You guys are so incredible

I love you all! Thank you for all your well-wishing!

Want to know how I healed?

A glass of vodka and five martinis, all on someone else's tab. (Thank you, Robert, random guy at the bar. He needed someone to listen to him bitch about his divorce, I needed liquor. It was fabulous.)

Puking my guts out, in someone else's toilet. (Thank you, Ray-Ray. She's from the South. I think she was actually disappointed I wasn't projectile vomiting.)

Recovering all day, next day. Thank you, parents. (Last Saturday in my parents' house!)

By the time I talked to TheBoy again, I was fine. Sometimes you don't need girl talk: sometimes, you need escape, and then recuperation, and plenty of Dave Chapelle.

I've never understood Holly Golightly

And this phrase of hers: The Mean Reds.

It doesn't descibe to me any mood of mine. When I'm down, I get blue, and that's what I feel right now; like my whole soul is deep, dark, navy blue.

I'm not sure I want to date TheBoy anymore, but I definitely don't want to break up. Not one of my friends is available this Memorial Day Weekend. The ones that are, are all on dates. Let me tell you how wonderful it is to hear that your friend is on her third date in a lovely new relationship.

It makes my soul not only navy blue, but sort of curdled on the edges.

And now TheBoy has just called me and has done exactly what I've wanted him to do all week--in fact, for weeks, plural. And it's not enough.

Note to self: it is really, really hard to focus on the screen when you're crying. Or on the keys, for that matter.

What Happens When I Try to Par-tay: a Cautionary Tale in Five Acts

This is the true story of what happens when:

This girl (me):
 

And this girl (Shrewsbury):
 
Become these girls:

and drink two Sparks a piece while at home, and then see this guy:
 
singing, "I'll Stop the World and Melt With You" (Really! And y'all, you had to see this guy to believe it.)

And meet up with these gentlemen:
 
...who are all funny, hot, successful engineers who can't get laid for the life of them, and you mix in about 537 drinks...you end up with this:
 


And a good time is had by all.

In other news, working from home on a gorgeous day is AWESOME!

What happens when "work" tries to "par-tay"

Cinco De Mayo at B-----. Note the extreme sadness of the plate, the lone avocado behind it, and the multiple reports it rests on. 

But when your life normally looks like this: 

...then you might think Cinco De Mayo is Pretty Damn Exciting.

Until, of course, you see where Laurie works (scroll down) and then you just want to claw your own eyes out. Sigh.

I, too, can learn HTML!

The truly obsessive among us will notice that I've Made My Blog Prettier!

If only HTML was required for my job, or something.

So, I'm a little concerned

Because for the past hour, what have I done?

That's right, y'all. I've been asleep at my desk.

Like, literally sound asleep.

Here's what I DIDN'T do:

Go for a healthy walk in the sunshine, because it's gorgeous here.

But instead I totally slept. And although my cubicle mates sit around the corner, one sits within a line of sight, and I think she MAY have noticed me being asleep for an hour--more like an hour and a half. AND she's a SNITCH.

Fortunately, as of last week I could do no wrong. So we'll hope my brownie points carry me through...
...but as my dad says, so eloquently, 'It only takes one "whoops" to wipe out ten "atta-girls".'

Maybe I should get more sleep at night. Hmmmm.

Signs You've Reached a New Low

You make a page for your dog on Dogster. (See Previous Post.)

Lots of dogs want to be friends with Your Dog.

More dogs want to be friends with Your Dog than people want to be friends with you, apparently, and...

...technically you should have the advantage because you have two blogs and Your Dog has only one.

And it doesn't bother you at all, not one little bit. You're excited for Your Dog! He's so popular!

When you're REALLY EXCITED that YOUR DOG'S diary has been chosen to be in the DAILY DIARY PICKS!

You spend more time blogging about Your Dog, both on Your Blog and Your Dog's Blog, then you do walking him.

Is there such a thing as being a crazy dog lady?

Because, so help me God, I have made a page for Titan on Dogster.

I pray the end will come swiftly.

This morning, my heart was stolen...

By a tall blonde wearing a white dress shirt on and khakis. It was a brilliant morning at 6 am and I had my triple espresso in hand, eyes barely open in spite of sunshine and said espresso, as I punched buttons trying to buy a train ticket, carry a huge leather purse, my coffee, AND a huge laptop bag all at once, not to mention fiddle with wallet and not spill espresso on pale pink leather purse.

When out of the corner of my eye, I see a tan blur, and this blonde alpha male (to quote SheWalks: omgHOT) comes bounding around the corner into the ticket booth, reaches OVER MY HEAD (can you imagine the waves of pheremones that might be coming off a blonde alpha human that's just been jogging in the sunshine? CAN YOU?) and...and this is the kicker...

Retrieves the half-finished bottled Frappucino he's inadvertently left on top of the ticket machine.

Is this guy perfect for me, or what?

I followed him out the ticket door, smiling in spite of myself (but sadly, weighed down by baggage of all kinds, both the mental kind ("Hello, Brain to Heart, COME IN, HEART! YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!" Heart: "But...But...Awwww.") and the physical kind (hard to jump into a stranger's arms on any day, harder still when weighed down by amount of luggage that normal person would carry for week-long vacation. I did manage to shout to his retreating back,

"I've done that so many times!"

AND HE STOPPED. He turns around and looks at me, smiling wide, and I swear the sun got brighter for a second, and pours out a virtual STREAM of words. "What a gorgeous and perfect woman you are! I have been searching for you all of my life! Why don't you drop all those bags and leap into my arms, and then I shall carry you AND your bags onto the train and we can talk about how much we love Starbucks, and how wonderful our lives will be together forever!"

Oh, pardon me, I was getting confused for a second. That's what he said in my HEAD. In real life, he really did grin, and talked fast, but after I was done drooling what I caught at the end was, "You think, 'Hey, this is a perfect place to set this!...never mind.'"

Words can't descibe the timing, but it turns out that in addition to being a blonde demi-god, this cat is FUNNY. My laughter pealed out (and it IS loud) immediately, causing the overweight train "security personnel" (read: waste of taxpayer's money) to look up from sharing their oh-so-secure cigarettes, and I actually stopped walking, I was laughing so hard.

Tall Blonde grinned again, and I said the first thing that came to my head: "I'm really glad I talked to you this morning!"

*Insert head pounding on wall here.*

Could I have BEEN ANY MORE NERDY AND SOCIALLY INEPT? Short Answer: No.

Tall Blonde smiled uncertainly at Nerdy Girl Wearing Tired Forest Green Jacket and Stilletos and Carrying Big Pink Bag, and bounded onto the train, second car.

Guess what I did!

a) Followed him into second car, sat down near him, and tried to repair image.
b) Followed him into second car, sat down near him, and tried to engage him in eye tag, being too shy to say anything.
c) Followed him into second car, sat down.
d) Continued on my route to THE FIRST CAR, like AN IDIOT, thereby REMOVING ALL CHANCE OF SITTING NEAR HIM.

If you chose (a), (b), or (c), I bet you do horribly on standardized tests.

Inner Dialogue Once On Train:

You complete and utter fool. You're a whole car away from him. You could have at least followed him to his damn car! Hundreds of people ride the train every day! It's not like he could have accused you of anything! You could have seen what stop he got off at, at least, and now you don't know a thing about him. Was he even wearing a ring? Hey, Cute Cyclist B----- Engineer just got on, and he's going to the second car! Did I miss the memo? Is the second car where all the cool kids sit, and I didn't know? Trust me to sit on the train's only nerdy car.

Should I move cars now? No, I'll finish my sandwich first--might as well get unattractive part of morning of the way. And then I can finish my espresso, so I'll be carrying less stuff, and THEN I'll apply lip gloss, and then I'll...oh, the train's moving.

DAMN. Now if I move cars it'll look really obvious. But I have lip gloss on and everything! And I'm wearing jeans that show off my ass! It's Friday! And I have really hot heels on! No, remember pact from a few days ago? You'll look this good every day, now. Damn those cute girls in the hallway. But you'll look good. You can see him tomorrow. DAMN. Tomorrow is Saturday and by Monday he'll have forgotten all about me. DAMN DAMN DAMN!!! In fact, next week I won't be riding the train much! I'll be driving because I have a more erratic schedule! Guess I'll have to ride the train at least a few times. What train does he take home? Does he usually sit in the second car? Maybe I'll try the second car today on the way home and see. Maybe I should just move to the second car now. No, I couldn't possibly negotiate those sliding doors with Killer Bags.

*Stand up. Move anyway, hoping that perhaps Tall Blonde or Cute Engineer will be in first car regardless. Go to door between cars. Stand motionless deciding whether to open door or not. Actually turn handle. Release handle. Turn slightly to see Cute Engineer watching me from upper level of first car, eyes seriously wide and scared. Slink away into nearby seat. Bury self in book.*

Yes, I'm aware I have a boyfriend. I'm taken, not blind. Or sane.

Exotic Coffee is My Downfall

Kiwi is entirely right, of course. (Although didn't I mention in a post that I knew I got lots of sugar from my fluffy coffee? I didn't? Maybe I said it, you know, OUT LOUD to someone. The brain gets confused.)

I love Starbucks, y'all, I really do. I worship them. I can't help it. Oh, I TRY to help it--occasionally I buy other kinds of coffee, from independent stores, and I feel really good when I do it, but that short-lived good feeling is not enough to keep me away from the CRACK that is Starbucks coffee. (Much like the short-lived good feeling that I get after kick-boxing is not enough to make me want to go again.)

Monday I was really good: although I did indeed go to Starbucks in the morning (hey, y'all, nothing else is open when I have to be on the train at 6:00 IN THE GODDAMNED MORNING) I just got a triple espresso. Generic, cheap(ish) and easy on the girlish figure.

And then Tuesday I got a huge fluffy coffee--with almond syrup AND mocha syrup AND whipped cream--and today I got one, too. Sigh. Every time, I tell myself, "Well, I can get fancy coffee, I just won't eat much today, so the calories will work out the same in the end."

But somehow it never works out that way. And I keep drinking Starbucks. Which is probably the sole enemy of me losing weight. And I still can't give it up.

On the other hand, I DID go to kick-boxing last night, and while I was on the phone with TheBoy, I was inspired: henceforth, "kickboxing" shall be replaced with "sexy butt" class. He (bless his heart) was trying to convince me to come hit a bucket of golf balls on the range, and I said, "No, I have to go to kickboxing!" Despite the fact that of course, getting a bucket of balls and maybe a pitcher of beer sounded like a much better idea. He was trying to convince me, and I was trying to hold on to my principles, and suddenly I said, "Don't you want me to have a sexy butt?"

He sounded a little surprised. "Well, of course."

"Okay, then. Kickboxing gives anyone a sexy butt. From now on, it's "Sexy Butt" class.

And who was he to say he didn't want me to go to Sexy Butt Class? Exactly.

And while I'm on the subject of giving things different names, I'm calling Starbucks "crack" from now on. Instead of saying, "Do you want to go to Starbucks?" I'll say, "Do you want to go to the crackhouse?"

Especially liberating in the presence of conservative engineers, all of whom will TOTALLY have, at the same time, one COLLECTIVE aneurysm! And it will be AWESOME!

Speaking of B-----, I have to say I'm again a fan of the Health Risk Assesment I took. After all, I've completely forgotten what it said, but my $25 Amazon gift card arrived today and it has already been spent, y'all, on the following:

1. Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl-A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own In a Relationship, which is funny and right on, and

2. Date Like a Man: What Men Know About Dating And Are Afraid You'll Find Out, which is my FAVORITE dating book, and

3. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett, because fiction and humor are really important.

Is it sad that the first two books on this list are dating books? I debated with myself about that. On the one hand, there's the pathos inherent in buying any dating book; on the other hand, these two are hysterically funny and remind me where I've gone wrong when I get off track and become completely needy. (And y'all, it happens.) And I got myself some Terry Pratchett just because I love him.

Oooooooooooookay...

I just passed four good looking girls in the hallway.

This wouldn't be so strange if I didn't work for a major aerospace company.

Nor would it bother me if I hadn't dressed up for the first week and given up since then. (In fact, I look like extra crap today.)

HOW do these girls have TIME to dress up in the morning???

Look, y'all, at 6:00 am, my eyes are far too puffy to hold mascara. The shit gets all over my eyelids. I mean, my clothes aren't bad--I can do that the night before. But full makeup at 6:00 am?

They have got to be robots. That's all there is.

But I bet they're not engineers. And if they are, I bet their jobs aren't as cool as mine are. And I bet they don't own wonderful dogs or are going camping with said dog and TheBoy over Labor Day weekend, and it's going to be AWESOME. Right.

Today, I start a diet

I wasn't intentionally trying to *be* SheWalks.

Really, even though I first fell in love with Blogger because I found SheWalks off Craigslist, and SheWalks' blog happens to be about losing weight...it still wasn't intentional.

But my washer completely stopped working last night with a whole tub full of water with ALL MY WORK CLOTHES in it. And THIS is how the universe repays me for being a good girl and washing my work clothes in preparation for the work week ahead for the first time in MONTHS--really. Yes, I have a really, really high tolerance for dirt.

So I ran around completely discombobulated and tried a bunch of old clothes on, where "old clothes" is defined as "winter dress clothes"...AND NONE OF THEM FIT!

I practically had a nervous breakdown. Edit: I really did have a nervous breakdown.

Because I really, really, like food. First, I'm slightly hypoglycemic, meaning that my body doesn't process food well--I'm like the V8 engine of digestive systems. Very bad fuel efficiency. Most of it comes out as waste. (I know, it's a lovely mental image!) So, like many girls, I've had a completely effed up relationship with food my whole life, but for somewhat different reasons. Food means so much to me, both to my body (if I don't eat every three hours, I'll fall asleep standing up, or worse, faint dead away without warning, pretty much the same thing) and to my mind, since it's essential for my constantly fluctuating blood-sugar levels, and therefore for moods, that it's like a drug--literally, if I'm low on blood sugar, and I eat something--ANYTHING--I'm immediately high--like being on speed.

Second, I...well, I really like food. I was raised on really good food, my parents have always eaten well, and I really like it. Having to eat less of it is about the worst thing I can imagine.

Of course, the problem with hypoglycemia is that you really have to watch your portions--because you have to eat so often, it's very very easy to overeat, not to mention a quick blood sugar fix is always a sugary food, so hypoglycemia turns into Type II Diabetes at the drop of a hat.

I haven't had a problem with that so far--I don't actually like sugar much, so it's easy for me to reach for whole grains or nuts or cheese (protein!) when I need to eat again--but I do have that portion-control problem. (Hey, how did I eat this whole jar of peanut butter?)

and AGAIN, that hasn't been much of an issue until now, because I swam a lot in high school and I had a fast metabolism anyway, and I'm sure people will hate me, but I've been tracking my food consumption on and off for awhile, and most days I eat about 2800-2900 calories.

BUT NO MORE.

The clothes I wear daily all still fit. But I've had an uncomfortable feeling for quite some time that I was getting a little bigger--last summer I was at close to 160 pounds.

NO MORE. I'm putting this all down in black and white because, although it's long and self-absorbed, I really, really AM going on a diet. I'm tired of filling out my clothes quite this much.

So, I changed my coffee drink from my huge sugar-laden and whipped-cream-topped almond mocha to a triple espresso this morning. With a teaspoon of half-and-half.

I kept myself to two string cheeses, a hardboiled egg, and carrots, for breakfast. And some watery coffee. (Why is there no quality control on the office coffee pot?)

Of course, for lunch, I walked into the cafeteria, and I was planning on having a salad, and they had just cooked pizza...

I had once huge slice. Maybe I'll have my salad for a snack.

And since I'm again living at my parents' house (15 more days!) usually I'm force fed at regular intervals (my dad: BE HOME FOR FAMILY DINNER!), but that won't happen this week because he's out of town!

The big question: how long will I have to diet? I don't have a pound goal in mind--I want to fit into all my clothes again. One week? Doable. One month? Yuck. Two months? RUN AWAY!!!

Sigh. Any tips?

The Crazy

No one describes The Crazy better than SheWalks--who actually has a name, Kristy, but it's so much more New Century and Cyber-Cool to call her by her blog name.

Anyway. She describes The Crazy very well, and should possibly be congratulated on both that and possibly getting married, depending on what her Imaginary Internet Friends think.

And The Crazy affects all of us, especially me as I sit here PMS-ing and feeling like I've gained 15 pounds in two days because I'm PMS-ing and eaten everything in sight, not to mention in a mood where I think I'm mad at TheBoy but I don't really know, so I'd like to talk to him and find out if I am, as if hearing his voice will coalesce my thoughts one way or the other, but can't call because it's ridiculous to call and say "I called to find out if I was mad at you or not" because if I DO turn out to be mad at him, what am I going to do? Announce to him, "Okay, well, now I'm mad at you" and get off the phone?

So INSTEAD I'm going out to play chess with an Ex With Whom I Have History With a Capital H who constantly kicks my ass at the game, partly because my attention span isn't that long but also because his sexual energy completely distracts me, and YES I'm doing this on purpose to bug TheBoy, but the gesture will probably be totally wasted because once again I can't call him just to announce that I'm playing chess with the Massive Personal History Ex.

But I'll distract myself with confusion of another kind, and I suppose at the end of the day that is the main point after all.

My Baby!

Titan, all nose. 

Mama, don't let your children grow up to be engineers

Samples of dialogue I hear in my morning vanpool commute:

*Action: Van driver, aka Only Semi-Cool Engineer, flicks turn signal and accidentally turns on window wipers. They go for several wipes before he turns them off.*

Annoying Engineer #1: "Hey...why'd you turn the wipers on?"

Only Semi-Cool Engineer: "I didn't mean to."

Annoy. Eng. #1: "But...it's not raining or anything. Why did you turn them on?"

O. S-C. Eng: "I didn't do it on purpose."

Annoy. Eng. #1: "But why..."

Me, turning around: "He flicked them on accidentally when he put the turn signal on. Haven't you ever done that?"

Annoy Eng. #2: "Hey, last night O. S-C. Eng put them on when it was sunny, too! Why did you do that?"

O. S-C. Eng: "I was trying to turn on the AC."

Annoy. Eng. #1, highly entertained: "There's some weird cosmic wiper action happening!"

Me: *bangs head against window*

And the following shining conversation:

Annoy. Eng. #3 (yes, these are all DIFFERENT annoying engineers, because one wouldn't be bad enough): "Hey, that Middle-Eastern-looking guy got on at the KENT station today."

*van is totally silent*

Annoy. Eng. #3: "He got on at the PUYALLUP station yesterday."

*still silence*

Annoy. Eng. #3: "And he was walking up and down the platform, like he was casing the joint."

Me, unable to keep silent (which is always the case): "Maybe he has a girlfriend."

Annoy. Eng. #3: "Ummmmm..."

Me: "Or maybe he was visiting his mother."

Annoy. Eng. #3: "But he was CASING the platform. I tried to get on the same car as him, to keep an eye on him, but he avoided me, all right."

Me: *bangs head against window*

Behind me, two engineers discuss their wives:

Sympathetic Engineer #1: "So you're sure she's just having a midlife crisis?"

Stoic, yet Obviously Broken Hearted Engineer #1: "Yeah. She's living at her mom's and she's talking about some guy. She's dyed her hair blonde. She's talking about buying a Harley...with my money, of course."

Symp. Eng. #1: "But you think she'll come back..."

St. y. Obv. Br. Htd. Eng #1, suddenly brave: "Of course she will! I just have to wait it out. She'll come back."

(Sidenote: Most of the guys in my van are either divorced or married for at least the third time. Who says engineers are quick learners?)

After telling all this to my mentor, Bill, he laughed and said, "There are a few requirements before you can be an engineer. You have to be conservative, and you have to be narrow-minded, and you have to be anal, and you have to be..."


I finished it for him: "Emotionally retarded."

"Well, yes, that’s an important quality, too."

This, folks, is why kt's blog is subtitled, "i'm a gemini trapped in an engineering career. i need a creative outlet."

Amen, sister.

(And it doesn't get any better. I'm trying to get the Finance people across the hall to help me out with something, and I swear to God they howl at the moon and devour their own young.)

Scattered Thoughts

I have a ton to do, and absolutely no impetus to do it. Hoping it will help, I'm going to empty my brain of random thoughts by listing them here on this journal, hoping to clear the slate in time to work--only two more hours!

A song I like right now: Common's 'The Corner', featuring Kanye West.

The bluebells that TheBoy picked for me several days ago are now dry and dead, and shedding flower dust and bits all over my important papers, and the Starbucks paper cup they were in (still with the dozens of black marks on the side the baristas use to try to frantically record my 13-word order) isn't the most stable thing in the world, so they often fall over, losing thousands of bits of flower dust each time.

I should toss them out.

Okay, I've worked for 15 minutes and I'm utterly exhausted.

I really need to get my bangs trimmed--they were cut long last time, which is good because I was going to a college reunion and didn't want them too short or different, but they look like shit now.

I have a yogurt--plain, nonfat--that's been sitting on my desk for 24 hours. I wonder if it's still good, or if I even want to check it.

Starbucks has mint mocha frappucinos! WOO! And the pale mint-green label goes beautifully with my pale pink bag. This may be the most shallow thing I have ever said.

Reminder to self: once home, TRY TO RUN HELLO SO YOU CAN GET YOUR DAMN PHOTOS UPLOADED. Sheesh. Because only with pictures will Lovely Imaginary Internet Friends see the true grayness and Office-Space-ness that is your office, especially compared to Laurie's office where it's sunny and she has a gorgeous view of downtown and she sucks.

Also, an announcement: after the Great Roommate Search, (read it today because it's gone after that! God, I love Craigslist) I would to announce that I've found a really cool roommate, Monica, who's cool even though she *likes* running, and a really cool house, pictures of which will be coming as SOON AS I DO MORE AT HOME BESIDES STUFF MY FACE AND SIT ON MY DUFF, like RUNNING THE DAMN HELLO PROGRAM.

Whew. This "coffee" of which people speak can really make you hyper!

Sidenote: Can I say how much I love the "autosave" feature? I want to marry it. I want to have like ten thousand of its babies.

Helping out TheBoy...

...Who lives with three other bachelors in a big old house in Tacoma. One of said bachelors just had a huge change in plans and is moving out at the end of the month, so they need another roommate, and if anyone knows a guy (or girl) in Tacoma who needs a really cheap living situation ($300 per month, all utilities included) then this room is perfect for them! Yes, the house is a little messy--it's huge and old and it's a damn bachelor pad, for God's sake. But the house itself is gorgeous--jewel-toned paint colors--and it has a ginormous yard with a stone fireplace OUTSIDE, grilling pit, and pond with bridge, really. It's awesome.

But don't take my word for it. Ask Craig. He knows all.

Let it be known...

That I have nothing exciting to say, so I've been reduced to being snarky about people I don't even know...and not even the blogs of people that I don't know, but the COMMENTS on BLOGS of people, NEITHER of which persons I know. I am a sad, sad girl.

On the other hand, Best of Craigslist has been updated! WOO!

Also

I have a gigantic throbbing zit on my chin, sort of under my lip. And my hair's a mess.

But you know what? I'm going to B&N ANYWAY. Thank God for Saturdays!

The Guinness Controversy

After much spirited debate...

I think the problem here is that we may be talking about two different beers. This page lists Guinness Draft (what you get in the bar) as 125 calories per 12 oz, which makes it about 167 calories per pint--not as low as I said it was, but standard. And Guinness Foreign Extra Stout is 176 calories per 12 oz, which makes it 236 calories per 16 oz. Ouch? Maybe. But it's also 7.5% alcohol. :) This page, on the other hand, says Guinness Extra Stout is 43 calories per 100 mL, which means it's 152 calories per 12 oz--203 calories a pint, rounding up.

Confused yet? This guy is my hero! Quote, taken directly, but without permission: "Guinness is often thought of as a high calorie beer but the official word from Guinness is that it is less than 11 calories per ounce. A 12oz serving has 125 calories, 9.8 grams of carbs and it's alcoholic content is 4.2%. For comparison, 12 ounces of Budweiser is 150 calories and 11 grams carbs, 12 ounces of Heineken is 150 calories and 12.2 grams of carbs, 12 ounces of Corona Extra is 148 calories and 14.1 grams of carbs, and SURPRISE... a Sam Adams Light has 126 calories and 10.9 grams of carbs. Of course, I don't know anyone who only drinks 12 ounces of Guinness (or any beer for that matter) so your mileage will vary."

In conclusion? Guinness has a devoted cult following, a semi-devoted mainstream following, and is the center of countless folklore claims--don't you want to see what the hoopla's about? Drink Guinness!

The Alcohol Diet!

For those of you who are just tuning in, this is in response to SheWalks' blog, in which arises the question, how do you drink and lose weight?

As misshaveyou said, it's quite simple.

There's two main prongs to losing weight on the alcohol diet.

The First Prong has been covered: Drink on an empty stomach. Don't eat less than three hours before drinking OR eat while you drink! WHY? That's just craziness! If you don't eat, you'll be drunk faster, take in less alcohol calories in the first place and be more likely to puke later! Perfect! Tell yourself: Eating before I drink is a waste of food--not to mention time and money that could be spent on booze.

The Second Prong, however, is more important and MUCH more overlooked:
CHANGE YOUR DRINKING HABITS.

"But Aarwenn, when you say 'change', what exactly do you mean? What exactly should I change?"

Boy, I'm glad you asked. Two words: Wine and Booze.

1. Wine. Drink only wine, the drier the better. Dry white wine is about 85 calories a glass--dry red wine about the same. Europeans are onto something. Drink wine, and lots of it!

2. Booze. Booze is your friend. You love booze! You are a jealous lover! You want booze all to yourself! You don't want any nasty mixers! When you go out drinking, if you forgo all other kinds of drinking and instead pour any kind of hard liquor on the rocks and drink it straight, you'll lose weight so fast you'll go broke buying new clothes.

I know, I know. It’s difficult.

“But I don’t LIKE booze straight,” you might wail. In that case, the following variation on the above is definitely for you. Because who can even taste the booze when you shoot it?

3. A variation on the above: The Shot-and-Wait. Drink a shot of anything hard. (Uh…I meant, drink a shot of BOOZE THAT’S AT LEAST 100 PROOF. Whew.) Get glass of water. Drink water. Repeat about every half hour, or 20 minutes…or every 15 minutes. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Who are you? You are a bad-ass, that's who. You are a lean and mean pool-playing machine. You drink glasses of red wine and discuss art. You wear smudged black eyeliner and drink whiskey shots. You wear pink, flirt at the bar, and drink Vodka Neat; that's plenty girly. Get some lemon and suck on it in between...

Did I mention you'll lose weight so fast you'll go broke buying clothes? Oh, I did. Excellent.

Disclaimer: Aarwenn kept her swimmer's figure while simultaneously being a beer-chugging chamion in college. There is nothing she does not know about staying thin while drinking heavily. She is not a medical professional.

A possible reason why my Hello account doesn't work...

Might be that B----- is fairly paranoid about the security of their servers and has some very strong firewalls, proxy servers, and all sorts of other ridiculous things, and Hello's FAQ says they don't support proxy servers. Humph.

I'll have to try when I'm home. Because when B----- decides to celebrate Cinco De Mayo...

The results can be ugly.

Need Help...

Does anyone actually use Hello by Picassa to post pictures? And if so, why can't I get mine to work? I signed up and downloaded the program, and when I try to log on, it says, "Server unreachable. Your Internet connection is working, but a connection to the server could not be established [0x00000021]

Explain, anyone?

More on Banana Smell!

Apparently I'm NOT the only one who worries about it! (Scroll down a few posts to see Banana Smell Post.) Available to satisfy my weirdness are these two handy-dandy carriers:

The Banana Guard is hinged, banana-shaped case--kind of like a violin case, it just needs a handle. Apparently it's "specially designed to fit the vast majority of bananas."

And the Banana Bunker, with a bendy middle in order to accomodate all SHAPES of bananas, but apparently it only fits small to medium bananas. Poor large bananas--where will they find acceptance?

I'M GOING BANANAS! WOO!

And I still pine for role models...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! I'M SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED!!!!!!!!!!!

I can't scream and pound the table in my office, so the blog gets the brunt of it.

Just had a rather interesting experience. As I've mentioned, being an employee of B---- has its perks; among them, Book Clubs! And if you join a book club, you get the book free! So I joined the book club "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office", which I've wanted to read for some time. The book is sitting on my desk right now--and it's hard to not read it at work when I'm alone. :)

And because I joined this book club, I got a notice of an upcoming MS LiveMeeting Seminar featuring Dr. Lois Frankel, Ph.D, author of Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office, called "Nice Girls Don't Get Rich"--taken from her new book. I thought, Excellent! A good excuse to not work for awhile and learn something!

And I certainly did learn a few things, mainly about money management--I'm thinking now that I might like her money book more than her work book. But in the first few minutes of the seminar, I almost hung up.

Maybe I'm more advanced then I think, maybe I'm just younger. But the first few questions--"Is it REALLY important to have money in your own name? What's wrong with sharing?"--"So many women see discussions like this as an occasion to be rude; I think there should be more emphasis on mixing assertiveness with good manners"--and Dr. Frankel AGREED with her--and, from a man, "Why only women? I'm a "nice boy" myself"--and Dr. Frankel spent the first 10 minutes of her presentation talking solely to this man, and any other men in the audience (less than 1%), about how that was a great question and how they, too, were at risk--and then she went right on with her Nice Girls presentation, which completely undermined her message. The next 10 minutes I spent thinking, "Why the hell is she even talking about Girls anymore? She's already made it clear that one man's needs far outweigh ours." Not to mention, every statement after that starting, "Women are more likely to..." I tempered with her statement echoing in my head that "MEN face these problems, too," which made me feel that I--and ALL women--didn't have any reason to complain because everyone faces these problems, and women had no excuse at all for why they were behind, and clearly we were just stupid.

The first twenty minutes were absolutely awful. And then things got better--the way Dr. Frankel described women's behavior toward money fit me to a T, and I lost my superiority complex to some degree. And Dr. Frankel stated at the beginning that she herself was a recovering nice girl--I just didn't know she was that far behind on her recovery. Here's what I would have said:

To the woman who asked if it was really important to have money in your own name: "Please take your shoes off and and go back to the kitchen, but get your tubes tied first." Any woman who still asks questions like that needs to clear out of the business world and leave space for us who a) can understand facts, like basic financial statistics about divorce, for example; b) has even a modicum of self awareness and knows that statistics apply to her, too; c) and while she's at it, remove herself from the gene pool.

To the woman who reminded us about good manners: "Fuck you." No, really. Has it not occured to you that women spend their ENTIRE LIVES being reminded of good manners? Good posture, nice things to say? THAT'S NOT THE INSTRUCTION WE NEED! Believe me: women will always have better manners than any men around them. For God's sake let's concentrate on our WEAK points, not the stuff we already do by instinct.

To the man who was so important to Dr. Frankel that she devoted 10 minutes only to him: "Did you not catch the title of the book? Are you a girl? Go find yourself a book with a title like: 'Stop Bein' a Wimp: 101 Ways to Tackle Your Enemies and Touchdown in the Financial Success Zone.'" Newsflash: we live in a White Male society. EVERYTHING is ALREADY geared towards you, you ignorant self-absorbed complacent pillar of society. Would it kill you to leave us women our one corner of support? Oh--excuse me, I guess it would.

Sigh. Where are MY role models? Where's the business advice that assumes women already know how to be as successful as their male counterparts, and now want to stage hostile takeovers? Where's the business advice column that answers questions like, "I have 2 personal assistants and 60 people working under me. How do I stay "hands-on" regarding daily activities?"

Paranoia, paranoia/Everybody's coming to get me

B----, the place I work, is a majorly huge company. So they have all these great freebies, like public-transportation-commute incentives and free health advice through the Mayo Clinic, and just the other day I got a flyer that said, "Feel good about where your health is heading! Take the Mayo Clinic Health Risk Assessment before June 1, 2005, and get a $25 gift card for the road!"

I thought to myself: Self, you could really use a $25 gift card--don't you need more Kiehl's Calendula Toner? And you love taking quizzes and filling out questionnaires! This is perfect!

So I took the damn health risk assessment, and now I'm fucking paranoid. It turns out my risk level is "High", because I routinely drive 6 or more miles over the speed limit, drink more than FOUR FUCKING DRINKS per week, smoke almost daily, don't get 5 servings of fruits and vegetables a day, and rate my stress level as 4 on a scale of 1-5.

HELLO, MAYO HEALTH CLINIC! THAT CLASSIFIES AS NORMAL! Seriously, who do you know that's not stressed out, drinks less than one drink per day, eats 5 servings of fruits and vegetables, and drives the speed limit everywhere? Even on back roads that are marked 25, but on which everyone routinely goes 50? (I'll leave off the smoking--I know not everyone does that.)

Right, so now I'm paranoid, or was. My new strategy is to not give a fuck. I don't give a FUCK! It's very freeing. I'm too bad-ass and just too busy living my life to give a fuck. So there.

However. It's still a problem, because not giving a fuck, at its core, requires freedom--the freedom of financial stability, so you're not stressed about money; the freedom of good health, so you can pour drinks and smoke cigarettes while being flagrantly thin and rosy-cheeked, the freedom of an unstressed mind, which is helped by not giving a fuck and also fuels the attitude of not giving a fuck. (It's a vicious circle!--Picture circle: Grrr!)

So. In my efforts to become a more disciplined (and free) person, I have:

1. Made very real efforts towards tutoring. Decided not to go to Princeton Review Audition last night, but am meeting with lady on Thursday for coffee to talk about tutoring her children AND calling Mrs. Troy's friend. Today, if possible.

2. Made a very real effort to take better care of myself. Am eating more greens and more "real" food. Starting off every day with big glass cranberry juice, and taking vitamins (especially garlic and vitamin C). No More Honeymoon-Itis!

3. Moved back to Tacoma for cheaper living.

4. Signed up for lower interest carloan at BECU--in process of faxing Important Documents over.

5. Started kickboxing again and am making real effort to associate "exercise" with "YAY!" in mind, as opposed to "Ugh.", the current association.

6. Brought lunch from home all days this week--healthier and cheaper. As the divine Helen Gurley Brown said, "Carrot sticks are glamour girl fodder."

7. Returned DVDs to Blockbuster so as to get charges refunded! Returned battery to Best Buy and got refunded! (Hey, this is a big deal for me.)

8. Started researching drink specials. Because, duh.

And there you have it. My steps so far on the road to freedom and Not Giving a Fuck. Conventional? No, but why would I ever be conventional?

Banana Smell

Signs that I'm truly weird: this morning about 5:20, I was wrapping up my lunch. My mom wandered upstairs, yawning. (She works from home--and doesn't even have to be "at work" until 7:30.) She stared at me.

"Yes?" I said, not really thinking.

"What IS that thing wrapped in the Safeway bag?" she asked, warily.

I looked down. "Um...it's a banana, mom."

"OH." (pause) "But why is it wrapped up like that?"

Me, totally confused: "Wrapped up like what?"

"Like THAT. It's not in your food sack, it's wrapped up in its own bag, completely separated. Why?"

"Because of banana smell."

"Banana smell?"

"Yes, because bananas, especially super-ripe ones, infest your entire lunch bag with banana smell, and I have an avocado and a tomato and some good cheese..." I trailed off, feeling silly.

She gave me a Look before shuffling off to the computer room. "Honey, it looks like you're taking a dildo to work," was her parting line.

Come on, people! Banana smell! Haven't you ever packed a lunch with a banana in it, only to discover at lunch time that your excellent cheese and ham sandwich, spread thickly with mayonnaise and mustard, or maybe some hummus, but at any rate, a salt and salt sandwich, spread with salt, which you are salivating over as you should...now has a faint but pervasively cloying banana smell about it? You can't taste it, not really. But every time you bring it* to your mouth, you can smell it!

I HATE THAT!

*"it" being "the sandwich". Unattached pronouns allowed to roam unattached, especially in a sentence that contains the words "your mouth", are how rumors get started.

Original Starting Post

It's somewhat of a tradition, now. When I started blogging, 2.5 years ago, I wrote this post, and I think it's worth a re-print.

First entry in the online-journal world. I swore I'd never do this, that it was the last word in self-worship, that no one cared about my mental state, and even if they did, that it was better to remain an enigma, etc, etc. Yet here I am. Possibly because I realized, recently, how angry I was that a friend of mine (Eli, you know who you are) simply left his AIM away message as "I am away from my computer right now".

What? No pithy statement on society or compact statement of your feelings? No play-by-play schedule of the next four hours of your life? How am I supposed to stalk you?

And that got me started thinking about how, these days, people are ASKING to be stalked; they put their cell numbers on their Away messages and their IM names on their webpages. Anyone trolling the web could find your phone number and call you, just for kicks, and you couldn't really object (except on the law of common sense, which, ironically, appears to be lacking in every American court) because you had put all that info on the net in the first place. Is this where we, as a society, are headed?

And if so, better to be on the frontlines than three years behind. So here I am. Besides, I'm quite self-centered, as any of my sorority sisters will tell you, so who better than to blab about their emotional state where thousands of strangers can read about it? Besides, it beats cleaning.

Starting Post!

I was inspired to do this solely because of SheWalks, who is hysterical and has a lovely blog, and I wanted to mine to be as pretty as hers. I found SheWalks off of Craigslist,, and I don't know her at all, not even a little bit. And even though I don't know her, I'm reading her blog regularly, and have even posted two comments.

So, basically, I'm starting a blog on THIS website--when I already HAVE a blog somewhere else--because I'm a Craigslist fanatic, and I'm e-stalking a funny blogger. And if that's not internet street cred...

I don't know what is.