Some Blog

Pete and Repeat

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

This morning I made my own hairspray by combining sugar and water in my company wash room.

Let me back up and tell the story.

My week started with hints of awesomeness: New Year’s Eve we did some drinking and I was all dressed up real pretty, I had a relaxing long weekend, and my birthday is coming up. Monday was a pretty lazy day with only a few things that I needed to do, some of which got did and the rest was shoved into my desk for “later on”. Tuesday had a slow start, I generally start with a 10 AM meeting that I call into and promptly put on mute for two hours. Sometimes I take a nap, sometimes I fold origami, sometimes I search the internet for all sorts of hilarity. All three things happened this Tuesday and then I hung up early so my co-workers could take me out for a birthday lunch.

Getting back to my office I observed a bomb of humanity that exploded all over my desk top. Seriously, don’t know why, but I spent the next 5 hours cleaning up the gore that comes with the above referred exploded humanity. By 6 I was ready to run screaming and I was more than happy to go home and do some baking. I find that baking soothes me. Plus I like licking the bowl.

I made cupcakes and just as I was pulling out the first batch Bruce walked in with dinner. Everything was coming together nicely and there was food and I was warm and no one was complaining about their boring ass bullshit needs. I ate my food and then a (ok two) cupcakes and started to bunker down for the night. I set the alarm for 5:45 and 6:00 because I had a 7 AM meeting today that is a 20 minute ride from my place. I took my place on the couch (Bruce snores and when I have an early morning I tend to start the night on the couch rather than spend a few hours wanting to kill Bruce and then moving to the couch) and said goodnight to Bruce.

Imagine my surprise when at 6:40 Bruce wakes me up and says that I am late. But how could I be late? I wanted to be nice to Bruce so I gathered my outfit for the morning in the living room (that means I don’t have to turn on the light and wake him up). I grabbed my clothes, brushed my teeth and twisted my hair in a knot and ran out the door. I made it to the meeting at 7 exactly and I prayed I looked okay.

After my meeting I called interrogated Bruce. Bruce claims that when the first alarm went off at 5:45 he woke me up (“I opened my bedroom door and said hey get up and you muttered something.”) and when I asked if he turned on the light he started to mumble something about telling me to get up. Then I asked, “but what happened to the other alarm?” and Bruce then repeated his story about getting up at 5:45. I asked again if he thought about turning on the light to make sure I was up and this is where he started over in his story. Bruce is always telling me that it’s not his fault when things like this happen, it’s not his responsibility.

And today, I totally realized something, as I was leaving my meeting, slapping on make-up at the red lights so I could go to my next meeting. Bruce is not responsible. He’s many nice things: smart, funny, stable.  He’s just not responsible. So when I got to work and pulled through my bag I found my travel toothbrush, an eyebrow brush/liner and a packet of sugar. I managed to use the toothbrush to tease my bangs at the root to give some volume (toothbrush has now been thrown away), I used the eyebrow brush to pull up the hair at the roots and kind of neaten up the fly-aways. I pulled my hair into a loose and casual french braid and then I mixed a little water and sugar together to make hair spray to smooth down the sides.

One of the people from the 7 AM meeting who was also at my 9 AM meeting complimented my braid and my pulled together look. The upside is that I clearly am in training to kick MacGvyer’s ass in an emergency grooming situation. The downside is that I can’t ever think of Bruce as responsible and that’s kind of a big thing yo.

You Can’t Handle The Truth

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

Today I read a story in the New York Times (I’ll give you a minute to skim). And it made me mad.

The new assholes all over the internet are learning all about the internet. Bitches, we’ve all been here for a decade and now you want to talk about how what you write on the internet isn’t private. Thanks. No really, I hadn’t known that.

My mom has found facebook. She’s my friend. As are a bunch of other people that I couldn’t give a shit about in high school and certainly don’t now. I hide pretty much everyone, especially the girls from college and high school who post all about the meal they cooked for dinner and how their children are now fully potty trained. There is a reason why mommy blogs exist, go get a free blog and leave the rest of us alone. What kills me is that my inclination to post funny things about my day (like imaginary miscarriages - more about that next) has been buried because I know it would offend all these people I don’t even like in the first place.

My mom, new to the idea of the internet, was trying to explain facebook to me. No, seriously, she said: “And you can put little tid bits about your day into the box and people can see it all.” My mom then explained to me how you will be told who else you know on facebook because the magic of facebook (I didn’t try to explain to my mom computer logic and how she allowed access to her email address book, I let it be magic). I was honestly so incredulous about the whole “let me tell you about the internet thing” that I called her back when Bruce and I were driving somewhere, put her on speaker phone and had her go through the details of the internet again. Bruce was equally entertained by the dialogue and when my mom gets to the part of her spiel about how when you post something on facebook you have to be careful because anything you write can be read by everyone else and so it’s not really a private conversation and in fact, everyone in America can read what you just wrote (not getting into the details of how, really only friends can read what you write on facebook, didn’t want to confuse the new girl). Bruce chose this moment to interject “everyone in the whole world can read what you just wrote.” My mom actually squeaked “THE WHOLE WORLD!” She promptly hung up, I am sure to go tell her husband that the whole world can read what she posts on the internet.

On one level I just want to laugh, because a) this is laughing all the way and b) it’s like people really haven’t been paying attention all along. Welcome to Web 2.0 fools. Careful to not feed the trolls. I’ve had such freedom here, posting what I want, when I want about who I want without a care. Facebook is painfully dull because I have to be so cautious about who and what and why and how foul. I’ve never had to worry about snark or scorched earth (remember that guy, I fucked him up! It was fun). I talked about sex, drugs and bikini waxing (more about that later too). I’ve talked about Bruce (who by the way, tried to tell me that he didn’t really know how to text with his phone. The fool has a blackberry for his phone and he can’t figure out how to send a text. Douche). I’ve made fun of my family (see above) and said fuck…a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged with any regularity and I don’t know if I have the brain power to do so again for the time being, but I love the ability to come here and say what I mean to say (John Mayer is annoying - stop twittering you fucking tool). SEE! While my life is far less exciting than when I first started blogging, for instance, I don’t drink, smoke or snort anything (oh but I do take pills yay for pills), I think as I find the next phase of my blogging self I will get back on the writing horse.

The laters:

I was at the gym on Monday and my trainer (who I call the Workout Nazi, something that would offend most of my Jewish family on facebook - losers ruining my good times) kicked my ass and made me puke three times. I had eaten half of a granola bar two hours before and my stomach took way too long to digest.  I was trying to do that thing I do when I am drunk and I am going to puke so I breathe deeply through my nose. Unfortunately all I could do was run to the bathroom and vomit. Hard. So I became that bulimic girl at the gym. It was like college all over again without the drunk whores passed out. I knew that all 6 women in the other stall heard the whole thing. I was prepared with a story. If asked if I was okay, I was going to say that I was pregnant (“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness, I have it all day!”). Then I realized that in 9 months they would be like, where’s the baby. At which point I would have to say that sadly I miscarried shortly thereafter.

I was going to facebook the story, but then figured my mom and the facebook mommy bloggers would not find that at all funny. And so I didn’t post.

Also, I’ve gone for a second course of laser therapy for hair removal. By May 2010 I will be like those hairless pussies. HA. No really, HA! I just couldn’t go on with the shaving and the waxing and the hair. Finally I took the plunge. I go, I put on numbing ointment, and a very nice women puts a laser when the sun has never shined. I have the distinct honor of being able to tell you all about the time a laser was slid between my ass cheeks and shocked the hair follicles into submission. The two days after are nice, then there is the growth period where the dead hairs work their way out from the root and then the shedding begins. I love shedding. I feel like if I can live through the electrocution of the hair on my labia (fun with google search key words), which is the most painful thing to happen to me that I will pay for repeatedly, then I can probably do anything.

Pills are awesome. I have been playing with antidepressants to treat my tinnitus. My primary care physician has been refreshingly willing to keep changing things up without requiring me to come in with every prescription change. I’ve not found the perfect pill in the perfect dose. What I have found is that I have an opposite reaction to Elavil (up all night with rhonda shear). Also, Paxil plus sudafed makes me feel like I did an eight ball of coke. You can imagine how much I love Paxil and sudafed when trying to work and not be totally high and fucked up. I asked my co-worker if I seemed high, also, if she thought I was acting straight. She said “yes and no.”

I am now going to go troll the internet and write mean things that all the other people in the world can read.

desperately seeking sanity

Saturday, November 29, 2008

My sister is pregnant. This is good. The family is getting their grand/great-grand child. My sister is getting her child. I am getting some peace.

Except I am throwing her a baby shower. Cross-country. And my family, they’re kind of being special about things. Specifically my stepmother and father. I don’t know about you, but when I get a request for mailing addresses for four specific people I don’t return a list of 14. I’ve already order the engraved invitations so ordering more is not happening. I’ve already sent out invites to all the other families and groups of friends and the RSVP date is in four weeks, so even if I lost my dang mind and ordered another printing of 20 invites, which would cost half as much as ordering 80 so kind of a lot of money there,  I wouldn’t have time to get them back to me and then addressed and mailed out. I did the next best thing.

I spent the day at stationery store buying card sets that match the paper of the invites. Bruce then scanned one of the original invites and I tweaked a little until the coloring was right. I then messed around in word and created reasonable facsimiles of the RSVP card and direction inserts. I then printed onto the card stock. You see, even though I had set aside four for the original list I didn’t think I could send engraved invitations to my four aunts and then something clearly different to their daughters. So I had to make invites for the whole list. My head is killing me and all I want to do is go to sleep, but the pile of laundry calls as does Bruce’s very untidy apartment.

This whole matter is only complicated by the fact that my step-mother has not sent me a list for her side. I’ve already sent her invite and invites to some of her niece’s. I specifically mentioned that I needed five addresses from her side of the family. So it’s kind of strange that the list I got only included my father’s side. I’ve managed to whitepage.com two of the people I needed and I sent one of the niece’s to her mom with an apology note (I hated getting invites at my mom’s house long after I moved out). That leave two more people from my step-mother’s family. Everyone else is going to get invites and being talking about the baby shower at Christmas, which is historically held at my father’s place so that is going to be really awkward for the two females from that side that didn’t get an invite. I’ve already resorted to calling 411 to get their phone number to call them directly to get their address, no luck.

I am dealing with all this in a strategic manner. I left a message on my father’s voicemail saying: “I found a few addresses, but I still needed two more. I’ve already mailed out the other ones and I know my sister really wanted to see her aunt and cousin and I wouldn’t want them to feel like they were not invited.” I hope this motivates my family to do the right things. Unfortunately do to all the personality disorders that are running rampant right now, I don’t know if that is even a possibility. 

I’m not sure what the interaction is going to be, but if there is a reason for what’s going on, I am going to make my father and step-mother tell my sister directly. I am not taking the heat for this.

Just a city boy, born and raised in south detroit

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The recent appearance of some past friends has had an unusual effect on my life. My balance had been unbalanced. Balance.

There is always the welcomed flashback, especially in the case of the good ex. I know, such an oxymoron, but he was good. He’s still very good. And that is good. I really need to stop saying good. Then there’s the bad. The very bad. So, I am more than happy to hear about the good and his happy life. Knowing that his life is doing what life does and includes someone that keeps him warm at night…is. It just is. It’s the bad that drives me nuts.

Basically every time I hear from him all I can think is “Hey fucker. Shut the fuck up. You stupid annoying fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Of course others might think that I care and that’s why I am annoyed by his very presence. Thankfully I’ve had an epiphany, it’s not that I care, it’s that I really don’t believe the drivel that comes running out of his mouth. At least three times in the last five years he’s told me all about the woman he’s going to marry…this time. There is a point where the comment is actually superfluous and that is not something one should think about a declaration of love.

I understand that he has always wanted to meet the girl of his dream, get that house with the white picket fence, a few kids, a dog and a sunset. But for all that is holy man, stop being so transparent. There’s a reason why so many perfect matches turn out to not be what he thinks. I just wish he would stop trying to convince me of whatever it is that he’s trying to convince himself.

I have a friend going through some bad times with a very toxic friend. We’ve all had them. It’s so hard to cut them off and make a break from them. There is something in the way the toxic friend builds a relationship that makes the innocent party feel guilty, like it’s our fault for not being more understanding or something. I gave her some great advice and told her that I would support her in making a clean break. The thing is, I should have been taking my own advice. My bad ex is totally toxic. He is all those things that would make me drop a friend.

He is selfish and stupid. He has only ever thought about himself and was never really interested in what I needed. He is still trying to run his game and I keep letting him be in my life. But why? What’s in it for me? Where is the take in this give and take situation? The toxicity is overwhelming at this point and there is only one way to flush this out of my life.

It’s time for me to tell him who he really is. He is, quite frankly, not a good guy. He is not my friend. He has no place in my life. Good bye bad ex. Ye hardly knew me.

Kicking it

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Man alive!

For the third October in a row, Bruce and I took a quick jaunt to the east coast for a wedding. Add to the mix a wedding in Orange County, a weekend in San Diego, a weekend looking at houses to buy and you’ve got yourself one tuckered out Some Girl. Work always takes a swing toward the manic during this time of year. All of our reporting measures are due at the end of the year so there are some pressures to perform at high volumes for the next two months.

Work is getting kind of interesting. There are an awful lot of projects with my name as the lead. That’s cool, especially as I am moving in the right direction at work. Upward and onward. The thing is, as I move toward an ambiguous line of demarcation I have figured out that I will need to go back to school (again) for (yet) another degree. The emotional toll of this is not insignificant. More education. More loans. I don’t know if I have the emotional fortitude to do this all again.

Feh. I am now deeply tired from all this typing. I hope Bruce is bringing me something warm to eat. And that he will hand feed me.

This has been my week

Thursday, October 23, 2008

I have had one of those weeks. You know, the type of week where you look around for the hidden camera.

This is part one of my wonky week,

this is part two,

and this is part three.

Part one was found when I went looking for a knee brace. Running on the treadmill is killing my right knee. I was innocently minding my metaphorical p’s and q’s when I happened upon what can only be described as the wackiest thing in the knee brace section.

Part two was found when I was whipping my way through target to get some new socks for the gym (see part one).

Part three was found when I was trying to make my way home after a very long week of political fire-cracker work week. As always I am keeping the work stuff to myself, but needless to say I find little humor in my very first San Francisco protest (by proxy because it wasn’t like I was in the actual protest, more on my way through said protest) blocking my way into my apartment. Bastard bleeding liberals need to not impede my ability to lay on my floor weeping from exhaustion.

Bruce and I are off to San Diego for the weekend. Hopefully I can find something to pack for the cocktail reception on Saturday. Otherwise I am going to have to hide in my room and that would be weirdly antisocial. Can I wear jeans to a cocktail reception?

With A Bang

Monday, October 06, 2008

I’m back.

So much has happened.

First there are some blog-cleaning activities that must occur. My email is being overrun by bots sending me ever so helpful information on a variety of narcotics/penile enhancements/opportunities to inherit a fortune from a terminally ill and paralyzed distant relative (no really, it actually said: “it wasn’t so bad after the stroke, but the chemotherapy is quite difficult to take”).

Second the people upstairs are having sex. Slowly.

Third you must know I’ve been cheating on you. I’ve been exchanging emails with someone in the city. I’ve been exhausting all my endlessly funny stories on him. I think I will just go through my emails and paste them in (at least that way you can read all the opportunities I’ve had to make my fortune on the back of someone so close to death).

Fourth I have a wedding this weekend in LA. A retreat next weekend in San Diego. A baby christening the weekend after that. A wedding in Georgia the weekend after that. Then I plan on sleeping for a month.

Fifth Natalie will be mad if end here so I shall soldier on. Natalie also has had the opportunity to soak up my funny goodness. But the things I say to make Nat laugh are not really all that appropriate for this forum. Mostly because I will say something about someone, and then that someone will read it here, and the someone will be like: “Hey bitch! I have feelings.” And then I will be all: “Shut up whore.” This will go on for awhile until one of us passes out from lack of oxygen and we will wake up feeling all awkward or something. And then things will never be the same.

Sixth my apartment is looking pretty supa-fly.

Seventh I don’t know why I am writing out the numbers. It’s annoying me. But I am too lazy to go back and change this. Or add the correct suffix/punctuation.

Eighth my clothes are fitting awfully snug this month. Maybe it’s time to get over the fact that I had some of my toenails removed and get back into the gym. I just looked at some photos from when I first moved out here. I was fit! No really. What the hell happened? Let me answer that rhetorical question: Bruce. Bruce happened. Fucking comfort eating.

Ninth my yearly review went really well last month. I was given the highest possible raise. Yes: 5.3%. Word. Now I have actual projects that I own and people ask me actual questions that I need to be able to actually answer promptly. Whoever set me up in this con needs to be beaten. When I interviewed for this job no one ever said that there would be questions.

Tenth bitches I made it! An even multiple of five. Thank you and good night.

Ode to Billy Joe

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I AM having the time of my life.

Some of you will know this and some of you won’t

Monday, August 11, 2008

I know, donkey years since I’ve posted. There were some issues with the server on which my blog lives. To be exact:

“Dear customer,
Problem solved, there were a truckload of zombie processes, killed them off and you’re all set.
Thanks,
Scripting Specialist”

I had to wiki the phrase “zombie processes” and have learned the following:

“On Unix and Unix-like computer operating systems, a zombie process or defunct process is a process that has completed execution but still has an entry in the process table, this entry being still needed to allow the process that started the zombie process to read its exit status. The term zombie process derives from the common definition of zombie—an undead person. In the term’s colorful metaphor, the child process has died but has not yet been reaped.”

I don’t know exactly what this all means but I am inferring from what I’ve read that it wasn’t my fault and there are brain-eating demons messing with my blog. I just like the jaunty tone with which the tech informed me of the issue. If this guy was in the bay area I would totally want to hang out with him. I just feel like he would speak short fragments and we would be really efficient in our conversation. Also, we would use the word “dude” a lot.

Atizz sent me a WTF email. I think she was concerned that she killed another blog, but have no fear, I have not died. Merely lived in a blog-free purgatory for 18 days (but who’s counting?). Of course there were things that I thought I should blog, but I hate blogging about things that happened days ago. Over it already.

At work my co-worker who is still the reigning title holder of “most likely to be fired on Friday” is still going strong. She’s started to interview in other departments. We would LOOOOOVE for her to go, bad news is the interviews are “courtesy” interviews. I don’t think that they are really about courtesy because no one is really going to hire this woman. Though she has no idea about this. In conversation she’s stated that she wants to get back into management. I don’t know if she is really this clueless, but the people in charge of management in my company are the ones who foisted her onto my department. They had no other place for her and now she’s washing out as the “coordinator”. I quoted coordinator because I am pretty sure most office coordinators know how to send appointments in outlook, send registered mail, type, save documents, and send attachments. This is not an extensive list of all the things she cannot do, just the things that have come up in the last week or so.

Also at work I am coming to my one-year review. I had to complete my self-evaluation and turn that in to my boss. I think it’s kind of a joke that they make you write the thing and then use your own words against you. As a rule I never include anything to work on or needs improvement; I just write all of the things I’ve done and all the projects I’ve completed. I make my boss have to do the hard part about the whole needs improvement thing. I also get a kick about writing about myself in third person. “Some Girl has been a joy to work with. She is always willing to take on additional work that falls beyond the purview of her job description.” That’s right bitches, I said that.

See ya on the flip side.

Also

Thursday, July 24, 2008

I know that something weird is going on with my comments, like sometimes you click on the link and it never loads and when you do get to the page, the background cream color is missing. Can’t believe how long I’ve work on that template and still something is wrong, I am sure a tag is hanging open somewhere making my template very, very sullen.

Who knows? No really, does anyone have a clue as to what is going on? Let me know, otherwise, sorry for the weirdness. I clearly have no control over this.

That is all.

What I did on my summer vacation: by Some Girl

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Bruce, the thoughtful bugger, called me yesterday while I was picking up dinner. We had a quick rendezvous at the gas station (so romantic, cost more than a gourmet dinner too, fuckers) and I went to pick up food and he went home. In the ten minutes that I was at the restaurant Bruce called to tell me that I had a message on the answering machine and that the fish were still alive. The fish are living in a condition that no mere mortal fish would survive. Bruce and I returned from Boston from our yearly summer vacation. The fourth of July in Boston is a good time. I managed to see almost everyone that I like to see once a year. Technically I would like to see everyone more often but those bitched won’t come here. Hurry up bitches, come here!

Because here is suddenly more awesome.

Two days before we left for Boston, I moved out of my apartment with Bruce and into my own place in San Francisco. I may have picked the worst time in the world to make a move what with vacation coming, plus I had a certification exam at work that required 8 hours a day of studying for the two weeks leading up to the exam. I may have experienced a minor mental breakdown on my first day of vacation. I then read four books in five days, got a wicked tan, ate some lobster, and did some drinking.

As always, getting back to real life was the sadness; both Bruce and I were shooting looks of longing at the receding Boston shoreline and then bounced right back into life. I now have the pleasure of spending the next two weeks moving the remaining objects up to the city. I am going to address the important things first. For instance, right now the only edible objects in my apartment are containers of powdered iced-tea. Not surprisingly the only thing in my refrigerator is a pitcher of iced-tea. My furniture is getting delivered, very slowly, by freight companies across the bay area. I figure at this rate, I will have a hard surface for writing by 2009.

Work has decided to calm down, very nicely of it, if I do say so myself, and with any luck Bruce will minimize the phone calls about phone calls. Which is probably best because I still haven’t figured out how to work the phone in my apartment.

Pinball Widget

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

I am back suckas! I am done with my spring cleaning and enjoying the site of the new design. I am now going to commence sleeping.

To tell the truth

Thursday, April 24, 2008

There seems to be a thing where the spam bots are getting smarter and leaving both comments and track backs. I’ve started disabling the track back ability on all my posts. And when the insanity gets to me, I disable the comments. It’s not that I don’t want the comments. There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to why certain posts attract so much attention from fake bloggers, but they do.

So, if I’ve turned off comments on a post it’s not because I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say. Feel free to comment away on other posts.

I am now going to go lay down and try to sleep, I’ve got a hell of a day left to this week, and I promise at the end of it all I will share with you the story of what happens when seven strangers live in a house…no wait, that’s the wrong intro…what happens with 8 members of my family descend on Seattle to visit my mom and her current husband.

People really do stop being polite.

Eastered

Sunday, March 23, 2008

So The Great White Way was fine and for my first business trip ever, was mostly easy. There was a missed flight due to no fault of my own but other than that, I survived being a grown-up. Then my second conference was okay as well. My co-workers are doing their best to make my job as difficult as possible and make really unreasonable suggestions in how they want our research data to be presented. But it’s cool because I made it entirely clear that I wasn’t doing the presentation so if someone in the audience had a question the presenter would be on their own to explain things. I think that they will come to the belief that the data should be shown in as simple way as possible.

The way that this last week went, next week is going to be a beast. The week after I head to super northern California for yet another conference. As much as I like a job that sends me to interesting place, I am almost burned out on this. I always thought I would love being a consultant and travel weekly to a customer site, and maybe I would if it were consistent, but this traveling for a day to be somewhere for a day to spend another day traveling home stuff kind of sucks.

The flip side is that the job itself is going really well. I tend not to write too much about the job but not because funny things don’t happen there, it’s just a different atmosphere than my last job so the “funny things” are much more contextual. Like the last funny thing was that I made the menopausal admin feel bad. See, without a huge contextual story that is totally not funny. And when I say funny, I mean not funny for her. And I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong the day I walked into the reception area of my office and asked if anyone else smelled that odor. (I described it as that smell of old lettuce. Like when you get a sandwich and eat only half and then eat the other half in a few days. The lettuce wilts and gets a very distinct taste. That taste was what I smelled). After spending about three minutes sniffing the air, the admin (aforementioned menopausal admin) said she couldn’t smell it, but she had just eaten her sandwich in the conference room but that it was a freshly made sandwich. Come to two days later when the analyst who sits next to the admin told me that apparently as a side affect of menopause our admin is secreting an odor out of her skin and two days before my odor sniffing adventure the other analyst and our boss had a similar conversation wherein the our boss who can’t smell because of a cold asked the analyst to sniff her (perfectly acceptable in our office) to confirm or deny that our boss was the source of the smell. When the analyst said that our boss was in the clear, the admin asked if it was her. The analyst innocently leaned in to sniff the admin and drew back quickly and was like: “um, kind of.” Unfortunately the way she drew back was more in line with the way people pull back when they open a container of rotten food, you know, all dramatic like. So you can now imagine how unfortunate my whole, “Do you smell that?” thing was.

So I call that funny, because when I was telling Bruce the whole thing from start to finish, the only thing I could do was laugh. I mean the whole thing was really unfortunate. And I totally feel bad knowing what I know now, because our admin is a nice person and is just doing her job.

Speaking of Bruce, who does not entirely find all my work stories as funny as I do, but totally thought the “Do you smell that” story was funny, he’s doing well enough. He’s got some weird pain things going on right now because of a tetanus shot he got on Friday. You see after the whole episode that meant I had to bring him to the hospital I made him get a complete physical (hence the tetanus shot). It turns out that the diet we’re on because Bruce felt fat has worked wonders on him, Bruce is now 5 pounds above his ideal weight. I wondered where I was at in the scheme of things and was rudely informed that I am not just overweight, I am technically considered obese. Damn, that is not good. Bruce seems even more motivated than ever, because those 5 pounds are totally weighing him down (seriously, why is he like this?) and wants to join a swish gym. I’m all in, because unless you’ve forgotten, I am technically obese.

Other than all that, things are so normal. I’ve taken to dropping the word marriage into every third conversation, least he forgets what I’m looking for here. Just yesterday we went to lunch with his sister and I told her that if Bruce didn’t propose in a timely manner I would move into a certain neighborhood in San Francisco. Bruce just rolled his eyes because he’s become use to my tactics of mentioning the fact that he hasn’t proposed marriage yet. His sister laughed but I am sure she will now apply gentle pressure to Bruce, mostly by telling her parents to pressure Bruce to propose. We’ll see what happens today at Easter lunch with his family.

And one final point: who finds Flavor Flav attractive? No really stop it VH-1.

Oooooh yeah, my blog…erm

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

So I made a new friend at work, but she’s not the reason why I haven’t blogged recently.

Also I put in an offer on a car that was accepted and as of Friday I will be the newest owner of this here car.

Also I have spent quality time reintroducing myself to all the storage places in my apartment, suffice it to say underneath my bathroom sink is a world of lovely organization and my shoes are now stored in clear shoe boxes from the container store and are arranged on two of these shelves in order of work vs. not work (aka whore) and then by color.

Also I decided that I really wanted to get to know all the new contestants on American Idol.

Also there are billion and one things to do that do not include typing, and I know that one of these days people are going to call me the girl who cried blog, but I SWEAR this time it will be different. This time I mean it: I WILL GET BETTER ABOUT POSTING.

And now, I am going to bed.

What, you didn’t think I meant NOW did you?

Suckas