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.