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.

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.

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.

Magically Delish!

Friday, July 18, 2008

I caught this show called: Ashley Paige: Bikini or Bust” and I think I have a new favorite show. The main character is of no importance, it’s her mom who makes the whole thing worth while. In an attempt to find her daughter a boyfriend, the woman goes to the hardware store. Her thinking was the hardware store “cause it’s usually full of men.” She then approaches endless men in the store making small talk and sounding generally crazy. But, god bless the mother’s of the men in this hardware store, because without an exception, every single one of them was appropriately “interested” in the conversation this lady was insisting on having with them.

The best part was when she interviewed to the camera as she’s walking around the corner, away from the camera, in the hardware store: “Goodness gracious, this place is so full of people, this is the perfect place to find a man.” The brilliance of this part is that she wasn’t really talking to the camera, she was crazy-lady talking to herself, it was just happenstance that the camera was there to catch this outing.

I have a soft spot for these types of people. My grandmother is known to have conversations with the random passerby and she does insist on speaking to herself at a loud-ish tone, to the point that strangers sometimes thinks she’s yelling at them.

Wicked

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

I keep planning on writing my blog posts at work and then send them to my email to post later. My plan includes going to work, getting a coffee, and sitting down to inform everyone of all the things that make me giggle. And yet work seems to be interfering with my blog posting opportunities. I mean to tell you all about my new coworker who has some sort of neurological disorder. Of course I mean this in the nicest of ways. It’s just that she’s a little off in both the ways she interacts and her social sensibilities. Like, for instance, she told my department about how she found her most recent colonoscopy to be no big deal. After all, “you get undressed, you get some drugs, you wake up, you never even know anyone did anything to you.” Now, if I were in any other place I would have had no choice but to say: “Sounds like an average Friday night,” but because I was at work, all I did was nod knowingly and made a note to see if she was carrying anything good in her purse.

Needless to say having this particular new employee hasn’t diminished the amount of work that I need to do. In fact, I believe my work load has increased since she arrived. I think that this is just a situation that will go on for a while, but Bruce believes that new coworker is going to be fired soon. He has faith in my boss. I don’t know. In healthcare people don’t get fired even when people die.

Besides new coworker I have to contend with a certification exam I am taking in a few weeks. My work day between now and then is consumed with studying like a mad woman. I can’t remember the last test I took that stressed me out this much. my coworkers who have taken different levels of this certification test have all failed at least once, and one particular person failed 5 times. This is not a good sign. I am just going to be heads-down studying these few weeks with the hope of being better than excellent. Of course on top of studying I am moving.

I finally found the place of my dreams in the city. Bruce doesn’t want to move with me so I am going to go on my own. He’s seemingly okay with this. I think he’s looking forward to going back to some of his bachelor ways: not changing the sheets for months on end, leaving his socks on the floor, eating canned food cold. Yes, I believe Bruce will enjoy life without me for some time. I move two days after my test date so that’s awesome. Plenty of time to set up utilities and furniture. Awesome. Oh, and three days after I move I am heading back to Boston for the July 4 week. Double awesome.

Double wicked awesome.

That’s it for now. Check back later for hilarity about my life.

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.

Untitled

Friday, March 07, 2008

Things are going very well these days. Work has normalized. People who know I started work only 5 months ago would swear that I have been working there for years. That’s nice for several reasons, first because that means I really am the quick learner I said I was in all my interviews and second because it means that I am fitting in nicely. So nicely that I set up a drinks night with a bunch of the women in the office. Everyone responded by saying it was about time that we have a drinks night, but no one ever set anything up, so it was sort of well attended, and of course there are the promises of those who couldn’t attend. So next time there should be twice as much drunken dips as there was this week.

Also next time I am going to make Bruce do all the driving. Staying sober to drive home is stupid. Who was the loser that came up with that law?

Next week I am on a business trip to East Buttfuck, Very Cold Place, USA. I get back for about 8 hours and then I have to go to a conference in Farm Land, Very Warm Place, USA. Lots of travel and I guess it’s what I am suppose to want for my career, but if I could go somewhere awesome like LA or London, that would be way better.

Oh yeah, I finally got my car. Every time someone parks next to me I get mad and I already stared down my parking neighbor in my complex. It turns out that owning a car enhances the crazy. Wheeee!

The one where I get all religious

Thursday, February 28, 2008

So I now understand why people view buying a car as a painful task that one does only when needed. I get why my mom drove her cars into the ground rather than buying a new car every five years. Seriously, car salesmen are a breed unto themselves.

On that note, my new car should be here by Friday. I am so ready for this whole thing to be over, and this thing, as far as I can understand it, has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the car dealership in Reno that was pissed off with the car dealership in Oakland so Reno was refusing to trade cars with Oakland in order for me to get the car that I wanted.

Note to self: issue a fatwah on Reno

Beyond that, well Bruce is much better. He is his normal smiling, bouncy self. I’ve made him schedule an appointment with a doctor at my clinic because it’s been at least 2 years since he saw anyone for something that was not acute. The doctor of my choice has agreed to see Bruce and will in fact expedite the appointment so Bruce will only 3 weeks instead of 6. Yes, my friends, that’s right, I have connections. Too bad my connections don’t also supply Valium. Okay, my connections are kind of lame, whatever.

On the diet front, even though Bruce had a case of uncontrollable spasms, we’ve stuck with the diet and I am a full size smaller. That is the good. The bad is that I now have to go shopping for clothes that fit. I am not at a place where I want to stop loosing weight so I don’t want to invest too much in new clothes but my shirts are way too big and my pants are like clown pants. I think everyone knows what this means: shopping spree at Target! I suspect that $150 will get me two pairs of pants, three button-down shirts and a sweater. This is the greatness of Target. The only danger is if I wander into the health and beauty section. Then I will leave with $300 worth of hair care products and no new clothes.

And now there is news about work. I’ve finally corralled people into admitting that they too drink booze. I’ve organized a night out with a group of women. The email reads as follows: “For those new to this email chain, your names were sent to me by those who care about your liver’s ability to correctly process alcohol. We are running a test of such measure on Thursday March 6 at 4:59 PM at XXXXXX on XXXXXX Street.” This should be the most fun I’ve had in a minute. Also, I intuit that this night will show who can hang and who will go home early. Yay pitchers of Margaritas.

The other news work is that I saved myself by not being totally snarky for once. I sent an email to a doctor about an issue with a report and by proxy the data from the report. Luckily in the email I mentioned twice that the person who wrote the report has already verified the report in several ways and when we run it in a controlled environment the data is correct. The doctor decided that the best way to handle the issue was to send the person who wrote the report an email chain that originated with my email. I swear, if it weren’t for the blessed baby Jesus I would have written something super snarky and the tech who wrote the report in the first place would spend the rest of her time here figuring out how to cut me. Into tiny piece. And then feed me to Piranhas. No really.

I feel like there was something about the whole set up the last time I found this error that made me think that I would get burned if I weren’t careful. The other part of this is that a bunch of people who matter were cc’ed about this problem and at least all I look like is the inquisitive analyst to a bunch of people who matter. Also, if that tech had just listened to me ages ago when I pointed out the error in the data, instead of talking to me like I am some dumb girl who can’t understand SQL, well then maybe all of this could have been avoided. So you can see why I might have been tempted to write something snarky.

And to round out the big three…um Mazel Tov.

That’s all

This won’t hurt a bit

Thursday, February 21, 2008

See, I was serious this time. I really will post.

The exciting news du jour is that this weekend is the company party for my employer. Health care has this thing called “Flu season” during which we try to avoid congregating in large crowds in warm rooms. The company party is therefore planning for the time when people stop contracting the strain of flu that leaves you dehydrated and covered in your own vomit. No really, it was that bad.

The dress code is semi-formal to formal, and I have it on good authority that there will be ball gowns and tuxedos on some of the attendees. I myself was going to wear the black dress that I wore to Carrie Un-Patched’s wedding and to Bruce’s holiday party, but then I was doing laundry and found a gold dress I had forgotten that I bought over the winter.

And that brings me to the crux of this post, who forgets that they have a gold dress? No really, how is it that I was going on with my business and never knowing that I have a perfect kicky gold dress that is entirely appropriate for a semi-formal celebration. Now the only problem I have is deciding which dress to wear.

If I wear the black dress it will be with fishnets and peeptoe/slingbacks. If I wear the gold it will be with black tights and black pointy toes. The fishnets are fun and young and the black tights are slimming.

OMG! I’ve just come up with the best idea, COSTUME CHANGE! Sometimes I totally amaze myself. How amazing would it be if I show up in one dress and leave in another. It will be just like college all over again. Those were the days.

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

Dream Boat

Friday, January 25, 2008

So 29 is looking good (Thanks Amy, Tanya and Carrie- who wished me a Happy MLK day instead and that makes for such an interesting aside I just had to share). I was afraid that I would turn into some old person. I guess that happens next year. When I turn 29. Like I said, 29 is looking good.

I’ve been out buying a car because really, it’s time. Bruce has been very giving with his time and his car, but sometimes we need to be in different places at the same time. So being the very mature 29 year-old adult that I am, I started looking on the Internet. After all, the Internet knows everything. I figured that this is the time to buy exactly what I want as I have no child (other than Bruce) and no pets (other than the fish).

What I want, now there is the real problem. I went on test drives and have determined that the Mustang is what my 18 year-old self wants to drive. Unfortunately my 18 year-old self is not the one paying for the car. The 29 year-old self is and she wants a back seat that will have enough space for the yearly Christmas shopping extravaganza.

Cars have been eliminated for being too boring, too grown-up, too big, too cheap (yes, there is such a thing), and too ugly. The only cars that remain in the line-up are, well, scary. I’m frightened that the cars that I want are saying something about me and my lifestyle. These cars tell everyone how much I earn and where I live. These are the cars of suburban dwelling republicans. Yes, I said it, SUBURBS! (I bet you thought I was going to be sad because my car is a republican, I’m not, to each their own).

I can’t imagine buying something that doesn’t have every thing I want (power everything, sun roof, leather, and a partridge in a pear tree) and there happens to be one car that comes with everything I want (although it seems that I will be out of luck with that partridge in a pear tree). The base model of this car includes what I want is exactly equal to the other car I like…once I add all the other things in to get the car living in my imagination. Sooooo, here I am sitting here perusing the internet for the car of my dreams and hoping that buying a car does not make me yet any older and extremely poor.

Old Old Old. Yep. Old.

Oh and about to be poor.