Laughing All The Way

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Virgin Territory

I just had my first earthquake!

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Fluffed and Folded

A year.

Normally this is the time where I start throwing my cake out in the rain.

There is an incessant high pitched ringing in my ear. Bruce thinks this is amusing.

He also finds my constant orders amusing. He says no an awful lot.

A year.

The brik-a-brak is still identifiably one of ours but has started to mix nicely.

Our books share a case mixed by type and subject, although I suspect no one questions who brought the Torah and who brought The Soviet-Afghan War. It’s nice that there are places where we almost overlap. There are more places where we overlap: Ikea in the morning, breakfast foods at dinner time, dark wood, clean glass, wikipedia for research.

That’s not to say that we don’t have our moments of sincere fuckitude. We certainly have plenty of that. We fight about lighting. Bruce is thisclose to blind and would like to import the sun into every room. I am in favor of low lighting with my perfect vision and would use the ambient glow from the television to read (which is how I do all my late night typing). I know it seems petty, but I think I might have a brain tumor and all that bright light really messes with my eyes. Okay, so maybe there’s no tumor, but whatever.

I recognize that I don’t know how I got here and how this is still a here. It’s not easy or logical, trust me, we’ve heard from plenty of people about the lack of logic of us, but on we march.

Bruce gave me a card. A first birthday card with Elmo. I think that sums us up perfectly.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean

In the past few days I have not exerted myself any more than normal. I know, such a loaded statement. The point is, my apartment is practically pristine. There are a few boxes in the corner and the office (aka Bruce-ville) is a wreck with boxes to be unpacked (STILL), but the living-room, both bathrooms, the bedroom, the kitchen and the dining area are all exactly as they should be: everything is at right angles and smelling fresh.

I think that I spent a total of 2 hours over three days cleaning. You know, normal put back what you took out type of things and a few loads of laundry. But the respective cleanliness is confusing to me. I have done nothing more than I normally do during a week and the apartment is a million times more orderly.

As I finished the third load of laundry and noticed the preponderance of “Bruce clothes” I came to the realization that Bruce is holding me back. You know how there is that Sesame Street game: one of these things is not like the other, well, that’s what I’ve been playing all week without Bruce. Except I’ve been playing Which one of these elements has not been around and thusly has not been causing a big mess (perhaps my games are slightly more detailed).

I think that what it comes down to is that Bruce insists on wearing clean clothes to work each day and likes to eat food that has been cooked.

I’m putting Bruce on notice: you get two pairs of pants a week, learn to double up; stop eating things that need to be cooked, you get one hot meal a week after that it’s cereal for dinner; no one needs a fresh shirt every day, turn that shit inside out; I’ll allow fresh socks and undergarments because I am nothing if not totally benevolent in my dictatorship.

Also: stop messing up the apartment.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Scah-rude

Things I’ve ingested today:

A cookie
A Mango slushee
A HUGE Bloody Mary (aka dinner)
Two dill pickle spears
An avocado

Bruce gets mad at me for eating a single meal a day. The messed up sleep thing means that I am asleep during typical breakfast and lunch time. I eat dinner with Bruce and then snack a little late night. He is amazed that I am able to function on 500 calories a day, but then I point out to him that sleeping takes so few calories and when I feel light headed I just lie down on the floor. No really, the floor thing works. So today I made the effort: mango slushee for breakfast (sure I got it at 8 PM, but whatever), avocado and a cookie for lunch (protein and carbs to keep me going), and Bloody Mary (I used V8, so that’s like a meal replacement) with a side of pickles.

I’m kind of feeling the big serving of vodka so I’m going to find my way to the couch.

Peace out bitches.

All gassed up and nowhere to go.

Bruce is away these days. Far away. I have the car. And a GPS device.

Now all I need is a destination.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Just so you know

My beloved computer is sitting in a box waiting to be shipped to somewhere deep in the heart of Texas. All of my mental triggers for blog posts are sitting in my hard drive, which is packed in a plastic bag and put away in a drawer waiting for a happy computer to be returned. The turn around time is looking like 21 days. It’s like my right arm has been cut off. Bruce’s spare laptop (I know, like who has a spare laptop right, well the guy with two laptops and a desk top, that’s who) has come to the rescue, but all of my passwords and preferences are not here. Remembering how to log into different accounts sucks. Also commenting on blogs on this laptop makes me angry because I have to fill in all that information.

This is of course the minor problem. The major thing is that my resume and cover letters live on my hard drive. I have a few saved at Monster and it means that I have to go into that account to get all those onto Bruce’s laptop. Also, I am in the middle of a jihad with my student loans company. They used an automatic debit that I have tried to cancel and took money from my checking account. My bank is in the process of getting my money back, but it means that I have to send faxes and letters to all over the world. Of course these letters all sit on my hard drive. This sucks.

In case you missed it, this sucks.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Does Dose?

I think I’ve been dosed.

I just had the most gratifying pee EVER. I must have been holding that in for hours, but I was caught up in my computer (I’m applying for jobs, I promise). When I get high or drunk I tend to find myself always very glad to be going pee. Even if I just did. It’s like my entire body relaxes and my body slumps over. See, this is why it happens when I am a mess. But right now, on Wednesday night, I can’t imagine why it was such a relief.

Monday, November 13, 2006

After Midnight

Some Girl: Baby can you roll over please?

Bruce: MDFaewrhawna MAfwjowhf

Some Girl: Thanks baby.

Bruce: You know if we get stuck in this position we can get on TV.

Some Girl: Uhhh?

Bruce: And we won’t need ID.

Some Girl: Uhhh?

Bruce: (SNORE)

Some Girl: Man, I need to start recording these conversations for you to hear in the morning.

Bruce: (SNORE)

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Posit

The “Well of thoughts I’ve had but didn’t blog about” has gone dry.

It’s tragic.

I’m working on it.

I realize that in July I post a mere 8 times. A year ago July I post 16 times. I need to get back into writing.

I’ve got plenty of stuff to say, trust me. Just ask Bruce. He hears it all.

Hey! I’ve solved my problems. I am no longer talking to Bruce. I will just post everything I WOULD have said to him on my blog. Then he can read my blog and respond*. That way, I still get my answers and I post on my blog.

*You should know that I mostly ask Bruce the most inane questions. He knows that he is expect to be my personal googler. Last week we were talking at night and he commented that his Internet wasn’t working. I asked why he would need it. His response: “Well, I have to find answers to all your questions.”
I then asked him: “What’s the weather like tomorrow in Boston?” He knows me so well.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

bound

FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. DON’T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE’S BLOG POSTS.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Even reading it again, I laugh

I think that my regular readers have noted that I have been rather gentle with the expos� de Bruce. I do like to protect him (I am the only one allowed to call him annoying, stupid, or an ass) from the prying eyes, of well, you. However, this afternoon we had a conversation that I have to share. I am practically duty bound to let you all in on this one.

Enjoy.

The set up: Bruce booked something for me on-line and instead of my first and last name there was a typo that left my name as SA SD. This is confusing because there are no “s"s in my name. This led to an early morning phone call to dear Bruce who had just gone to bed. Bruce has rectified the situation, but it will be a long time for this one to be forgotten. Also, Bruce never calls me by my common nickname. Everyone I know, even co-workers call my by this name. Bruce didn’t believe me until he met my friends and family. After meeting the crew, he commented that people call me my nickname. I know, that is the purpose of a nickname. I never said that he was smart.)

Spam Bruce: [nickname]ie [nickname]
some girl: yes?
some girl: you never call me that
some girl: what’s wrong?
Spam Bruce: nothing
spam Bruce: someone just called the san jose mercury news “the merky news”
Spam Bruce: so I thought I’d try it out
Spam Bruce: worky work
some girl: you never call me [given name nickname]
Spam Bruce: I know!
some girl: are you going to still do that?
some girl: or is it back to SA?
Spam Bruce: i think “miss sd”
some girl: “Yes Alex, could I please have weird things I’ve called my girlfriend for $100?”
some girl: misty?
some girl: we should have a couple’s blog: Bruce and Misty
Spam Bruce: ok
Spam Bruce: except I want to be called “special agent megabruce”
some girl: Spam Bruce it is.
Spam Bruce: ultrabruce?
some girl: Under Bruce…that sounds kind of dirty
Spam Bruce: deputy assistance underbruce
some girl: I hope the deputy assistant under Bruce gets to be Misty otherwise there could be another Monicagate.
Spam Bruce: indeedy
some girl: so SPAM Bruce
Spam Bruce: nooooooooooooo
some girl: what are you plans for this evening? are you going to find a nice piece of white bread and get cozy with her?

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

People are all capable of seeing what they want

Even though I’ve assured everyone that I am here for the right reasons (here being the metaphysical here, not the here here) I found myself wondering if my assurances are false.

But today, I thought about what if I am not here for the right reasons. What if I want what I want with such a vengeance that I am entirely unable to notice some obvious disparities?

And now, with these thoughts in my head, how do I give myself over to the cosmos to do what it will with me?

And is the cosmos female or male? I was going to say: “what she will with me” but I don’t know if I should keep the cosmos gender neutral or not.

And do people fall off of couches without arms? They look nice in the catalogs, but those four-inch stilettos looked good in the store yet those were a mistake.

And why does Bruce call me back when I hang up on him? I always say: “I have to go. I am hanging up now. Goodbye. I am going.” And you would think that would be an indication that I want to stop talking to him, so why does he keep talking? Should I just hang up and not tell him so he keeps talking thinking that I am there?

All these deep questions make me hungry. If anyone has answers let me know, off to find a stuffed burrito.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Magic in Manhattan: When Calamity stole the drugs from the drug dealer

Okay motherfuckers, here we go. I’m not proof reading this, it’s too long and painful.

This past weekend I revisited my inner child and did a fuck load of coke. When I say my inner child, I mean my inner child over the age of 16 as I wouldn’t want to be considered unfit to care for my inner child. And when I say a fuck load, I mean why am I not dead from an OD because I clearly don’t know when to say when but I am pretty sure that I should have stopped sometime on Saturday morning, but instead went all the way until Sunday morning.

Bruce hates this shit. He’s already expressed all the reasons why and what for (mostly I have no argument or recourse because it is kind of illegal) that he hates this (this being my wanton wantonness). I know that I should grow up and blah blah blah, but the truth is I don’t have to, for now.

I knew that this weekend in New York was going to be epic, we all did. I have been preparing myself for this for a month. Bruce was told that I was going to go off into the wild blue yonder and bury myself Pacino style (say hello to my little friend). A lasting hurrah before I moved.

(Someone brought to my attention the fact that I haven’t been totally clear. I am moving away from Boston this fall. Soon I will be coming to you from the other coast. San Francisco to be almost exact.)

So, because I am absolutely not allowed to be a coke whore when I move.

and before people get all shitty about this: I am really ready to stop doing drugs. I know it seems like fun and I am so very good at it. My friends here are concerned that I am sacrificing a piece of me to make Bruce happy. I just think that they forget, while they were all being good boys and girls and leading productive adult lives, I was doing K in London nightclubs and wondering why everything was moving so fast. I was dropping E while messing around with the gay glitterati living the life. Also, I was vomiting blow on the feet of the Virgin Mary. Quite frankly, I am tired of being so banged up all the time. I hate loosing my Saturday and Sunday because I played hard on Friday night. This shit is too good and too much fun and too heavy to go on much longer. It’s also not cool to get to an airport and worry that you might have a bag left somewhere that you forgot. Residue will get you 20 and I have no intention of going to jail for what happened last weekend, especially as I am not the one who caused all the trouble.

Ages ago I told Bruce that this past weekend I was going to go out and go hard.

See, that is the other thing. The Boston crew here keeps saying that they don’t think it’s right to have to hide shit blah blah blah. But I don’t. I know that they don’t believe me, but I really don’t. I wasn’t the one hiding from my best friend all night because she would be upset knowing that I was using drugs (that was the Pretty Boy) and I wasn’t the one saying that my significant other has no idea about what I do when I am away (that was Angry A). I am getting heat from the people here because they don’t get the fact that as up tight as Bruce seems (sorry babe!) we will never keep things from each other. Back to the point.

The Boston group found our way to New York, I flew down on Friday after work, which is normally easy except the Big Dig tunnels are closed because a ceiling panel fell on a car a crushed a woman to death (oops). Friday was manic and by the time I found my way to Calamity and Jane’s apartment I was ready to lay down and sleep. A bottle of wine prevented that and as the crowd trickled in and the lines were laid out, I miraculously found a wellspring of energy. Funny that.

Cut to Saturday morning, 4 AM and people are leaving the apartment and I have a moment of clarity. Except I’ve forgotten it now. What good are drug-induced epiphanies if you can’t remember them?

Saturday became a day of rest. Saturday night became a night of unrest.

We came to the party to party like it was 1999 (pot brownies and E were the plans) but the dealer fell through so we called in a back up (there is always a back up) and did what we do best. (Why hello Ben, so lovely to see you again, would you mind if I use you as a straw?) We also knew that we were going to get screwed on the bar tab (like always) so we set a plan in action. Our plan failed mostly because Calamity was too busy stealing the drugs from the drug dealer.

So, if you read the original story of Calamity, you know, already, kind of fucked up. But we’re his friends so we never think about what it really means when we say that he’s a mess. On Saturday night, Calamity noticed that the dealer was a mess (looked like a K hole to me). Calamity decided to take the drugs and not pay for them. He also decided to then leave the club, without telling his girlfriend or best friends.

The dealer comes to and realizes that he’s missing some money or someone took his stash. It was at this point, he loudly proclaims that he is going to kill the motherfucker who stole his drugs. We take this as a sign that it was time to leave the club. Which was a pain because we were in a perfect place (VIP lounge with no cameras so we had free reign to behave as we saw fit).

Returning to Calamity’s apartment was an ordeal of course because you know how it is. Who wants to go back to the apartment of the guy who’s about to be shot? After the endless drunken/high debates we all went back the Calamity’s place but the mood was decidedly dejected. Seriously, what the fuck?

There’s more blow, but at this point, we’re just chasing a high. At a certain point, there is nowhere else to go but down, and while it’s great to put the down off for as long as possible, everything comes to an end eventually. Most of the crowd wandered off into the day (the day being Sunday) except the hanger-ons. The hanger-ons are the people who hang out until the coke is gone. Then they split. Never fails. The hanger-on in this case was possibly the biggest fucking tool I have ever had the pleasure of meeting (I FUCKED THIS UGLY GIRL WITH MY LARGE DICK. YOU WOULD FUCK ME WOULDN’T YOU? IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT I AM UNATTRACTIVE. YELL YELL YELL. I AM SO INSECURE AND ANNOYING I WILL KEEP TALKING ABOUT ALL THE SEX I WAS GETTING IN COLLEGE FOUR YEARS AGO). The guy was so full of shit and terribly annoying. Who admits to going hogging because they don’t think they can get attractive woman to a group of strangers? When he turned to me and tried to be very impressive I was my usual self and cut his small dick down to size (scorch scorch scorch: how do you like me now bitch?). Needless to say he didn’t have anything to say to me for the rest of the night (morning).

Dumber and his friends (who were brought to the party by someone we knew, but the someone we knew left at 2 AM) left at 10 AM on Sunday and we proceeded to sigh with relief. Sunday disappeared in a haze of sleep and hamburgers and bled into Monday.

Shit, Monday was yesterday. Yes. Indeed. My yesterday was fantastic. Especially the three hours in the middle of the day. I think I lost them. They were simply nowhere to be found. Flying home on Monday morning was terrible, but the idea of being on a plane on Sunday night was unfathomable.

Today is better. I no longer feel like my large intestines are fighting their way out of my body and the shakes have stopped. Always good because I have a big presentation today at work.

$360 will get you: roundtrip Boston to New York airfare, five cab rides, 1 bottle of wine, 2 pot brownies, several eight balls, a bunch of vodka, four packs of cigarettes (also I had a green curry, half a hamburger, and a piece of apple pie. Some Girl cannot live on drugs and alcohol alone).

PS. And when I said that Bruce seems up tight, he’s not, it’s just because he wears pleated pants and he tucks his shirt in and he hasn’t been to the beach in forever and couldn’t remember the last time he walked on a beach barefooted, but really, he’s not up tight. I swear. Okay, maybe a little but only when compared to my complete inability to be any sort of tight. Next to a normal person, Bruce is entirely normal. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. That might be a ginormous exaggeration. Bruce is so not normal. What he is, is terribly annoying (you know you deserve that don’t you).

Friday, July 07, 2006

All of my duck in a row, which is soothing to my OCD

Lately I have been feeling blah. And having to write this entry twice has done nothing to improve my mood.

How can I ever replace the organic goodness that was that last post? I can’t. I just can’t ever. Crap. Ain’t that the truth, can’t ever crap. But you really don’t want to know what that really means, so we’re moving onward and upward (spiralling down awfully quickly here).

So, to summarize (if you had ever had the chance to read the lost post, this would all make more sense): I like being in charge of Bruce’s move. I get all of the fun of finding places to move and none of the stress. Well except for the stress of moving my life cross-country.

Also, I am no longer amused with the random and largely unexplained general malaise I am feeling these days. Whatever is making me funky needs to be run off so I can defunkifiy. The stomach thing has gotten kind of bad these days and to my horror I woke Bruce up in the middle of the night moaning. He kind of shook me to ask what was wrong and I remember clutching my stomach and saying that I was nauseous. That is damn attractive.

And I just sent a print job to my network. The document is almost 100 pages long and signifies a crap load of work. This is the first full print of all the documents so I am kind of excited. I never print out the full document until the end of the project, mostly as a protection thing (you never want to be the person who provided the bitch who will publicly flame you for the incorrect use of a semi-colon with the kindling for the fire) and mostly because I like to control my work (with an iron fist) so I minimize who gets a draft until I am happy that someone isn’t going to try to pass my work off as their own (this has been quite the year with quite the learning curve).

Finally, I received word from Atizzle that my captchas weren’t working. I had just fixed them with an IM walk through from the not so angry Pete. I figured that I should be able to fix whatever was wrong. I was right. Yay me.

Also, this is how I ended the conversation with Pete two full months ago:

Some Girl: oh, hey, while you’re here
Some Girl: I get this funny message:
Some Girl: Warning: Your installation file is still on your server.
For security purposes, please remove the file called install.php from your server using your FTP program.
Some Girl: what am I suppose to do with that?
Pete: You need to delete the install.php in the system folder of EE. You can go in through either FTP or File Manager from CPanel.
Pete: That way, some hacker doesn’t come through and re-install everything, and delete everything you’ve done.
Some Girl: so the file that says: install.php…I just delete
Pete: Yep.
Some Girl: okay, that I can handle
Some Girl: I think I’ll do it next month
Pete: yeah. Don’t strain yourself with three clicks that you could use for something worthwhile.
Some Girl: I know you’re just looking out for me and my carpel tunnel thingamajig
Pete: Exactly.

Today, two months after I was told to do something super easy and very important for the safety of my blog, I finally deleted the install.php file from my server. Pete must be so proud knowing his words made such a massive impression on me. Seriously, normally I would leave something like that (A GIANT RED WARNING) on my server for years.

I am nothing if not vigilant about my safety and protection. Now, I shall wander the mean streets of downtown Boston, while drunk and on a cell phone. Fantastic.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Industrial Action

I just read a blog post with the following statement:

That was fine by me until this morning…my son crawled in our bed sometime in the night. I woke up this morning to the strong stench of urine. Although my son is five, he still has to wear a “Good Night” to bed - he is one of the countless children who still pees every single night. It is a lot easier on me to have him wear the industrial size pull-up. My husband was a bed-wetter too, until he was about 7.

I no longer feel bad for people have been known to be peeved by things I drop into my posts (I am not so much with keeping things secret, but other people are still worried about what would happen if they want to run for an elected office and there is a post about their bad habits).