Draaaaaagging so hard from this weekend. Left Friday afternoon to catch flight up to Chi-town. Much to the bemusement of my coworkers, I left at noon to catch a 3pm plane. Ha ha very funny I almost missed my plane. Traffic/parking/security, all of it hellish and life-force-sucking. Would have, in fact, been close if AirTran were not such a shit airline and delayed the flight. I was briefly reminded of my reasoning for the four-year long boycott of the airline after a particularly dreadful experience over the Labour Day weekend of 1999. To be fair, however, we were only delayed by a half-hour and things were pretty good from then on out.
Arrive in Chicago, literally only have time to put stuff down in C's apt and then we RACE to a train station to get out to Ravinia--we have tickets to the Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright show. So nice, great evening, sat with hundreds of other people in a park, drank wine, listened to the music, etc. Great way to wind down the week. Really dug Rufus' shizz.
Saturday we meet up with C's boyfriend-not-really's dad and stepmum (you know, if people would just stay together it would make things much easier for me thanks). Ate at this fairly fancy bistro off Mich Ave. I had the skate, it was delicioso. Then shopping shopping shopping for sassy dresses for a birthday party that night. Found a fabulous salmon number from BCBG with complementary pancho it ROCKED. Went to dinner at some tapas place, then to Navy Pier for fireworks at which I smoked and chattered my tits off because it was EFFING COLD. Then to a Latin salsa club, at which I drank a lot of raspberry vodka and danced with short men who kept grabbing my ass. Nice.
Sunday we arose and dragged ass to Flat Top, where we feasted on two courses of DIY stir-fry. Blood sugar raging, I got really hyper and a) laughed so hard I cried twice (plus it was my SIGNATURE CACKLE, so I'm sure the rest of the patrons appreciated that) and b) found a tremendous amount of comfort in flinging my torso flat against the seat of the booth when something was SO FUNNY that I just couldn't take it anymore (I did this approximately 38 times) and c) determined that I may be a closet Phil Collins fan after I ran down the top five PC songs of all time (In the Air Tonight, Against All Odds, Separate Lives, I Wish it Would Rain Down on Me, Easy Lover).* Afterwards, we went to the beach, laid out for a couple of hours, all the while being serenaded by the world's worst U2 cover band. At one point, they came back for a break, and the singer said in between screeches--I am not making this up--"That chicken sandwich did something to me." Got a little burned, mostly on the shoulder tops. Ambled down to the SALON and got a pedicure (C got a mani). Then back to the house, packed up and had sushi delivered YUM it was really good.
Had trouble sleeping b/c worried about missing 5:30am flight. Also had hard time figuring out why the eff I thought a 5:30am flight would be a good idea. Tossed and turned for 4 hours and LO it was time to get up. 3:30am. Too tired to even feel tired. Cabbie showed up right on time, I got in and he says, "You might want to move to the other side, someone threw up on that one." Great. Come to find out it was a little old lady in her 70s who had one too many cosmopolitans. I'm actually pleased to hear that versus typical college kid, but vomit is vomit and every once in a while I would get a faint whiff. Needless to say, I spent the entire ride with my upper body hanging out the window. Got to airport in RECORD TIME, slept on plane, came straight to work, and voila. Big, busy day and um why am I still here? Oh yeah, to blog it all to you.
I just hope you appreciate what I do for you.
*Has just occurred to me that not only do I own his greatest hits album on CD, I also purchased the cassingle of Another Day in Paradise circa 1990. Interesting.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Thursday, June 17, 2004
The raw deal
I have been loopy for sushi non-stop for like the last six months. Before this I could barely eat the stuff, so weird. Now I am ALL ABOUT IT. Like pretty much any time, any day I could it. I note that Atlanta is lacking a sushi brunch. I think it could work.
My favorite place is Sushi Avenue. Their spicy tuna crunch roll makes my body so happy to be eating it, I almost want to throw up and taste it again. Not really. To paraphrase K's blog entry today, it makes my thighs burn for all the right reasons.
My favorite place is Sushi Avenue. Their spicy tuna crunch roll makes my body so happy to be eating it, I almost want to throw up and taste it again. Not really. To paraphrase K's blog entry today, it makes my thighs burn for all the right reasons.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
I didn't know there was an ATL version of craigslist!
(click above for link)
well, until today that is
I secretly want to find someone looking for me on missed connections
well, until today that is
I secretly want to find someone looking for me on missed connections
I knew it.
She gave me an effing brace. I told her I won't wear it. She said, well can you sleep in it? And I said yeah prolly. She said that was fine.
Oh, and re; the fat wrist jibe: as a matter of interest, she couldn't FIND a brace small enough for my slender, delicate, one might almost say SKELETAL, wrist.
So eff you.
Oh, and re; the fat wrist jibe: as a matter of interest, she couldn't FIND a brace small enough for my slender, delicate, one might almost say SKELETAL, wrist.
So eff you.
My body doesn't work right anymore
I'm about to go over to Health Services to have them check out my wrist. It was really hurting yesterday, although it feels better today. Being the medical professional that I am, I have self-diagnosed my injury as the cause of one of three possibilities:
1. softball
2. typing for 900 hours a time at work
3. softball and typing for 900 hours a time at work
I'm hoping she will have some magical cure, like snap it some crazy way and fix it forever. Or drugs. I'm okay with drugs. More likely she will tell me I need to type differently and quit softball. Worst case I will be fitted with some sort of brace. Which I won't wear and will continue to fuck up my wrist.
Why doesn't my body work anymore? Oh yeah, because I'm getting effing OLD. Not really, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I think I'll go buy an Audi and cry in it.
1. softball
2. typing for 900 hours a time at work
3. softball and typing for 900 hours a time at work
I'm hoping she will have some magical cure, like snap it some crazy way and fix it forever. Or drugs. I'm okay with drugs. More likely she will tell me I need to type differently and quit softball. Worst case I will be fitted with some sort of brace. Which I won't wear and will continue to fuck up my wrist.
Why doesn't my body work anymore? Oh yeah, because I'm getting effing OLD. Not really, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I think I'll go buy an Audi and cry in it.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
BREAKING NEWS re; the Blogger timestamp controversy
Well shit no it's not after all--the time keeps changing, last one was four minutes off. Will the mystery of the timestamp continue to elude me?
I have to go home. This is getting ridiculous.
Sorry.
I have to go home. This is getting ridiculous.
Sorry.
I just thought you should know
That the Blogger timestamp is actually 17 minutes ahead of real time. Fascinating, I know.
Okay, I was a little bitchy yesterday.
I'm a big girl, I can admit it. Today has been considerably better, mainly due in part--I feel--to caffeine. Yes, this is very sad, but I didn't have a Diet Dr Pepper (a.k.a. the breakfast of champions ew I know) yesterday morning, and look where it got me. Needless to say, I had one this morning, and voila! A pretty good day.
I did, however, have to go to battle with AT&T Wireless (a.k.a. thieving bastards), AMEX (a.k.a. sneaky fuckers), and Delta Air Lines (a.k.a. what me, work?) today over various issues. I was feeling kind of fiesty. Didn't actually have to get evil on anyone--although prepared to, shut the office door and everything--but did have to pull out "the tone" every now and then. God service reps must effing hate me. This reminds me of a story.
Last year a telemarketer called me and pretended to be a friend of mine. He asked for Eleanor in a heavy New York (I can only assume Long Island-ish) accent, so I said who's calling? And he says, it's Peter. So I said, well which one? May I ask why you are calling? just effing with him a bit, and he gets all flustered and upset and screams GOD PEOPLE LIKE YOU MAKE MY JOB SO DIFFICULT, THANKS A LOT FUCKNUTS!!! And hung up. I was a little surprised, to say the least. It's not everyday you get called fucknuts by a complete stranger.
Pretending to be your friend, no less.
I did, however, have to go to battle with AT&T Wireless (a.k.a. thieving bastards), AMEX (a.k.a. sneaky fuckers), and Delta Air Lines (a.k.a. what me, work?) today over various issues. I was feeling kind of fiesty. Didn't actually have to get evil on anyone--although prepared to, shut the office door and everything--but did have to pull out "the tone" every now and then. God service reps must effing hate me. This reminds me of a story.
Last year a telemarketer called me and pretended to be a friend of mine. He asked for Eleanor in a heavy New York (I can only assume Long Island-ish) accent, so I said who's calling? And he says, it's Peter. So I said, well which one? May I ask why you are calling? just effing with him a bit, and he gets all flustered and upset and screams GOD PEOPLE LIKE YOU MAKE MY JOB SO DIFFICULT, THANKS A LOT FUCKNUTS!!! And hung up. I was a little surprised, to say the least. It's not everyday you get called fucknuts by a complete stranger.
Pretending to be your friend, no less.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Things I hate, part two
Looking back, I have had a pretty crappy day. But continuing on avec la liste de haine:
5. Getting a crap program thrown in my lap that I have to champion but is the most shittily constructed thing EVER
6. Being told flimsy excuses from one person about why we can't do something, and then getting a completely contradictory version from the next person, who has never been told about it in the first place
7. Getting thrown to the wolves by a dick who is supposed to have your back
8. Morons wallowing in their own self-importance, just talking to hear themselves and not listening to anything anyone else is saying
9. Have to placate the people in #8
10. Having to stay ONE MORE HOUR when it's obvious this day is shot
Okay, so I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. I am. I'm mad at myself too, like I should have omnipotently foreseen all the problems with this SHIT PROGRAM and fixed everything before. Except there's no way I could have. I just HATE being caught unawares and dammit I do more troubleshooting when it's my shit! I can't IMAGINE how little the person who designed this crap must have cared about her job.
But I also hate looking like I'm blaming others. It's tacky and cheap. SO I'm just taking my lumps and weathering the shit storm. I like how a million people have been blasting me from every direction and then closing with, "I know this isn't your fault, you're doing a great job, really." Hey thanks, now think you would help me find my asshole somewhere around here?
5. Getting a crap program thrown in my lap that I have to champion but is the most shittily constructed thing EVER
6. Being told flimsy excuses from one person about why we can't do something, and then getting a completely contradictory version from the next person, who has never been told about it in the first place
7. Getting thrown to the wolves by a dick who is supposed to have your back
8. Morons wallowing in their own self-importance, just talking to hear themselves and not listening to anything anyone else is saying
9. Have to placate the people in #8
10. Having to stay ONE MORE HOUR when it's obvious this day is shot
Okay, so I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. I am. I'm mad at myself too, like I should have omnipotently foreseen all the problems with this SHIT PROGRAM and fixed everything before. Except there's no way I could have. I just HATE being caught unawares and dammit I do more troubleshooting when it's my shit! I can't IMAGINE how little the person who designed this crap must have cared about her job.
But I also hate looking like I'm blaming others. It's tacky and cheap. SO I'm just taking my lumps and weathering the shit storm. I like how a million people have been blasting me from every direction and then closing with, "I know this isn't your fault, you're doing a great job, really." Hey thanks, now think you would help me find my asshole somewhere around here?
Because I just can't be bothered with pesky work today.
I'm listening to Our Time in Eden right now, the last album by 10,000 Maniacs. It came out when I was a senior in high school. I remember driving around listening to it on my tape player in the Honda Civic Hatchback (semi-automatic, mind you) with my friend Christian Uzzle. I really remember listening it to it one night when we were spying on someone outside a theatre one night. But I can't remember who it was. It was, however, the same theatre that I had to do 15 hours of community service at in order to satisfy some ticket I got one time. Can't remember why I got that ticket either. Shizz my brain has turned to pot. No pun intended.
We campaigned for the song These Are Days to be our senior song, but Today by the Smashing Pumpkins won instead. Hey I like the song, but "Today is the greatest day I've ever known"? That's a bit melo for high school. Who am I kidding, it was all drama. It's actually the perfect song to look back on fondly, smile warmly with crinkly eyes, and say man we were effing idiots!
We campaigned for the song These Are Days to be our senior song, but Today by the Smashing Pumpkins won instead. Hey I like the song, but "Today is the greatest day I've ever known"? That's a bit melo for high school. Who am I kidding, it was all drama. It's actually the perfect song to look back on fondly, smile warmly with crinkly eyes, and say man we were effing idiots!
Things I hate, part one
1. People that interrupt me.
2. People that give me no notice for things like I have to give a presentation this afternoon.
3. People that tell me I talk too fast.
4. People that waste my time with their incompetence.
All of these things have happened to me today. And it is 12:11pm. Does not bode well for the rest of the day. I'll keep you posted.
On a much happier note, I just called my friend Peter (although I call him Pee-tah) to wish him a HAPPY BIRTHDAY. It is also Flag Day, which he has reminded me of for years now, and I was braced, waiting for it again--but he didn't mention it. Just like that effer. He is in Tennessee right now, on his way home to DC from Tejas. I always have such a good time talking to that boy. Will see him and Ginny over the Independence Day w/e. Will be loads of fun.
I hear you say, DC on the 4th? Chicago this weekend? AFRICA IN SEPTEMBER??? My god, Eleanor, where are you getting all the money and time for this travel? To which I say, bog off nosy parker, it's NOYB.
Random interlude: For some reason I have a copy of At Close Range in my video collection. I have no idea how I acquired it, and had never even seen the film until last night. It is probably best known for having clips of it shown in the Live to Tell video. Ha in the ending credits, Madonna's name was first and bigger than Penn's. I bet that made him feel grrreat. Anyway, pretty much made-for-tv quality, Walken sneers his way through, but! BUT. Sean Penn is HOT! So hot. Whew boy I needs to calm down sexy hot. Mmm he was yummy. Not that he is bad now, but youth helps. A lot.
2. People that give me no notice for things like I have to give a presentation this afternoon.
3. People that tell me I talk too fast.
4. People that waste my time with their incompetence.
All of these things have happened to me today. And it is 12:11pm. Does not bode well for the rest of the day. I'll keep you posted.
On a much happier note, I just called my friend Peter (although I call him Pee-tah) to wish him a HAPPY BIRTHDAY. It is also Flag Day, which he has reminded me of for years now, and I was braced, waiting for it again--but he didn't mention it. Just like that effer. He is in Tennessee right now, on his way home to DC from Tejas. I always have such a good time talking to that boy. Will see him and Ginny over the Independence Day w/e. Will be loads of fun.
I hear you say, DC on the 4th? Chicago this weekend? AFRICA IN SEPTEMBER??? My god, Eleanor, where are you getting all the money and time for this travel? To which I say, bog off nosy parker, it's NOYB.
Random interlude: For some reason I have a copy of At Close Range in my video collection. I have no idea how I acquired it, and had never even seen the film until last night. It is probably best known for having clips of it shown in the Live to Tell video. Ha in the ending credits, Madonna's name was first and bigger than Penn's. I bet that made him feel grrreat. Anyway, pretty much made-for-tv quality, Walken sneers his way through, but! BUT. Sean Penn is HOT! So hot. Whew boy I needs to calm down sexy hot. Mmm he was yummy. Not that he is bad now, but youth helps. A lot.
I know that I am a bad person.
I was just thinking to myself, hmm I need to post as I haven't blogged since last Wednesday. Wait, let me check out K's blog first--ah, hate mail in the first sentence. Lovely. Boring? Perhaps, but at least I can put links in my shizz like a CHAMP!
ALL WEEKEND I kept saying to myself, clean the house El, because it is NASTY and filthy and is grossing me out. And ALL WEEKEND I kept procrastinating and lounging about, almost in awe of the new lows of laziness that I didn't know I was capable of. Yesterday I left the house ONCE to return vids and buy vegetables for dinner. I am convinced that my remarkable levels of lethargy are due to the fact that I have eaten very few veg over the last week. Sure enough, I had spinach last night, and this morning did a load of laundry while I was getting ready for work. Well, it's a start. This weekend I am going to Chicago, so I MUST MUST MUST make some more progress this week. Here and now, I will resolve in print to do one thing each night this week (Mon-Thurs) to better my home environment. I already feel better.
I have an amazing beauty routine. The cornerstone of it consists of smearing my index finger in some brown eyeshadow while I am waiting at one of the 900 red lights, slapping it over one, maybe both, eyelids before racing on to the next red light. Then it's mascara time, very tricky to do as I must look in the rearview as well as peripherally keep tabs on the light, all the while waving a potentially lethal stick near my eyeball. It is not possible to do both sets of lashes at one light. Never happens. So, with one set left to go, I barrel on down to the next light. I always feel like Malcolm McDowell from A Clockwork Orange with only one set of lashes lashed. Like if I got into a wreck, all the people standing around my prone, lifeless body would have nothing better to talk about than, "Why does she only have one side mascara'ed?" Of course not! There would be too much blood. Ha Ha!
On a psuedo-related note, I test-drove one of these this weekend. It was nice. I think it will be mine. Soon.
ALL WEEKEND I kept saying to myself, clean the house El, because it is NASTY and filthy and is grossing me out. And ALL WEEKEND I kept procrastinating and lounging about, almost in awe of the new lows of laziness that I didn't know I was capable of. Yesterday I left the house ONCE to return vids and buy vegetables for dinner. I am convinced that my remarkable levels of lethargy are due to the fact that I have eaten very few veg over the last week. Sure enough, I had spinach last night, and this morning did a load of laundry while I was getting ready for work. Well, it's a start. This weekend I am going to Chicago, so I MUST MUST MUST make some more progress this week. Here and now, I will resolve in print to do one thing each night this week (Mon-Thurs) to better my home environment. I already feel better.
I have an amazing beauty routine. The cornerstone of it consists of smearing my index finger in some brown eyeshadow while I am waiting at one of the 900 red lights, slapping it over one, maybe both, eyelids before racing on to the next red light. Then it's mascara time, very tricky to do as I must look in the rearview as well as peripherally keep tabs on the light, all the while waving a potentially lethal stick near my eyeball. It is not possible to do both sets of lashes at one light. Never happens. So, with one set left to go, I barrel on down to the next light. I always feel like Malcolm McDowell from A Clockwork Orange with only one set of lashes lashed. Like if I got into a wreck, all the people standing around my prone, lifeless body would have nothing better to talk about than, "Why does she only have one side mascara'ed?" Of course not! There would be too much blood. Ha Ha!
On a psuedo-related note, I test-drove one of these this weekend. It was nice. I think it will be mine. Soon.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Happy Yogurt Day!
hey I just realized the DANNON CARB CONTROL YOGURT WEBSITE lets you send yogurt-related e-cards to people. I think I will send one to K just to piss her off.
brain streaming
K got back today from the beach trip. Has prompted me to post finally. Intended to do so all week so that she would have a lot to read when she got back, but of course I effing didn't. I'm so lame.
Think I will get a pedicure tonight. Feet must have professional help.
Currently eating a side salad from Chik-fil-a right now and MAN is it good! I hear you say, "Salad? From a fast-food chain? Ew, you LIE." But NO! The Chik-fil-a side salad is not only a good value ($1.50 plus tax), but a delightful melange of lettuce (duh), cherry tomatoes (2), broccoli (2), red cabbage, carrots, and cheese (julienned strips), and honey-roasted sunflower seeds (optional). But the kicker is the spicy dressing. It's actually just called SPICY, and not only does it live up to its effing name, it's also pink. Both wins in my book. Granted, the ingredients are a little scary (unnerving: polysorbate 60, strangely appealing: anchovies), but EFF it! It tastes great and I love it. I lather Spicy dressing over nuggets too. I keep extra packets of it in the fridge at work so if I get a non-Chik-fil-a salad, I can still dress it right. D'zam is it good. Highly recommended!
On a related note, I also really dig the new-carb yogurt by Dannon. V tasty indeed. God I'm such a fucking consumer. It does, however, creep me out that they have an extremely comprehensive website on the product. Not the Dannon website, the Dannon CARB CONTROL YOGURT WEBSITE. Does anyone else find this weird? yee.
Think I will get a pedicure tonight. Feet must have professional help.
Currently eating a side salad from Chik-fil-a right now and MAN is it good! I hear you say, "Salad? From a fast-food chain? Ew, you LIE." But NO! The Chik-fil-a side salad is not only a good value ($1.50 plus tax), but a delightful melange of lettuce (duh), cherry tomatoes (2), broccoli (2), red cabbage, carrots, and cheese (julienned strips), and honey-roasted sunflower seeds (optional). But the kicker is the spicy dressing. It's actually just called SPICY, and not only does it live up to its effing name, it's also pink. Both wins in my book. Granted, the ingredients are a little scary (unnerving: polysorbate 60, strangely appealing: anchovies), but EFF it! It tastes great and I love it. I lather Spicy dressing over nuggets too. I keep extra packets of it in the fridge at work so if I get a non-Chik-fil-a salad, I can still dress it right. D'zam is it good. Highly recommended!
On a related note, I also really dig the new-carb yogurt by Dannon. V tasty indeed. God I'm such a fucking consumer. It does, however, creep me out that they have an extremely comprehensive website on the product. Not the Dannon website, the Dannon CARB CONTROL YOGURT WEBSITE. Does anyone else find this weird? yee.
Friday, June 04, 2004
Sometimes I actually like it here, part one.
Last night was the opening film for Screen on the Green. Getting there was an effing nightmare, for a variety of reasons.
a) Even though I waited until almost 630p to leave, there was still a lot of traffic. Stuff like it taking four stop-light phases for me to get through. grr
b) Stopped in at grocery store to get fried chicken (standard contribution to the potluck tradition), soda, water, and smokes. Realized that ONCE AGAIN I have left all of my nine skillion lighters at home. And I have no car lighter. Only lighters available were in a five-pack, which I RESOLUTELY refused to purchase. I mean really. Also got dirty looks from the deli ladies when I stole a million napkins off the salad bar. Hey, it's fried chicken. Greasy.
c) Back on road for 4.3 seconds when Kat calls to ask me to stop in a grocery store (!!) and pick up balloons as the place marker on the field. Teeth uncontrollably gnash. I hiss, "Fine!"
okay, wait. I have to stop here and go eat sushi. more apres lunch.
back. sated. not the best sushi though. bummer.
c) continued: Stop in at grocery store #2, go to floral, no one there. Have someone paged. The balloon inflating process seems interminable, I feel as though I am drugged. Finally get out. Did buy a lighter, well two. But it's better than FIVE.
d) Travel several miles on highways at fast speeds with balloons whipping wildly around my backseat. Endanger my life about 6 times. Find myself curiously resigned to the fact that I am likely to get into a bad accident at any moment. And it will be my fault.
e) FINALLY get off highway and promptly get stuck in traffic in midtown. Go through the it-takes-4-cycles-of-stoplights-to-get-through-the-intersection action ala point a). Frustration made even more intense when discover that the hold-up is due to a total EFFING MORON who has been pulled over, and decided to PARK in one of two lanes instead of logically pulling into a side street or parking lot, avenue or boulevard. Pay $5 for parking, which surprisingly doesn't bother me at all because I'm just so relieved to actually be at the park. Well a couple of blocks away really. But still. There.
f) Realize that the frantic whipping around of the balloons in the backseat for nine hundred miles has utterly, completely, and hopelessly irrevocably tangled up the strings. I look at the jumbled mass of shit for about seven seconds, even pick at it for another couple of seconds before definitively concluding there is no effing WAY those strings are ever going to be untangled. And dismiss it from my mind. Walk to the park.
g) Get to park, find everyone relatively easily, even run into an old friend from Turner. He's Italian. His name is Luca. He hasn't changed a bit. Give the balloons to Kat to tie up. Twenty minutes later, Kat says to me, "Where are the balloons?" Sure enough, look around. No where. Look up and do a 360 sky search. It's as if they never existed.
FIN.
I'm spent. Part two will be later. It's a lot more positive, don't worry.
Teasers: Young Frankenstein (Frahnkenschteen!), wine, friends, boy.
a) Even though I waited until almost 630p to leave, there was still a lot of traffic. Stuff like it taking four stop-light phases for me to get through. grr
b) Stopped in at grocery store to get fried chicken (standard contribution to the potluck tradition), soda, water, and smokes. Realized that ONCE AGAIN I have left all of my nine skillion lighters at home. And I have no car lighter. Only lighters available were in a five-pack, which I RESOLUTELY refused to purchase. I mean really. Also got dirty looks from the deli ladies when I stole a million napkins off the salad bar. Hey, it's fried chicken. Greasy.
c) Back on road for 4.3 seconds when Kat calls to ask me to stop in a grocery store (!!) and pick up balloons as the place marker on the field. Teeth uncontrollably gnash. I hiss, "Fine!"
okay, wait. I have to stop here and go eat sushi. more apres lunch.
back. sated. not the best sushi though. bummer.
c) continued: Stop in at grocery store #2, go to floral, no one there. Have someone paged. The balloon inflating process seems interminable, I feel as though I am drugged. Finally get out. Did buy a lighter, well two. But it's better than FIVE.
d) Travel several miles on highways at fast speeds with balloons whipping wildly around my backseat. Endanger my life about 6 times. Find myself curiously resigned to the fact that I am likely to get into a bad accident at any moment. And it will be my fault.
e) FINALLY get off highway and promptly get stuck in traffic in midtown. Go through the it-takes-4-cycles-of-stoplights-to-get-through-the-intersection action ala point a). Frustration made even more intense when discover that the hold-up is due to a total EFFING MORON who has been pulled over, and decided to PARK in one of two lanes instead of logically pulling into a side street or parking lot, avenue or boulevard. Pay $5 for parking, which surprisingly doesn't bother me at all because I'm just so relieved to actually be at the park. Well a couple of blocks away really. But still. There.
f) Realize that the frantic whipping around of the balloons in the backseat for nine hundred miles has utterly, completely, and hopelessly irrevocably tangled up the strings. I look at the jumbled mass of shit for about seven seconds, even pick at it for another couple of seconds before definitively concluding there is no effing WAY those strings are ever going to be untangled. And dismiss it from my mind. Walk to the park.
g) Get to park, find everyone relatively easily, even run into an old friend from Turner. He's Italian. His name is Luca. He hasn't changed a bit. Give the balloons to Kat to tie up. Twenty minutes later, Kat says to me, "Where are the balloons?" Sure enough, look around. No where. Look up and do a 360 sky search. It's as if they never existed.
FIN.
I'm spent. Part two will be later. It's a lot more positive, don't worry.
Teasers: Young Frankenstein (Frahnkenschteen!), wine, friends, boy.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
I really should put a stop to this.
Ah, the memorial day weekend. A veritable slap-dash blur of free-flowing booze, junky yummy food, a skillion cigarettes, very little sleep, and a haze of memories as one day blended into the next. Not part of my weekend? Why, anything productive, on my to-do list, or involving physical exercise. Unless you count skinny-dipping as exercise. And actually, as a matter of fact, I DO!
My boss is out this week, and I am being surprisingly productive. It feels good. What does not feel good is the sore thigh muscle I have after I BRILLIANTLY played softball yesterday without stretching out AT ALL. Smart. I feel effing old.
Okay, I'm going to go work out. It's the least I can do.
First, though, I have to finish my cheese nips.
Help me.
My boss is out this week, and I am being surprisingly productive. It feels good. What does not feel good is the sore thigh muscle I have after I BRILLIANTLY played softball yesterday without stretching out AT ALL. Smart. I feel effing old.
Okay, I'm going to go work out. It's the least I can do.
First, though, I have to finish my cheese nips.
Help me.
Friday, May 28, 2004
WTF I can STILL NOT see my post from this morning! K did and already commented (which of course, I can't see either but who cares it will just be the usual whiny shizz). Blogger be damned! How DARE you give me something for nothing that doesn't work right!!
Was about to write about how bitter and jealous I am that EVERYONE seems to have either a) not worked today at all, or b) has already gone home, but then She Came Along to Me came on my media player and now I'm all happy again and shit. Yay Billy Bragg.
Was about to write about how bitter and jealous I am that EVERYONE seems to have either a) not worked today at all, or b) has already gone home, but then She Came Along to Me came on my media player and now I'm all happy again and shit. Yay Billy Bragg.
I hate my crybaby friends. They winge and moan at the hint of the slightest amount of things not going their way. Take my friend that I'll call Caryn. One mention from the weatherman that there will be scattered storms over the holiday weekend, and she flips. Sometimes I just want to slap that girl flat across the face. Although with my perpetual pose of beer-in-one-hand-smoke-in-the-other all weekend, I'm not sure how I would do that.
Oh yeah, I have to clean my house too.
God I love three-day weekends.
Oh yeah, I have to clean my house too.
God I love three-day weekends.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
So today I have been listening to a couple of CDs I haven't played in a while, one of which is Rock Spectacle by Barenaked Ladies. I bought this CD when I was living in Martha's Vineyard the summer after I graduated from college. I was in a ratty Boston record store, and I bought this, Hello Nasty, and Ophelia. Why would I effing remember that? Anyway, while I was playing it this morning all these memories of that summer, driving around, the ocean and beaches, the people I met and became friends with, etc, all exploded into my head. Shit I haven't thought about in a long time. It know it sounds weird, but it made me want to cry, because I miss that girl that I used to be. I don't want to be her again, but I do miss her.
I met this guy this weekend, who turned out to be 25. It's funny, I felt really old around him. And yet I don't around someone like KP. Oh wait, I forgot that boys are stupid. Jesus Kevin was older than me and I always felt like I was babysitting and not getting paid. He was cute, though. The 25-year old. Arrogant and naive--just how I like 'em.
MV story: The four of us rented this house, had nine skillion parties, and drank heavily to make up for non-party days. Consequently, we had AMAZING towers of empty beer bottles and cans to recycle. Except that we only went twice. The whole summer. Each time was precipitated by the fact that we could no longer navigate our way through the screened-in porch to get out the front door. It took about 4 hours to get all our shit together and get down to the recycling place, and we always hid the NAAAAAASTY bottles with rotted limes (Corona! oh my god we drank so much of it) covered in moldy spiderwebs in them at the back so the recycler guy wouldn't see them. I remember both times we were all excited and like, "We're going to get like $500 for all this shit!" And then we would get like $48.
I met this guy this weekend, who turned out to be 25. It's funny, I felt really old around him. And yet I don't around someone like KP. Oh wait, I forgot that boys are stupid. Jesus Kevin was older than me and I always felt like I was babysitting and not getting paid. He was cute, though. The 25-year old. Arrogant and naive--just how I like 'em.
MV story: The four of us rented this house, had nine skillion parties, and drank heavily to make up for non-party days. Consequently, we had AMAZING towers of empty beer bottles and cans to recycle. Except that we only went twice. The whole summer. Each time was precipitated by the fact that we could no longer navigate our way through the screened-in porch to get out the front door. It took about 4 hours to get all our shit together and get down to the recycling place, and we always hid the NAAAAAASTY bottles with rotted limes (Corona! oh my god we drank so much of it) covered in moldy spiderwebs in them at the back so the recycler guy wouldn't see them. I remember both times we were all excited and like, "We're going to get like $500 for all this shit!" And then we would get like $48.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Better today. Got loads of sleep last night, and body not nearly as sore. Work is particularly difficult to focus on today, because I have way more exciting extracurricular things to research such as:
Hmm the last point reminds me what an EFFING MESS my house has become. Weekend resolution: organize shizz, shred about a million things, just generally get things tidy. Christ almighty, the MISSION it will be.
On another note, got a lovely package from mon souer yesterday--it included the soundtrack to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And my review is. . . movie good, soundtrack kind of effing sucks. Some bits are nice to have in the background when working (har the irony), but others are blenders of shit inside my ears. God on a few tracks I started to panic that I wouldn't be able to skip in time to prevent my brain splitting. It was v sweet of C to send, though--she also sent the new Diana Krall, will listen next. See what I did there? I'm figuring she might read this at some point and get pissed.
One last thing before I go: if Karen and my blogs were having a race, mine would be KICKING HER ASS.
1. Checking out cars online (Volvo update: now she's doing this weird choppy thing when I'm accelerating, like she's gasping for air when I am speeding up. I am not a mechanic, but I sense this is NOT GOOD. My dad is all about the S40s, he will help me look for one when he is here in July. I fear it may be too late.)
2. Researching MBA programs (I really think I am going to do this, need to conduct research as to whose program is better, GSU v. UGA)
3. Potentially planning a weekend jaunt up to Chicago to see the sis
4. Finding out where the eff a post office or other mailing institution is near the office as I have approx 9 skillion things to post
5. Getting my shizz together insofar as vaccinations go for the Africa trip (Did I tell you that I inadvertently found my feared-lost passports this weekend when I was looking for my tire warranty stuff? I was so pleased, did a little dance around the house. And HELLO I'm going to Africa)
Hmm the last point reminds me what an EFFING MESS my house has become. Weekend resolution: organize shizz, shred about a million things, just generally get things tidy. Christ almighty, the MISSION it will be.
On another note, got a lovely package from mon souer yesterday--it included the soundtrack to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And my review is. . . movie good, soundtrack kind of effing sucks. Some bits are nice to have in the background when working (har the irony), but others are blenders of shit inside my ears. God on a few tracks I started to panic that I wouldn't be able to skip in time to prevent my brain splitting. It was v sweet of C to send, though--she also sent the new Diana Krall, will listen next. See what I did there? I'm figuring she might read this at some point and get pissed.
One last thing before I go: if Karen and my blogs were having a race, mine would be KICKING HER ASS.
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