Wednesday, November 29, 2006


Got this gem in one of the previous comments, and wanted to repost it here:

L-T says: "You know, there's a saying in the Blogosphere: TTIWWOP! This thread is worthless without pics!"

And so, with much further ado, I bring you: Pictures.

On our way up to Whistler. Notice the big smiles. We are ready to SKI! Nothing will stop us! No sirree bob!

Getting ready, still unware that Anything Bad Would Happen.

I wish this was me; I wish that my fall had been in so much powder. This is a representative shot of all the tumbles that were taken on Friday. You can see that there is enough snow to cover several mountain ranges. How did I find the one rock patch? Ask my skis.

After the first day--I'd already broken myself against a moutain, but the boys are all in fine far.

Myself and Nina. Notice how nice and happy we look here. You can't see how bad my thigh is, and I'm all smiley because I've had all day to rest, have just gotten in a hot tub, and taken six advil. My mood on this night will get drastically worse.

The Girls, at breakfast, Sunday morning. You can see that we look a little more raggedy here. We are all bundled up, even inside the cafe, because it is REALLY FREAKIN' COLD outside, although you can't tell that from the picture.

An absolute gem of a picture, and my reaction to T-Town's broken leg, caught on film. I am on the phone with her at this very moment. Also indicative of my normal life, that is, a bunch of stuff happens around me while I'm on the phone. Typical.

I'm not the only one feeling the pain. We are all about to leave, and we are tired.

Really, Really tired.

But are we going again? WELL HELL YES WE ARE!

We are insane.

Monday, November 27, 2006


In the continuing tradition of rescuing my friends from ever needing to start their own blogs or even update them once they have them, I'll add to the previous post: I heard from T-Town (the girl, not the city) today.

I was in the Dublin Gate, an Irish pub and restaurant at the bottom of the gondolas in Whistler Village, waiting for LT to finish skiing so we could start the long and tortuous journey through six inches of snow and 20 degree weather when my phone rang, and I answered it.

"Hello? Oh, hey, T-Town."

"Blah blah mfffle garble-warble leg," she said.

I pressed the phone a little tighter against my ear. "I'm sorry?"

"Blah brark garble-warble LEG," she said again.

Me, totally guessing: "Oh! Did you read my blog?"

T-Town: "What?"

Me: "Maybe I misunderstood. Say it again."


Me, silent while this sinks in: "OH MY GOD! You broke your leg? What happened? Are you okay?"

T-Town: "Well, now that I'm done shouting at you, I'm fine, except for this broken leg."

Me: "Sweet! So did you read my blog?"

T-Town: "Oh, $(*&@# you."

Sunday, November 26, 2006

My Thigh Meets the Canadian Rockies. All of Them.

But I'm improving, I swear I am. Last time I was in Whistler, I wrecked my knee on the very first run of the very first day. And then I skiied on it all weekend. This time, I waited to wreck my thigh until the SECOND run! Huge improvements were made! (Sigh.)

The ski patrol was there in moments, almost faster than the LT, but not quite. Because I was ahead of everyone else, only our friend J saw me actually fall--he saw my skis fly up in the air and then everyone heard me scream, and, as J put it later, LT suddenly appeared out of nowhere, flying over to where I had been--J swears his skis actually came off in the air--so he could land by me and pop MY skis off, because I could not move my leg.

I'M FINE. I just body-planted on a rock field really, really hard. I didn't break anything, I hardly even broke my skin--my ski gear and helmet stood up well to the onslaught. My thigh bore the brunt of it--it wouldn't bear weight for several hours, but today I can walk, and almost go up and down stairs. It's just a great big charley horse, nothing permanent, but DAMN was I upset that I couldn't ski! Oh well. LT is skiing today. He texted me to say the snow is terrible, which was very sweet of him, given that Whistler got several inches of fresh powder over night and it is probably, actually, quite good.

The ski patrol guy asked me if I was allergic to anything, and I said, "Yeah, big fucking rocks," and he was so cool that he wrote it down: "Allergic to rocks." I almost laughed, except that it would have required moving. I got to ride in a toboggan, a very interesting experience and something I hope to never do again, although it's good to say that I've done it, and he got me down to the ski patrol "clinic" (read: "shed") and asked if I'd mind if he took a look and I said no, of course not, and I stripped down a little and he took a look.

"Seems okay," he said. "I don't think you fractured your femur. You should be okay after a few days. But are you always this vocal?"

My mind blanked out for second. "Am I always this what? WHAT?"

"Well, you make a lot of little noises," he said, not embarrassed, just asking. "Is that normal for you? Or are you in a lot of pain?"

I was speechless (possibly answering his question) while I considered the answers:

1. "You'd be vocal, too, if you'd just hit a rock wall going twenty miles an hour!"
2. "I don't know. Are all Canadians as boring and quiet as you?"
3. "I don't know, maybe you should ask my boyfriend." (Dials phone.) "Honey? Was I more vocal than usual, last night?"

(Hi mom and dad, I meant vocal while ARGUING, of course. Duh.)

Regardless, I answered that, yes, I really was always that vocal, feeling a little like a Siamese cat or something, and he said okay and bundled me into a taxi and got me home, and I made soup and read Douglas Adams and applied ice and elevation. LT, when he came back, was very supportive, and I went on to go out to dinner and get in the hot tub and do all that, and today I can almost go up stairs like a normal person! Yay!

Am I always this vocal? Oh yeah? I'LL SHOW YOU VOCAL, MISTER!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Gypsy Girl Not Frightened of Anyone Except Her Mother

The world continues, as it always has. My mother has once again completely charmed my landlord.

This tradition is becoming to come in handy, for obvious reasons: once my landlord, whoever he might be, gets tired of renting to a slob, my mother shows up, cleans the house, cooks for him, and entertains him for hours. It keeps me in shelter with a roof over my head, always a good thing, although reducing my current house to "a roof over my head" is doing a great disservice to Landlord. (Your house is gorgeous, honey. You know it is.)

I realize it is now Wednesday and any post I might write referring to last weekend is hopelessly out of date, but this story was so good I had to share it. I hung out with a bunch of boys all weekend, not unusual in my case, especially on a weekend in which I went skiing, pool-shootin', and James Bond-ing. (HA! Bonding!) (Bad joke, but Bond was awesome.)

Anyway, here we are, five boys and myself, and we're killing time before the movie by drinking, one of our favorite activities. We're just ordering our first rounds from the server. All the other boys got Dos Equis, but I proudly ordered a "floofy" drink, with mixers and salt around the rim and all the fixins. The boys looked longingly at my drink when it arrived; many of them asked for sips. Finally I asked, "If you guys wanted fancy drinks, why didn't you order one?"

One of LT's friends, Amateur Photographer, sent me a look of derision. "Um, hello. I'm at a table with four other guys and a girl who is not afraid of me. I absolutely CANNOT order a fancy drink!"

Who knew that I would go down in AP's personal history as The Girl Who Is Not Afraid of Me? Not me, that's who. I feel like I should get a plaque or something.

In other news, I'm applying for a security clearance. (Yay!) And...those of you who have applied for these can already see where this is have to, for this application, provide every address you've lived at for the past SEVEN YEARS.

I'll give that a little time to sink in.

For those who haven't realized, I've lived in three different places just since STARTING THIS BLOG.

My application may be the longest that damn office has ever seen. Send coffee.

(Note: LT did not like Casino Royale; in fact, it might not be hyperbole to say that he detested it. So you can bear that in mind, as you wish, but really, everyone else loves it, including all the critics, so if he wants to explain why he doesn't like it, he can start his own damn blog. THANK you so very much.)

Monday, November 20, 2006

Anger Management

When someone wrongs you, what do you do?

Let’s say you’re at the grocery store, and a cashier accidentally rings up a purchase twice, and you notice it. Let’s say it’s a cheap item, no more than four bucks. Would you say, “Hey, you just rang up that item twice?”

You probably would.

Now let’s say that the cashier is in a bad mood and doesn’t like you anyway, and he or she decides to get in your face. “I did not!” Would you push the issue?

I certainly would, because, hello, there’s a running electronic total right there and you can clearly see that the cashier rang up the item twice. If I were me, I would get a manager, if that’s what it took. It wouldn’t matter if the item was 90 cents, for me. It’s not about the money. It’s about BEING RIGHT, DAMMIT. The cashier charged up the item twice, he’s claiming that he didn’t, the proof is right there on the receipt and I WILL shove that mistake in his FACE if I have to. I’M RIGHT. The End.

But let’s say, instead, that it’s, say, a bullshit charge on a bank account, like overdraft fees, or a charge to transfer money between accounts, or a random service fee. Would you call and complain? I’ve successfully argued overdraft fees off my account before because it was the bank’s fault, and I’ll happily drive to the bank and get a cashier’s check and physically deposit it into another account instead of paying a transfer fee.

BUT, if I don’t have time, and need to transfer money, I’ll call the bank and try to sweet-talk them into waiving the fee. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. No biggie. In a case like this, whoever I’m talking to on the phone has a corporate policy, which he or she has to follow. Telephone Operator does have the privilege of waiving the charge, of course, but if he or she made a practice of that, someone would notice, and TO would soon be out of a job. I don’t take it personally if TO chooses to not waive my fee, and I can’t remember the last time I got mad about it. (Note: I am not a saint. See above case of the cashier who refused to admit he was wrong. I will scratch eyes out to prove that I am RIGHT.) But a corporate policy…well, that’s bigger than both TO and myself, and I’m not going to accomplish anything by yelling about it—it just adds to the unpleasantness of my day and their day. My mother always got great service—or almost always, because there are always a few bad apples in retail—because she is so good with honey and not vinegar, and I’m a firm believer that Nice Is Always Best.

So when the LT, his friend Tall Kiwi, and myself returned to a local mall last night, looking for a water bottle that my brainless self had left in a movie theater, and we couldn’t find it, and we returned to the parking pay station to pay our fourteen minute parking ticket, and they charged us three dollars, I was surprised, but not upset. The three of us had been expecting that our in-and-out ticket would be free, because it usually is free when under fifteen minutes, but they explained that there is no in-and-out grace period after five pm. So, no big deal, three dollars, right?

Apparently I was wrong. LT and M went apeshit. They raised their voices in arguing with the attendants. I was shocked. M stormed off, saying, “I can’t even talk to these people anymore.” LT claimed that he was never parking here again. I stared at their anger for a few minutes and then asked them to step back, saying, “I’ll handle this,” and I did—by paying the three dollars. The parking attendants were very nice, they apologized as they were running my credit card that it was a corporate policy and there was nothing they could do, and I believed them, although it didn’t matter to me if they couldn’t actually waive the fee or if they could and were choosing not to—I certainly wouldn’t have for the behavior of LT and M.

It was an interesting moment. I thought I would be embarrassed to be seen with two guys who were making such a scene over three dollars, but I wasn’t—the boys were technically right, it WAS ridiculous to be charged three dollars for fifteen minutes of parking. The fact that they were, perhaps, disproportionably upset, doesn’t invalidate the fact that they were correct. And I was touched that they were working so hard to protect my three dollars. But I was also a little upset that they were yelling at the parking attendants, who made minimum wage in order to deal with the public every day, and had no control over corporate policy. I’ve waited tables, I know how awful the public can be. LT and M were certainly not anywhere near the worst-behaved customers I’ve ever seen, but the idea of taking your anger out on the service-industry wage slave was so rank that it upset me.

The incident passed quickly, thank God, and we found the right elevators and made our way to my car and I drove them to the ferry, and we joked around and said our goodbyes and there were no hard feelings.

I wonder now: is it a gender thing? Was LT and M's collective reaction enhanced or magnified by their combined anger? Would another man have gotten just as mad? Would I have gotten more upset had I not had them around? What would my mother have done? What about my father?

It was a new moment.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


Me: One of my customers is...well, he's an engineer.
T-Town: I hate those.
Me: Yeah. Me too.

And this is funny because I AM an engineer, so I'm hating on myself. Get it? GET IT?

I just tried to dial my mother and dialed myself instead, as in, the number of the phone that I was on.
WorkFriend: If that isn't a deep cosmic metaphor, I don't know what is.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006


Preface: Hi, I'm aarwenn. I am opinionated. And I exaggerate. Yes! Me! I do this! (Audience: Noshit.) And I tend to be a little self-deprecatory in my posts. Which is mainly due to the fact that, duh, I'm already WRITING ABOUT MYSELF, so writing about myself in an overly self-congratulatory manner--or even a slightly self-congratulatory manner--would make this blog no more than my own personal creamfest, and no one wants to read that, ever. (Audience: Use of the word "creamfest" was gratuitous, unecessary, and frankly gross.) (Me: Whatever.)

(Side note: I'm eating a snack of Black Peppered Cashews and Tamari Almonds from Trader Joe's. I should never buy Black Peppered Cashews again. Way too good.)

Which is why when my mother occasionally calls, concerned over This Post or That Post, I think, Doesn't the woman KNOW me? I mean, really, she's known me for 25, almost 26 years, and the LT knew enough to discount half of what I say after three weeks.

For example, the below snippet, taken from a phone conversation not too long ago:

Me: (made some accidental Freudian slip)
(laughing) You know, I still remember the time you came to my house, before we were dating. I asked you over to help me pick out curtains or possibly help paint, and instead you drank my wine and fell asleep on my couch.
Me: That was not my fault! You never fed me!
LT: Most adults feed themselves on a regular basis! How was I to know that you'd pass out on my sofa if I didn't feed you?
Me: Oh yeah? Well. (Struggles for a comeback.) Look on the bright side. You got to hear me ramble incoherently on low blood sugar.
LT: And you were in rare form, too. Remember that comment about what would or wouldn't fit in your mouth?
Me: You could probably start your own blog, someday. "Accidentally Dirty Things My Girlfriend Has Said."
What he didn't need to say: Why bother? You do all the work for me by writing it on your OWN blog.
And then I would have said, because I like being stubborn: Not this time, sucker!


Sunday, November 12, 2006

Weekend Wrap-up

  • Went to my VERY first NFL game! And the Hawks beat the Rams, 24-22! Very close game! Completely awesome!

  • LT is sick. Boo. :( Get better soon, baby.

  • Celebrated my parents' birthdays. Hi, guys! Happy birthday!

  • Saw an old friend.

  • Saw new friends!

  • Took Titan for the weekend!

    And a quote: I left my boys together one evening as I went to my parents' house to celebrate the aformentioned birthday, and as I was leaving, I asked the LT jokingly if he and Titan would be okay together for a few hours.

    "Sure," he answered. "We'll party it up."

    When I called to say I was on my way home and he'd better be ready to meet SouthernBelle, I asked him how Titan was.

    His reply: "He hasn't moved an inch the entire time you've been gone."

    Codependency! Coming soon to a dog near you!

  • Thursday, November 09, 2006

    And Today, My Nose Bled AGAIN

    But really, what else is new?

    Thanks to our office OA/CPR person, who is also a mother with a daughter slightly older than I am, it went much better than my killer nose bleed a week ago. Much like my non-swimming friend J felt better during Seafair because my Hot Navy LT was on the boat with us, I felt better and more relaxed just knowing that the person who was handing me paper towels, while not as comforting as my own mother, at least had basic medical training.

    And unlike during the move, when I was happy just for a reason to sit down and not move for awhile and had no one pushing me along, at work I needed the nose to STOP BLEEDING, ALREADY, AND ACT LIKE A NORMAL OLFACTORY SENSE. Thank you.

    (Whoever comes by my desk today will be mighty surprised by the blood-soaked paper towels in my wastebasket. I tell you, nothing turns red like blood.) (Possibly Duh.)

    The condo search continues, sort of. It's hard to force myself to look because it's gray and rainy outside, and the place I live is so freakin' beautiful that I don't want to move, but at the same time I miss Titan and can't wait to have my own space again, and it's also partly true that my beautiful living space inspires me to start my OWN pretty space. (Did that make sense?) So far, though, I've found condos that either:

    1. Don't publish their square footage, which is Not A Good Sign, or
    2. Don't take dogs, or
    3. Are in Sea-Tac, or
    4. Are just plain fugly.

    Also, Firefox has stopped working on my computer ALTOGETHER, I haven't unpacked yet from my move, and I have not, as yet, woken up on time to make my boyfriend coffee before he leaves on his long drive to work after staying with me in the new place. And I am not wearing deodorant. (But I AM wearing clean underwear!)

    Okay, maybe that was a little too much information. Moving on.

    I have come up with A List Of Things I Must Do After Work TODAY:

    1. Pay Car Insurance.
    Because I am a terribly White Trash Person and my car insurance has LASPED because I FORGOT TO PAY IT. (Note: Although this is bad, this could be SO MUCH WORSE, in that my Windshield Attack could have been more like a Full Body Attack and I would have been Uninsured At That Point and I would have cried like A Baby.)

    But that did not happen! Windshield is very cheap to replace and I would not have involved my insurance anyway! Thank all the gods in your immediate vicinity for small mercies!

    2. Pay Dental Bill.
    Again with the White Trash. I owe my dentist almost five hundred dollars and STILL they continue to make appointments for me, most of which I cancel maybe five hours ahead of time, and in one memorable instance, just an hour before. I cannot believe they still speak to me.

    3. Put up shelves in closet
    Because, when your boyfriend noses about your room looking for a place to put his overnight bag, and cannot find even ONE clear square foot of shag carpet, you have a problem. Especially with shag carpet, because obviously all those fibers contribute to the possible surface area of the rug, you know?

    I'm not really sure what I said there.

    4. Call policeman about incident report.
    For obvious reasons. I'm sort of hoping he'll be cute, just for fun, but of course he won't be half as hot, even in uniform, as LT.

    5. Go grocery shopping!
    Not that eating out three meals a day hasn't been fun.

    6. Maybe go to Target!
    Because what can't be fixed by a trip to Target?

    7. Collect mail from old place.
    Because, duh, and also, there might be a check in there!

    Because. SO Duh.

    9. Sleep.

    Tuesday, November 07, 2006

    And Then, After Friday...

    ...Saturday morning: M calls. "Hi, your Jeep was broken into. They hammered on the windshield with a brick. The brick is still sitting on your hood. Your HOOD is fine. The windshield is still slightly intact, but there's glass all over your front seat.

    ...Saturday afternoon: I drive with Realtor to see a condo. We get into a fender-bender on the way.

    ...Saturday afternoon: Condo is not worth it.

    ...Saturday night: Massive intoxication.

    ...Sunday morning: Crankiness.

    ...Sunday afternoon: Loneliness.

    ...Sunday night: Make appointment with All-Star Autoglass to come fix Windshield.

    ...Monday morning: B's Car (in which I am carpooling) runs out of gas, gas station credit card machine is broken.

    ...Monday lunch: sit blearily through two hours of traffic on bus ride home.

    ...Monday afternoon: All-Star Autoglass calls to say they can't fix Windshield in this weather because glue won't dry or stick. (Seattle is flooding.)

    ...Monday evening: COOKING! And movie!

    ...Tuesday morning, lunch, and afternoon: Work

    ...Tuesday evening: VOTING!


    Friday, November 03, 2006

    Made It Past Wednesday

    And all the way to Friday! WOO-HOO!

    Things I Have Done This Week:

    • Packed up my entire apartment.
    • Moved my entire apartment into a storage space.
    • Moved my necessities into the room I'm renting from a friend until I find a condo.
    • Gotten a new roommate. (Hi, M!)
    • Moved into the lap of luxury. (M's house is Freakin' OMG Incredible. The kind of incredible that makes people gasp as they walk in.)
    • Had a killer nose bleed that effectively stopped the moving process for an hour.
    • Gotten my apartment inspected, signed, sealed, and delivered. Bye-bye, apartment.
    • (Sniff)
    • (Sniff)
    • Fought off a case of Bronchitis.
    • Waded through angry phone calls on the day I was moving, sick, and bleeding.
    • Worked occasionally.
    • Made cookies!

    I'm still alive! I still have a relationship! I still have a job! HAPPY FRIDAY, EVERYONE!