend back to the World Wide Web. After a very long hiatus, during which he missed the entirety of my blogging thus far, he has taken matters into his own hands and gotten internet access. I am assuming that he read at least some of this drivel I continue to spew (Discussion question: can one actually spew drivel?) because last night he asked me what the URL for my blog was.
On to less important things. It has come to my attention that I no longer spend enough time in coffee shops. There was a time not too long ago, when I was considered a fixture at several coffee shops in the area. My pockets overflowing with tips that I should have been saving for the power bill, I frequented many Starbucks locations and a few independent shops. I knew all the employees and all of them (save the most stoned of the bunch) knew what I drank. In the past 2 weeks I have found that people I know personally work in coffee shops I used to practically live at and I had no idea.
I miss open mike nights. I miss eating carrot cake and vegan tofu scrambles with bacon for breakfast. I miss the perfect headspace for writing that one can only achieve by alternating pots of high caffeine tea and good glasses of wine for an entire Sunday night. I miss writing clever things on napkins to leave behind for the next customer.
From now on I plan on spending at least 3 hours a week in a coffee shop. Whether I read, write, participate in open mike night, or just generally spew my normal drivel I think I my feel better about my place in the universe if that place is more often in a coffee house. Besides, unlike myself, they have turned their heat on and it is getting cold out there.

Who Fucked up America?

I live next door to a bar. I have lived next door to this particular bar most of my life. There are times when it is noisy and I want all of the patrons to simultaneously choke on their PBR and die but for the most part I find the murmurings of my fellow city dwellers comforting. Sometimes, like the other night, I find their antics downright amusing.
2 days ago there was an argument at the bar that had to be “taken outside.” Two men, both clearly drunk (although one much more so than the other) stood outside yelling at one another. Actually it was mostly the more drunk one yelling. He was telling the other man all the things that were fucked up about America. More accurately, he was telling the other man that HE was the thing that fucked up America. Apparently the less drunk man had single handedly ruined this great country. That is, until my neighbor came home.
She pulled up in front of the house parked the wrong way and sent her daughter in to grab some videos that needed returning. This was too much for the more drunk man. He pointed at my neighbor and told her SHE was what fucked up America. She did not respect the rules that granted her the freedoms of being an American. She was an ungrateful and spiteful woman with no respect for her country.
At this point we find out that the two drunk, arguing men are actually friends. The less drunk man attempts to persuade the more drunk man to head home with him. In between his slurred and broken attempts to convince the more drunk man to go, he would throw apologies over his shoulder at my neighbor. Finally, tempting the more drunk man with a stop and Jack-In-The-Box, it appeared as though they would be leaving. Alas, nothing is really that easy. The more drunk man swiveled his head back at my neighbor and yelled “I hope a cop comes by and gives you a ticket!” to which she replied “I hope a cop pulls you over while you drive your drunk ass home!” Seemingly perplexed by this previously unconsidered possibility, he was led back to his car by his friend. His friend continued to sputter out half apologies as he made his way to his own car.
I think that the more drunk man had a point and we could all learn a lesson from him. Clearly SOMEONE has fucked up America. But the more fucked up we get, the more blurred our vision becomes. If we continue to blame our allies and neighbors for our problems, we will be packed up, sputtering and complaining in our own delusion, and sent off to meet our fate alone.

Smoking in the Rain

This post is dedicated to Jacob who once (actually more than once) told me that smoking is committing suicide for the lazy and non committal. It is also dedicated to my friend T (who is lazy) and Aarwenn (who is non-committal) who both smoke. (I love you guys)



I am considering going to have a cigarette. Somehow this seems like an important decision.

I might go have a cigarette because I am bored. It is not even 10:30 and I am ready to call it a day. More accurately I am ready to chew my own leg off and escape. Sadly the things keeping me here are stronger than a steal bear trap; I need the money.

I am thinking I might not go have a cigarette because I don't really want one. I don't smoke all that much (6-5 cigarettes a week) and I rarely smoke at all before 5 pm.

Then again, I might go have one because I could get out of the office. If I can't run from the building screaming "Die you money grubbing, capitalist whores!" while simultaneously ripping my Express professional wear off of my body and flipping everyone the bird, the least I can do is stand outside the door blowing smoke into client's faces.

But it might not be worth having a smoke because it is raining outside and I would get wet. Somehow smoking in the rain makes you smell worse and I have a lunch meeting latter today.

On the other hand, a cigarette could really calm me down. Maybe I would come back to my desk merely suicidal rather than homicidal.

Well. I think that settles it. I am going to go stand in the rain and smoke because smoking makes you cool, rebellious, mysterious and thin; and because doing it in the rain makes you seem more depressed and pathetic but if you can master the right glowering stare into space while you stand in the rain, you might fool someone into thinking you aren't just depressed and pathetic but also a little crazy and close to snapping. Everyone knows that inciting glowering, smoking, city people dressed in black while they are smoking is apt to get you a burning butt in the eye. Man I hope someone gives me to opportunity to do that.

Another One Bites the Dust

In totally unrelated news, I just got an e-mail that a woman who I work with has decided to take her career in a different direction and will no longer work here as of today. That is the 4th person in an office of 13 to leave since I started here in May. That is almost one per month; practically ¼ the office in one season. I need a new job.

Packing it on.

This weekend I went on a backpacking trip with my Father. Master planner that I am, I am still in the habit of deferring to the judgment of my parents in their particular areas of expertise. If I am going through and emotional struggle I call my mother for perspective and if I am going on an outdoor trip with my Father I let him plan it. The fact that I cannot walk today (2 days after the conclusion of this latest trip) is surprising to me only because of my own stubborn refusal to learn from experience.
My Father has been doing this my entire life. At 3 years old I was expected to carry my own clothes and a large bag of M&Ms for 3 to 4 mile hikes. If I were to complain the M&Ms would be taken away. Oh, the torture. At 6 years old I was expected to endure 3 day cross country ski trips. At 8 I began leading sport routes in rock climbing. When I was 11 I rode the Seattle to Portland. . . in one day (at least I was on the back of a tandem.) At 14 I was given a road bike and after riding it twice, I cried my way over Blewett pass; yes, a mountain pass my third time on the bike. At 16 I disappointed my Father by refusing to finish climbing Mt Adams with a black eye and no depth perception.
My father’s limitless expectations have, in many ways, helped me to achieve great things. I think that my refusal to roll over and play dead is mostly due to his pushing me. I love that about myself and I would not change it for the world. Still, as I sit here grinding my teeth through every Charlie horse, I wonder if this is still necessary.
This last weekend we were going to hike into the Enchantments (eastern side of the northern Washington cascades) and camp at Leprechaun Lake. We were going to climb Prussic Peak and Boyfriend and I would hike out Sunday. My Father and his 2 buddies were going to stay for a week and do some more climbing. This sounded fine to me. The problem was I did not look at what a hike into Leprechaun Lake would entail. The hike into Leprechaun Lake is a little over 11 miles with a 6,000 ft elevation gain. That is almost 500 ft per mile. Factor in that I have been at a calorie deficit for a month and that my newly sedentary lifestyle awards me about 5 hours of physical activity a week and you have set the stage for disaster.
The hike was beautiful but I barley had time to stop and look. The men were ahead of me the entire time so I was hiking alone and under pressure to catch up. When we hit the last 4 miles the hike became less of a hike and more of a series of scrambles connected by small patches of trail and marked by piles of rocks. For those of you who do not hike or climb, this means that I was pulling myself up rock faces, often needing hand holds, with no rope and a 40+ lb. pack on. Add to this, the fact that everyone in my party was so far ahead I could not see them and the sun was beating down on the treeless mountain side. To make a long story short (and to spare you my humiliation) we will just say that I barley made it. In fact, I only made it fueled by my own anger. I refused to go climbing in the morning because I was sure I would not make the hike out by nightfall if I was tired from climbing already. I think my Dad knew it was all too much because for the first time in history, he did not try to talk me into it. I think we have all learned some lessons here. Next time I want a close look at the itinerary.

Get ME Outta Here!

I did not go back to work. I went to the doctor who confirmed my suspicion that my headaches were migraines. He gave me a few samples to try and prescriptions for each with instructions to try them all and pick the one that worked best. Then he told me to find a new job and read a book on centering. Apparently my stress levels are high, who knew?
I have found several jobs I would prefer; the trick is convincing them that they would prefer me. I have decided that no matter what the outcome of this most recent job search, I will be quitting this job as soon as I pay my bills and use up my vacation. I took Monday off for no good reason.
We will now have a play by play of my ongoing job hunt.
#1 job pick, City of Tacoma – Urban Planner
This one is a 15 min WALK from my house (Stadium district side of downtown for those of you from Tacoma). I would work for the city I love and make a ton more money than I make now. Also I would get government holidays.
#2 job pick, Puget Sound Regional Council – Associate Planner
I would get to work in downtown Seattle so I could commute by bus or train and read during traffic. It is part time with full benefits (including holidays but no vacation) and pays enough that I would STILL make more money than I do now working less hours.
#3 job pick, AHBL – Secondary Planner
This is 5 min from my house (Old Town). This is a private company that is the recognized regional leader in green and low impact development. Their mission statement focuses on creating good people and environments rather than on satisfying demanding clients (I think ours actually says that).
#4 Job pick, Kitsap County – Associate Planner
This job is part time but again, I would be making more per hour so I would take home the same amount of money. No mention of benefits in the announcement so I would have to ask. The commute is killer (Port Orchard is 45 min away on a good day). Still, I would be working for a jurisdiction and I would get more time off. Also Kitsap County is a good place to make a difference environmentally because of the conflict between the rural and the rich out there.
Those are the jobs I have applied for. My friend T who just got hired at Pierce County (15 min max from my house) says they should be hiring soon too. I am faxing my resume to her today.
UPDATE: As I was about to post this I was contacted my AHBL. They want to interview me next week! Good thing I took Monday off.

Head Splitting Hooky

I am writing this from a coffee shop at 11:00 on a Wednesday morning. I was supposed to be at work today. I really even planned on going but the alarm going off nearly split my head in two. The throbbing did not stop once I turned the alarm off. When I got out of bed and turned on the light I was struck down with a rod of lightning. The flash ripped behind my right eye tearing a hole through my brain from it to my right ear. Yum, morning migraine.
This has happened before. So I turned the light off and started to get ready for work. First I chugged down 3 times the suggested dosage of some over the counter migraine pills. Then I went to take a shower in the dark.
Brilliant.
I fell over twice, each time the migraine pills laughed at me. “We won’t help your headache go away! We will just burn holes in your stomach!” That plus the dizzy felling made me decide that the universe it trying to tell me something. DON’T GO TO WORK! Too much stress and nothing to make me happy until I get home has begun to take a rather large toll on my health.
I called work and told them I had a migraine and I might be in latter.
I went back to bed.
I woke up at 8:45 feeling like a bed of fresh roses (that is I smelled good and looked better but if you were to disrupt me in any way I would have ripped a thousand tiny holes in your flesh just to watch you bleed)
I decided to go downtown and use the Internet at a coffee shop to send in some applications. It is time for a new job. But I have finished that and now I am faced with the question, do I go into work now that I am feeling better? Probably I should. Damn.

Philosophy of Pool Bobbing

I love my birthday. I like having people make a big deal about my existence. I like the cards, and the singing and the food and wearing stupid hats at Mexican chain restraints while middle class white kids whose parents are making them learn “work ethic” by having a part time job, sing Feliz Cumpleaños to me in horrible Spanish. I like pictures of myself (even in said hat) and I like presents.
I have heard this rumor that I am no longer supposed to like my birthday. There is some point were I am supposed to start hating as a symbol of my impending death. I am choosing to look at my birthday as a marker of success. I mean, for better or worse, I have made it through another year. Whatever I think about becoming older or my prospects for the future, I have at least managed to remain alive for another 365 days. Isn’t that worth something? It is a personal record to say the least, right?
So maybe I am getting older. So maybe my prospects are shrinking and my thighs are expanding. But I have a plan; and more importantly, I have a goal.
I think we learn to hate our Birthdays because they become a reminder of the things we cannot dream about anymore. I have given up my 4 year old dream of growing up to be the worlds fastest flying Pegasus. I have moved on from my middle school dream of following in Mariah Carey’s footsteps. I have left behind the high school idea that I could start a non-profit and stop world hunger. I have even modified my college goals of becoming a lawyer who stamps out injustice during the week and writes thought provoking, life altering, philosophically entertaining novels on the weekends. But my birthday is not about the limitations that my previous life choices have put on me. No, it is about achieving my ultimate life goal of becoming a Pool Bobber.
Not since the moment that this goal has entered my realm of consciousness have I even once wavered in my dedication to achieving it. I remember that during a visit to the YMCA one summer my friend and I were shocked to see the fattest women in the world waddle out in a line onto the pool deck. Their pasty, cellulite pocked flesh moved about their frames in rippling waves as they walked. Their shamelessness struck me as courageous. With each thunderous step they proudly declared their right to wear a bathing suit. As they walked past the lap pool to the smaller “therapy” pool I realized that these women have more self esteem than anyone I had ever seen. They were not hurrying past us, ashamed of themselves. They were not detoured by our open mouthed stares. They seemed safe and comfortable in their mountains of flesh. Once they reached to therapy pool they wrapped pieces of special foam around their arms and one of them turned on a boom box. She then began to yell over the music; instructing the others to do hokey-pokey type moves bringing their arms in and out of the water as they bounced up and down slowly in time to the music.
I decided then and there that this was what I wanted out of my life. I wanted to gorge myself on all life had to offer. I wanted to bloat myself with the spoils of a life well lived. Then I wanted to walk around proudly and quietly enjoying the enormous mass of all I had collected. I wanted to whorishly display it to everyone who would look. I wanted to bounce up and down, dancing and splashing in my gluttonous collection of self and surroundings with my friends.
That is why I will continue to celebrate my birthday every year as long as I live. Because no matter how old I am, no matter how many milestones have come and gone, I still have that picture of those women in my mind. I will celebrate my path to Pool Bobbing as it unfolds and once I reach my goal, I will celebrate every step I took to get there.

On Gas Prices, Fred Myer, and Marrige Proposals

Last night the man checking my groceries proposed to me. This is the third time I have been proposed to, the second time I have said no, and the only time I have said no graciously. I am inclined to believe that the proposal was a joke but that may just be because the whole situation was uncomfortable and if it were a joke I might feel a little better about it. Whatever the case, I know you want the story now.
In the exciting world that is my life, Wednesdays are personal training days. This means that I generally go from work to the gym and then home to make dinner. After dinner I read or watch Law & Order for an hour before I go to bed. All this was derailed by rising gas prices.
I used to be the kind of person who, no matter how little I made, refused to care about gas prices. I used my car very little and I filled the tank when it was empty at the nearest gas station at the time. Sure, if there were 2 gas stations next to each other I might decide to go to the cheaper one but if the difference was 1 cent a gallon I might decide based on the proximity of a food mart or the fact that I would not have to make a left hand turn to get into one of them. However, I cannot help but notice $3.oo a gallon gas. So I needed gas on the way to work and I stopped at the nearby shell station but only got 3 gallons at their outrageous price (which I might add is only barley over ½ the average price of gas in European countries) and I planned on stopping at Fred Myer to get gas on the way home.
For those of you who don’t have Fred Myers I am sorry. It is kind of hard to explain to someone who has never been to one. It is like a Target-Rite Aid-Safeway-Ben Bridge (yes, they have a fine jewelry store) Hybrid with a better wine section, and entire health and bulk foods department, no cute clothes and really cheep gas (Cheaper than Safeway or Albertsons but more expensive than Costco). I love it about ¾ as much as I love Target but for totally different reasons.
So I’m getting gas at Fred Myer in my gym shorts and my work sweater (I was cold) when I remember that it is payday and I am out of Yerba Mate (not to mention food in general) so I decide to go inside. I may not have planned to go grocery shopping at that time, but I am a Virgo and a planner for a living so I had a list (yes a physical, on paper list) with me anyway. So I gathered up fruit (at least 3 kinds), carrots, stir fry veggies, salad mix (with spinach), tofu (baked and raw), detox tea, yerba mate (mint), special K bars, soy nuts, pasta, pasta sauce, light bulbs, tupperware, toilet paper, swiffer cloths, razors, shampoo, and conditioner. Apparently, this neurotic looking mix of things is attractive to some people. I think is says “I have no sense of adventure and spend my money trying to be boring and thin.” But the checker heard something different entirely. Perhaps it was my gym shorts which are supposed to look like boxers but, due to their bright purple color and the letters “U of W” embossed squarely on the ass, are clearly girls pajama/gym shorts. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition those shorts and my fine knit, cream wool turtleneck. Then again, it could have been the food.
My sister seems to think that the Fred Myer checkers are overly forward in general. They tend to ask what your plans for the day are based on what you are buying or comment on how they love this or really wanted to try that particular thing you are buying. Once, one of them even lectured me on the evils of alcohol when I was buying beer for a party. So when this particular checker begin a conversation with me about UW and how I liked it there I was not particularly on guard. Even when the conversation turned to whether I liked my job, I was not alarmed. When he asked me if I wanted to get married and have kids I was simply confused. In fact it was not until he offered to fill the position of my husband that I was alarmed. I answered him first with only a nervous smile. He then told me that he was ready when ever I was and that I wait as long as I wanted. I composed myself and told him that when I was ready, all the right people would hear about it. Not my most witty comeback ever, but at least I was nice, which is something new and different for me. I would have told him that I was waiting for a bigger ring than he could ever afford or that I don’t date people shorter than me (neither of which are true) but I have been in a good mood lately and my normal spiteful comments are often only funny if you are me. Thank God no one else is me.

I Love Fall Walks, Target, and Romance

I had a fabulous weekend; Perhaps the best in recent history. To avoid confusion, we will go in chronological order.
Friday~
After work I called Boyfriend. He was at my house waiting for me! When I got home we took Taj to the park for over an hour. After that, Taj and I went over to T’s house. I was supposed to take her to pick up her brand new car (they were installing a sunroof). They did not have her car yet but I did get to go to the Subaru dealership and check out all the 06 models of all the cars I want. After that it was back to the house to get ready for a night out with Boyfreind’s work friends. I had never met these people before so I called in reinforcements. That way if they were boring or annoying I would still have someone to talk to. My cousin N came with us. He is a little younger than me and kind of a looker so going out with him is lots of fun. He can drink, he is modest and I have no fear that he is just trying to get in my pants. We had fun with the work friends but moved the party to the neighborhood bar to meet up with Aarwenn, TheBoy, and another friend of theirs and mine. I had too much to drink and had a good time. Strangely, I realized that going “out” is no longer really my thing. I think I would have had more fun for less money inviting everyone over for drinks. Its comforting to know that as my lifestyle is outgrowing the party, party, party mode, so are my tastes.
Saturday~
I got up and Boyfriend made me breakfast of French toast with real maple syrup and a fruit smoothie. My sister and I cleaned the whole house. I ran errands and then went on a gorgeous fall day walk with Aarwenn and the Dogs (also one of the highlights of my weekend). We went to Starbucks, a newish record store, and a pet boutique. All some of my favorite things to do! And all of those stores save Starbucks allow dogs inside! I canceled a Sushi Party dinner with friends to go hang out in Oly with Boyfreind. We took a walk at sunset (that’s 2 walks in one day for me!) another highlight of my weekend. We ended up at one of our favorite bookstores and as we were walking up to the front door, a group of guys drove by in a truck and yelled out the window at Boyfreind “I want to do your wife!” This made me happy for 2 reasons. One, I am hot (I have been losing weight) and two, we look solid as a couple to other people. After spending sometime at the bookstore we begin the walk home. The bay was shinning in the moonlight and the capitol building was all lit up and I just thought “I could live like this and be happy.” Then a Friend of Boyfreind called to invite us to poker night. We went, Boyfreind won, I drank a lot (again) and our host graciously took the sofa so we could sleep in his bed and not have to drive home.
Sunday~
We woke up at 11. We went to Boyfreind’s house where he made me lunch and then he got ready to go to the wedding of an old friend of mine with me. We went to Target (I love Target) to buy a wedding gift. Then I went to my Mom’s house to have her take in the dress I wanted to wear. My sister was there and so was my dog. The dog has apparently gained some notoriety in the community. My sister said that while she was enjoying the sun and some coffee at Tully’s she was approached my 6 different groups of people to admire the dog. One of which recognized him from the record store on Saturday. Another of which was attending the same wedding as me latter that night. I did my make up while my Mom finished my dress then Boyfreind came to get me and we went to Target again (I love Target) to buy me new shoes.
The wedding was beautiful and extremely well done. The reception was TONS of fun. I found out that M (who has been my friend since 3rd grade) and her longtime boyfriend are now engaged. I danced with Boyfreind. I threw my diet out the window and had great food and cake. I drank champagne. Finally, in a obviously planned orchestration of efforts on the part of at least 10 of my friends, I ended up with the bouquet. We didn’t get home until late and went to seep happy on all fronts.

Oh Taj! I pine for you as I once Pined for "Holiday Shimmer Barbie"!

I miss my dog. I have been home from Hawaii for a few days now but I really miss my dog. I have not unpacked, I have not gone grocery shopping (which I desperately need to do), I have not done laundry or dishes, and I definitely have not talked to my dog. He is not ignored. He gets plenty of attention from my sister and all of her friends. My Cousin brought his dog, yogi (a stout little puff ball of a mutt whom I love) over to play with my dog Taj but I was only there for ½ hour.
When I get up and let Taj out and feed him I can tell. When I come home after work with only enough time to change and go to the gym for my appointment with Trainer, I can tell. When I get home from the gym and am so tired I just make dinner and shower before collapsing into bed, I can tell. He knows that I miss him. He is waiting for me to have time for him. He seems to regard me with the sad sincerity of a child comforting their distraught parent. “I know” he says when really he has no clue.
Yesterday when I came home he was so happy to see me. He jumped up and down in place and did spin moves as he ran to the back door. When I let him out and did not accompany him but rather went to change for the gym he followed me back inside. He followed me up the stairs and while I looked for some gym shorts, he collapsed on his dog bed in the corner, expelling a huge sigh as if to say “I know, you are busy. Its fine, I will just lay here until you have time to be my friend.”
So I miss my dog. I miss him more than when I was gone. Its like the time I was in the 3rd grade and my aunt bought me this collectors edition Barbie. We did not have such toys. We always got “Tropical Fun Barbie” who came in a swim suit and cost $4.99. “Peaches and Cream Barbie” was simply out of our league. So when I got “Holiday Shimmer Barbie” for Christmas all I wanted to do was take her out of the box and feel the sparkling shining dress and look at her especially over the top make up and hair, up close. But my mom said I had to call my aunt and ask her if I could open the box. I remember thinking that I had never heard of such a ridiculous requirement. Who bought you a Christmas gift and expected it to stay in the box? Well apparently my aunt did. She told me it would be worth something someday if I left it in the box. At the time I was disappointed but I wanted to do the right thing so my mother put it on top of my wardrobe and Barbie smiled at me everyday. She knew that I wanted to free her. She was disappointed in my decision but understood. She waited patiently and about 2 weeks latter I told my mom that I didn’t care how much she would be worth; I wanted to play with my toy.
The beautiful sparkling, shining dress fell apart and her over the top hair became frizzy and tangled. Aside from the emerald green eye shadow (all the others had varied shades of blue) she was indistinguishable from all the “Tropical Fun” Barbie’s in no time.
The point is that my dog looks at me with that knowing smile because he can tell that I REALLY REALLY want to play with him. And he knows I will. The second point is that it is not only white trash to buy Barbie’s as collector’s items; it is also cruel to give them to children. It is much healthier to give them a dog.

George and I agree? This IS a disaster!

Last night, for the first time ever, I agreed with George W. Bush. I was watching coverage of the hurricane clean-up/rescue efforts while doing my cardio at the gym and the president was talking about what the next steps for these efforts would be on the part of the national government. Some reporter asked him how he planed on addressing accusations that the appointment of the current FEMA director was not based on qualifications but on bureaucratic nepotism and payoffs. The president responded by saying that there would be plenty of time to play the blame game but right now they were going to focus on relief efforts.
I understand that this was probably just his way of dodging some legitimate concerns and when it does come time to play the blame game I will have a lot to say but for right now I agree. This is a natural disaster and if an earthquake had devastated the Seattle metro area I would be enraged that the news coverage wanted to discuss the ins and outs of WHY things are falling apart instead of HOW to put things back together.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I am going to Hawaii. I will not be entertaining you all for a week. I’m not sure how you will make do but rest assured any survivors of my hiatus will be rewarded with more of my pathetic rambling as soon as I return. In the meantime I suggest these exercises to hold you over . . .

1. Imagine that you have the ability to blink one and only one person in the world from existence. The catch is, they must be alive now and it cannot be anyone you know personally. (You know them personally if they have ever had any phone number of yours) You could pick the guy who bags your groceries or the crazy lady at Nazi Teriyaki (all you North enders know what I’m talking about) You could choose a political leader or the bum who bugs you for change every day. Just respond to this post telling me who and why.

2. Try to sing at least one verse of “Zippity-Do-Dah” with a whole Banana in your mouth. (Tip: breathe through your nose and don’t laugh)

3. Chose one friend or co-worker whom you have known for a long time and suddenly begin calling them by the wrong name. Do this until they correct you. At that point, explain that you think the new name suits them better and they should probably have it changed.

If you are still bored you can try the banana thing again with a different song or you can just think about how much fun I am having in the sun, on the sand, dehydrating myself with drinks that have 10 syllables in their names and come with their own parasols. Just know that I won’t be thinking about you at all. Not even a little.

I have been tagged

I know it is risky with such a new blog and zero readership but I am protesting this whole “Tagging” thing. I refuse to participate. I did those damn E-mails in High school and college where you write down everything trivial and meaningless about yourself and send it to everyone who never cared and I am done. So I’m sorry. I would live to fill out that list and post it for everyone to read but. . . um. . . I just don’t want to.

How to Get Started Getting Un-Fat

I take it back. You know when I wrote in the post about the Violent Femes show that I had never paid so much money to be so uncomfortable? Well I have set that record again. After my first personal training session it hurts to type. After my first work out I was forced to attend what my friend T referred to as a “get un-fat rally” Where they had little stands and lot of streamers and talked about commitment and improving your life and everyone there was way bigger than me and kept telling me how thin I was. You would think that would make me happy but it in fact does not. I can deal with packing on a few extra pounds and I can deal with having to work them off but I cannot deal with being told I am crazy for thinking that I could lose some weight. I used to be ok with being crazy when it was part of my “I’m hot and barely legal so you will put up with me even though I’m insufferable” routine. Since then I have grown a brain and some very large thighs. I have quit smashing beer bottles, threatening men with castration (at least in public places), and thinking that I look hot chugging Jose Cuervo out of ½ gallon bottles. I am not fat AND crazy.
So back to my “get un-fat rally” All the trainers were there and they each had their own little stand and they each got to torture you in their own special way. It started with the measurements. A woman who actually goes by the name Xena because of her striking resemblance to the TV show (I am not making this up I swear) character pulled my clothes around and shouted my measurements at a timid looking blonde guy who wrote them down and handed me the paper.
I was then shuffled off to the next station where a woman named Mallory who actually had the Air Jordan symbol tattooed on the one calf and the Nike swoosh on the other (still not making this up) put me on a scale and asked “how much do you weigh?” Um. . .let me think. . . Oh if only we had a scale. Hey what is this I am standing on? Look, a scale! Seriously, isn’t she supposed to tell me that? But I humor her and say “140 maybe a bit more” to which she replies “what did you just eat or something?” “no” I say and for the first time in an hour of standing in this echoing gym everyone seems quiet as Mallory the human billboard says “Do you weigh yourself naked or something” like that is strange or any of her business. I took my paper back from her and she had written my weight down as 141. Was that one pound really that big of a deal? No wonder the line was moving like molasses.
On to the fat pinching man. With a pair of calipers, this man found every roll of fat on my body and measured it. When he got to my hips I told him to do the left side because I have uneven hips and that results in uneven love handles. I always have the left side measured for accuracy but he had to sneer at me and ask “is that side bigger?” and jab my right hip with his claws of torture. “no” I said “the left side is the fat side” he stood back to stare at my love handles and then went on with his job, sufficiently satisfied that I was humiliated (and a little fatter on my lefts rather than right side.)
After that they give you a meal plan that says you can under no circumstances eat anything on the table of snacks that is your next stop. So as I walked past the table of food I could not have (but had totally been charged for) I drank some more water out of a Nalgine bottle that said “I’m so happy I could shit” on it. That sticker had never made so much sense to me before.
At the next stand sat Trainer. The same stupid smile was plastered on his face as he calmly explained to me that he was going to take my “before” picture. I do not remember this being part of the deal. Suddenly I did want to smash beer bottles and threaten him with castration right then and their in public and then I would probably need to drink heavily enough to chug Jose Curevo out of whatever container it was offered to me. But I refrained from doing any of those things (mainly because I had no beer bottles knives or Tequila on me at the time) and instead tried to smile for the camera.
After dogging the high pressure salesmen at the vitamin counter I turned in my stat sheet and Polaroid and went home where I loudly told my new meal plan to “go fuck itself” and had cheesy eggplant parmesan lasagna and a sparks for dinner. I’ll eat dry tuna and rice pilaf tonight.