Laughing All The Way

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Pete and Repeat

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.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Irony is

watching DJ AM talk about getting some girl named Amy clean from heroin and talking about how he’s going to get her off the dime bag.

Yeah, she totally needs to be on a different path. Yup, she needs help. Uh huh.

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

You Can’t Handle The Truth

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.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

desperately seeking sanity

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.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

This has been my week

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?

Thursday, July 24, 2008

A Matter of Fact and Law

I have a co-worker who is fairly new to my department, but a long time employee of my organization. She is also my current nomination for the person most likely to get fired. I say this, not because I dislike her, which I do, for let us be honest here, she’s bat shit crazy, but because she has taken to giving the art work on the walls away to other people who work for our company. I KNOW.

There is bat shit crazy, and then there is this lady. I am not entirely sure what she was thinking, but funnily enough, she tried to give the art away to someone else and our director explained that she couldn’t do this as it was illegal to give away company property (like this is something that needs to be expressed out loud in actual words). As my co-worker proceeded to go ahead and give the art to yet another co-worker our director is now in a really awkward position. I don’t know how things are going to turn out, but I expect that firing Friday* will make a showing in my department.

*HR is located off-site except for Fridays when they sit in the same hallway in which I work. On Friday afternoons there is the stream of managers and employees: two go in, one comes out. It’s always interesting to see the reactions.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Wicked

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.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

To tell the truth

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.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Materially Speaking

Sometimes the universe sends me signs and sometimes I have to figure things out all on my own. The stuff I figure out on my own is probably an indication that I am maturing as a person. Also it means I am a lot less fun.

The last five years were an exercise in getting exactly what I want and paying whatever it took to get it. Judging from the credit card debt I carried I was paying but add in the emotional toll, I was paying a whole lot more than I thought. Having been gainfully employed for the past two months I can happily say that I have closed most of my cards, paid off the rest and carry very little other than my college loans (which I will be paying until my imaginary children are in college). I think that I am pretty content with life as it is and my needs, immediate and otherwise, are being well met. My desire to shop has decreased to the point that I would much rather not try on clothes and buy something new for the sake of having something new to wear.

All that said, there is a bag that I want to hump. In fact, I may have humped it in my dreams last night. And the night before. And the night before that. This bag is worth more than I spent in rent for the year of 2005. It is what most people spend on their first car. Heck it’s worth more than my first and second cars combined. And yet I covet this bag in a way that I can’t remember coveting anything in my entire life. I don’t know the likelihood of my getting this bag for any one of the various holidays that come up during the next three months. Indications from Bruce are such that I am not expecting this bag to appear magically over the course of Hanukkah, Christmas, or my birthday. The only hope that remains is that my real family will seek me out after all these years of being separated as there was a mix up at the hospital all those years ago and my real family is so pleased to finally find me that they shower me with money and gifts including one very special bag.

What? A girl can dream.

Edited to Add:

People are after me for a look at the bag, here is the ad where I first saw it.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Oh God

This past week was the first week of the rest of my life. My new place of employment has a strict no internet policy. I can safely use about 15 minutes a day without too much recourse. Living life without google at my finger tips is a life that’s just not worth living.

I spent the day working out the formula for a series of standard deviations to be put into about 50 excel spread sheets with six categories on each sheet. Seriously, throw some numbers at me and I can hit you with the 3-sigma pretty quickly. I have high hopes for this job. I also have high hopes that I will suddenly become independently wealthy. Too much?

Today I realized that I can now share some of the fun things from my old job. Like the time I had to fire an employee. This crazy mother fucker does the big nasty of healthcare and violates a patient’s confidentiality. I over-hear the whole shebang and report him. This was not exactly our star employee and after many years of write-ups and warnings this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And speaking of camels, this employee once came in dressed for Halloween as an Arab. Yeah. He wrapped his head in a white cloth with a black band around his head and called himself an Arab. And it seriously took three more years to can his ass. Good times.

Some how I don’t think they dress up for Halloween at my new place of employment. Maybe that’s for the best.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

That’s A Baby For Real

Friday morning I left the relative safety of my little corner of the world and ventured into the swamp that is Houston in the summer time. I was met at the airport by Natalie and we immediately determined that the only way to conduct business was if we were entirely intoxicated for the next 48 hours. Even when we weren’t officially intoxicated, I am sure we could have passed as such. Seriously, it was bad. For example, on the way from the airport to Nat’s place we stopped at a store to pick up a birthday gift. I am in the market for a vintage silver handbag to match a black dress. Nat and I combed the store for handbags and I found the perfect bag in a bronze finish. I showed it to Nat and said, “This is what I want, but in silver.” We continue to search, and low, I find the bag in silver. I am ecstatic, my search has ended and because the bag is so affordable, I end up buying both the silver and bronze bags. Too bad when I returned to California and take the bags out I realize I have a bronze bag and a GOLD bag. (What the fuck? I think it was the lighting, but now I own a bronze bag, TWO gold bags, and no silver bags. I think I might just try to find gold shoes that don’t make me look too hooker-esque and call it a day.)

So, yeah, we hadn’t even had a drink yet. So I don’t know what happened there.

There was a party for Brenda, Abe’s friend, so we did the thing where we change clothes and get our drink on. The party was at a restaurant where Brenda worked and thus half our meal (including alcohol) was comped. Natalie and I, not knowing that the alcohol was comped, made it our business to be sure that the alcohol would total a sum that would even out the comp of the meal. That’s right, we drank $55 worth of vodka, only to find out our plan was thwarted. (I like to talk like we PLANNED to drink that much). We were happy that our sober driver home drove us home, at which time we partook of milk and cookies and went to bed like well heeled young women.

Of course, as we are well heeled young women, we were up early and greeting the world with bright, shiny smiles. Again, milk and cookies were on the menu, then lunch, and a trip to target. I took the opportunity to intro Nat to the perfection that is the Swiffer. And thusly, Nat’s life is changed! Really. I did the living room, she took the kitchen and her house is a quick windex away from being the “Cleanest House in Houston.” That comes with a cash prize, so, you know, I’m doing what I can. Also, you should know that I think at this point the television had been on since I had first arrived and wouldn’t be shut off for another 24 hours.

After a mad rush of cleaning we made our way with Atizz to the Pride Parade in Houston. It was um…interesting. There were people and they were doing the thing and then there was a thing and then stuff happened. I think I will Nat and Amy cover Pride. BUT! But, but, but! We went to dinner after at some place and we were ordering drinks. I ordered what should have been a simple replacement (pineapple juice instead of cranberry juice). In fact I ordered two of these drinks. These drinks were marked at $8. What they were not marked as were “as is.” What this means is that when the bill came, the $8 drinks came to about $16 each. At that point I was drunk enough to not care too much, but I think that the waitress who failed to say, “we don’t do replacements for these drinks” should have offered to pay the extra $16 if the restaurant was not willing to comp the cost. And, I know that if this had happened to Amy or Nat they would have raised hell, and I probably should have, but then I am so use to going out and paying for a $15 martini in the city. I figure if the price had been listed as $16, I still would have ordered the drinks so I’m over it all.

There was a thing about the dinner that needed its own explanation. We had the pleasure of having dinner with Penelope. The person had a one up story for everything anyone else said. I don’t think it triggered until almost the end of the dinner, when they were telling yet another story about how their family was the best ever because of something whateverish, and I was about to say something in response, because, my family is pretty cool too, right? Instead I grabbed Nat’s knee. I’m sure a knowing look passed between us, but as this was the end of dinner, we were pretty tanked so I can’t really be held accountable for my version of events. Anyhoo, there was lots of laughter, and I am sure that between Nat and I we made some statements with a questionable basis in reality, but we are funny and we make people laugh, so that works. And After, we managed to find our way down the street to a club wherein more alcohol was consumed.

This is where things are a little fuzzy. I “borrowed” a Vicodin from someone and the combination of a mild pain reliever with alcohol with all the milk and cookies previously imbibed makes things kind of spin. I do remember Atizz forcing me to do a shot of Citron that really fucked me up. And that was when the bell rang. Nat and I “fell asleep” on the couch in various propped positions to alleviate the spinning. Nat managed to find her way to the bedroom but I was still pretty legless so I enjoyed the many comforts of couch sleeping.

Some other stuff happened and then Sarah came over for “brunch” (I don’t know why I am always making plans for brunch when I know the collective asses of my friends and myself are never going to eat before brunch ends). We found our way through some more milk and cookies, and then left for a meal of somewhat epic proportions, followed by, um, more food. God. We nestled in for some TV watching and collective snarking, because in this life, if the four of us are going to be in one place, you better bring your game. Eventually the time came to return to the airport and make my way back to the place where I lay my head.

My flight home went well. I enjoyed some more vodka and greatly impressed Bruce with my quality of life ( “How can you still be drunk?” ). So, okay, that was most of the dirt. 

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Race and Ethnicity

A reoccurring conversation around Chez Girl the past few months has been about “White People.” There was an Asian woman on TV talking about “Caucasians” when she really meant Anglo-Saxons. I think most people make that incorrect assertion, and I suppose many people don’t know the difference, after all, I think even the census reports use Caucasian to mean White. When I fill out forms on job applications I enter that I am Hispanic even though I am White as a Race and Puerto Rican as an Ethnicity, because the United States (and employers trying to fulfill quotas) has very clearly decided that as someone of a Hispanic background I am not also White.

I think there should be three options: White, Brown, Black. But the forms won’t use those words, instead they should use the categories of Britney Spears, Jennifer Lopez, and Whitney Houston. Then people have to choose who they most resemble. Bruce, oddly, would fall behind Ms. Lopez as would I. However, my sister, my mom and pretty much my entire maternal family will have to stand behind the ol’ Britster. All of my Indian friends would have to be strong with Crack-head Houston (the irony of it is killing me, one of my Indian friends could never come out after work because her father believed that bars were where prostitutes hung out. I don’t know where he got this idea, or what he thought those women in thongs and fishnet stockings were doing on the corners, but that’s what he thought).

Americans seem to be the ones so caught up in the Race versus Ethnicity. I’m sure this is the blowback from America being the crock pot that it is. Whenever I meet people from other places and I ask where they are from, they tell me where they live or where they grew up. British friends might differentiate between Scotland and England, but not one of them say, “Well, my mother is French and Italian, and my father is Dutch, Indian, and Venezuelan.” When people ask where I am from I always say America, usually to be met with a response along the lines of, “No, where are you FROM from?”

I think the next time I get the “No, where are you FROM from?” bit I am going to say I am from Sweden.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Why Do Women Go From Kittens To Cougars?

Bruce and I did something we’ve never before done. It was hot and sweaty. And my forearms hurt.

But the carpets have been steam cleaned and we are living in a much cleaner apartment. The organization around here has hit a whole new level, happily tying into my OCD needs for right angles.

I had an interview this afternoon. I think it went well and the interviewer asked when I would be able to start and about upcoming vacations. I figure if I’m not in the running they don’t bother asking. I just don’t know about the job. I know I need a job, I just don’t know if this is the one. It’s very technical, lots of database and report management and that’s the part of the job that I like the least, so um, huh.

I had my hair dyed on Saturday. I was going for highlights but the colorist gave me something more along the lines of a blanket of color on the crown of my head. I had to buy a box of hair dye and do an emergency corrective color before my interview. The colorist left a message saying that I can come in on Friday for a fixer-upper, I might go just to show her my excellent home dye job. And it cost a lot less.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

I Know, I Know. I Suck.

I have a huge, and funny, and photo-full (real word what?) post just waiting to be written. It’s all in my head (that’s what the doctor said). Pussywillow was here and a’drinking we went. I played with the gays. Also I defended my gay from the masses. When I no longer suck (and my VERY sore throat goes away) I will write up about the time when Pussywillow came to town.

But for now, I read this in a comment on a forum regarding the Grey’s Anatomy finale: “Even William “Everybody Dies” Shakespeare had a clown or fool or jester in the tragedies. You need some comic relief.”

Word, dude, word.

Also, how badly do I want to have Sandra Oh’s ability to emote.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

Question of The Day

Henry VIII, how did it all go wrong?