Heart-exploding l'amour!

So I don't talk about my boyfriend a lot on this blog. Because he's an asshole.

No, he's not. He's lovely and wonderful and funny and smart and handsome and all that crap. Still, I try to leave all the vomity sentiment off of this blog. Because I know you will be insanely jealous and, in a stubborn stance of green-eyed defiance, stop reading the good old Cup of Pizza. And I can't have that. Until today. Because today, my boyfriend wrote a song for me. And it's called, "Eat Shit."

I will pause for a collective sigh of vicarious ecstasy.

Rewind: I realised on the way into the office this morning that I had forgotten my mobile. So when I got in, I rang Rob to let him know this and that he would only be able to contact me on the office line today and after that he was out of luck. He was, at the very best, underwhelmingly nonplussed. But I didn't think much about it until I got back from a meeting and had a voicemail from him. This voicemail wanted to let me know that he had forgotten his personal mobile and that the only way to reach him was via his work mobile. And it was dripping. with. sarcasm.

Rang the brother back and pointed out that when he can't get ahold of me, he has a tendency to whinge like a small infant. And he shot back, "Know what my favourite song is right now? It's called 'Eat Shit.'" And then he sang it for me:

Verse 1:
If your first name is Eleanor
And your last name is Quin
Eat shit!

Chorus:
Eat shit!
Eat shit!
Eat shit!

So Rob, 1, Eleanor, 937,322,705. But purely for a quick wit and catching me slightly off-guard. . . my songwriting skills are CLEARLY superior. Natch.

My lovely little Ginblossom

Yay! Ginny is coming! My beloved friend Gin just emailed me her itinerary--she and husband Paul are coming for a weekend in March. They live in DC in an amazing house with 2 wonderful boxers. The dogs, not pugilists. Gin is my best and oldest friend. We met at the end of my freshman year in college. That night we got drunk and ran around in the ocean. Friends forever! She is one of my favourite people in the world and I am proud to be her friend. So I dedicate this post to the one I love.

Here is Ginny on one of her last visits to the ATL, pretending like this is her car. This would, in fact, decidedly NOT be her car.
Fact: Ginny has a near-obsession with wearing matching bra and panties. She also used to have a nose ring. Now she has a wedding ring. I know because I was her maid of honour. The maid of honour who got drunk and broke into the pool at the reception with the best man and went skinny-dipping.

This is Ginny standing over a vent in a parking lot. I love that she looks so pretty and dainty and her hair is going WHOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!

Fact: Ginny lived in Italy and Spain for a couple of years--I went to visit her in Perugia when I was living in London and we had an amazing time running around and eating ourselves into an oblivion. Toward the end of the trip, I got a stomach ulcer from too much espresso. Gin got her hair tangled in the hair dryer and I had to cut it out. I took a picture first. Then, we missed the train going back to Rome meaning that I missed my flight back to London and I had to sleep in the airport on a table.

This last shot is Ginny dancing in my hall with a purple boa. It's blurry but I love it. Looking at it I can remember her smiling and shimmying around and saying cha cha cha!
Cha cha cha indeed. I love her. Mwah!

Why did the maestro pound the piano keys? Because he wanted them to b-flat.

NPR had a neat little story on Morning Edition this morning. It was all about the weird, cosmic effect that b-flat has on the universe. Like that it makes alligators go batshit and black holes hum it for skillions of years. You can read all about it here.

Interesting story, but they missed probably the greatest use of b-flat of all time.

And that is, of course . . .as the super secret super spy secret password from JUMPIN' JACK FLASH!!!!
Jumpin' Jack Flash! It's not even Jumping, it's JUMPIN"!!!!! What a great movie. Whoopi! With her giant toothbrush! The mannish German woman doing calesthenics on her computer! The trick chair in the office! A slutty Carole Kane! A not-dead Phil Hartman! Lady Sarah, in her little pink sheets in her little pink room! Shitty breadsticks! Jack, you sheeeet!

Clearly I own this movie on DVD.

I think I'm going to watch it tonight.

ps. I totally just made up that joke in the post title. Be honest, it was kinda good.

Yipperdee skipperdee doo

Yay! The reunion tour for The Police was announced today! I'm very excited, even though ATL dates have not been announced. Surely they couldn't resist the chance to make even more money by skipping over our fair city. Chicago, I note, is already on the line-up, so shizz. . . I MAY BE COMING UP, CLAIRE!!!!

Whenever I think of the Police, I'm reminded of the story of one of the Fowler girls, pulling up next to Sting's limo in the early 80s in Holland and he flipped them off. Good times.

I was reading about the concert announcement on cnn.com, and I got to the bottom and noticed this ABSOLUTE BOMBSHELL:

"Additionally, the Australian-New Zealand band Crowded House plans to end a 10-year hiatus once a replacement is found for late drummer Paul Hester."

HOLY CRAP!

Now that's news! v v v v v v v excited to see Crowded Hizzouse. Did you notice in the above pic that they misspelled Neil Finn's name? After all, he is only THE LEAD SINGER.

In other news, Phil Collins is rejoining Genesis and David Lee Roth is touring with Van Halen. SNOOOOOOORE!!!

STREET FIGHT!!!

So last Wednesday I got into a bit of a verbal altercation. With a complete stranger. Over a parking spot. Allow me to explain.

I was hurring to the downtown campus for my Corporate Finance midterm. I resolutely ABHOR paying for parking at that time of day, so I had my eyeballs peeled for a street spot. A street spot! I spied one, signalled, and began reversing into the spot.

To my surprise, the car behind me had someone still in it who moved up as I was backing up into the spot. I slammed on the brakes and honked my horn. He honked his. We sat there, silent. I put the car in reverse again. He honked his horn again. I still needed about a foot and a half to go. I got out to have a look. We were almost 2 feet apart and he had about FOUR FEET between his car and the curb behind him. The curb, even! Not another car! The curb! Below is a visual for your complete understanding of the situation:

Okay, before we continue, I have to point out an error in my graphic above--I was still jutting out into the entrance of a parking garage, so I still needed to back up about a foot. I apologise to my readers for submitting what is clearly an inadequate visual aid.

Anyway, I say to the guy:

Me: Hey, will you move back about another foot? I'm still in the road and I need to back up a little more.

Jackass: Naw. If I move back, you're gonna block me in and I won't be about to get out.

Me: (mind boggling at his terrible sense of spatial depth perception) Sir, I promise you will still have plenty of room to get out if you just back up a little more--you have plenty of room!

Jackass: (snorts in semi-positive way)

So I get back in the car, start to back up very slowly, and he puts his car in gear, and . . . CREEPS FORWARD and taps me! I leap out of the car and look at our bumpers. No damage. Now he has his window rolled up and is pretending to be on the phone.

Me: Sir! SIR! You have plenty of room! I am not going to block you in! You still have FOUR FEET behind you. Do not hit my motherfucking car you motherfucking asshole!

I did not say this last sentence out loud. Instead, I backed up a couple more inches so I was juuuuuust inside the curb, got out, took a picture of the distance between our cars (cameraphone), then took a picture of his license plate.

As I was doing this, he rolled down his window and said something like:

Jackass: Okay, I'm going to follow (photo?) your car one day.

Me: What does that even mean?

Jackass: (silence)

Keep in mind that I am trying to make it to class for an exam. So I heave my bag and get going. And instantly regret this stand of defiance. For the next 2.5 hours I fret and worry and squirm about three main scenarios:

1. Windows smashed
2. Entire body keyed
3. Car completely gone

What did I learn? This was not a battle worth picking. I felt like I aged 9 years during that class. Afterwards, I spotted my car up the block with immense relief. Then I saw his car still parked behind mine. Was he lying in wait for me? Armed, I'm sure? Would this be the end? I waited until a big, tall guy walked by and then I walked next to him back to my car. He wasn't in the car at all. My car wasn't touched.

Pussy.

Well blow me down! Um, actually don't please.

So guess what?

After all my pissing and moaning and whinging and wining and carrying on and huffing and puffing and grousing and griping and cursing and complaining, guess what?

I got a promotion.

Ha ah ah aha ha ah ah aha hah ha haha ha ha but it's true. My boss told me this morning. So I'm feeling pretty good right about now. Not-so-coincidentally, my frustration level today is fairly low. And I've noticed that I've been slightly nicer to people. Looks like this kind of shit actually works!

In sad-but-true news: you're the first person I'm telling. Rang Rob and he was having some kind of construction crisis and had to go before I could tell him. Rang my parentals and had to leave a message. How dare they be out at a moment like this. Anyway, yay for me?

Get ready for lameness!

Still in foul mood. Need to get some coffee (CAFFEINE!!!), but I'm hold with a vendor right now. And I need them to give me something, so I'm just going to wait.

Today's frustration level: pretty high. People are morons and I am kicking myself for not bringing my textbook for class tonight with me. Because we never use it. Except for tonight! Which I just realised approx 20 minutes ago. Grr. But people are still morons.

Ah! Time has passed. I got off the phone, got my coffee, and got spat on. By the creamer. We have the single-serv mini-cups (in four delicious flavours, no less) and they always burp out like that when you open them. A couple of precious supersweet drops on your hand or thumb. Once a supersweet superdrop actually made it on to my forearm. That one had heart.

This post is officially ridiculous. Fuck it, my favourite kind is hazelnut.

Well, helloooo there!

Check, please.

God diggity damn, am I in a bad mood today.

What? You want to hear all about it? OKAY!!!

Here goes: the number one reason is that it is annual compensation planning time at my company right now. You say, anna what? The time of year where the managers evaluate performance and allot raises accordingly, etc. Except. They don't. I'm seeing such crappy, piss-poor decision-making going on right now and it's all happening like a veeeery slow car crash that won't actually end for another couple of weeks. I'm taking about a skillion calls and emails because people don't read instructions, don't care about instructions, or don't realise there are instructions. I've got HR managers who aren't doing their jobs and thus failing their responsibilities. I've got a company trying to throw money at a situation instead of dealing with its problems. Which is creating huge problems since we are in year 3 of serious underperformance and that money hasn't been earned. But no one is being held accountable and the finger-pointing is rampant. And it just sucks. And it makes me not want to work here. And it makes my brief delight at being rated exceptional this year rapidly dissipate, since an asshole I work with who is excellent at jackshit just fooled his boss into getting the same rating.

And I think: What does it all mean? Who am I? What am I doing here?

And I remember: Ah yes, my company is paying for my MBA degree. It is my mantra. My beacon in a vast and stormy sea of shit. It's what keeps me going sometimes. But not today. Today I think it is going to require a little rebellion. An uprising of sorts. A veritable nose-thumbing at it all. Translation: I'm going to drink heavily. Hopefully soon. My liver must pay the price that my brain can no longer afford! Hurrah!

Self-destruction, here I come!