In which I ramble, try to prove I have tolerance, and end up proving the opposite.

I have learned how to hold my tongue! I can do that now!

Well, sort of.

For example, it's well known that I'm a health nut, both on this blog and here in Real Life at the office. And through some management changes that happened this week, I now have both an immediate manager and HIS manager in town, in the office, not more than a few yards away from my desk. And this is fine, although management changes always shake everyone up a little, and because I'm a people-pleaser, I really want the new manager to like me, and so I'm on my toes, trying to do the right thing all the time, for at least the first few weeks.

And so when the Big Manager brings the New Immediate Manager out to lunch, and Mentor goes, AND Lead Engineer goes, and Lead Engineer NEVER goes out to lunch, and they invite me, I decide that it would be a good thing if I go, too. (The Other Woman in the office didn't feel like going, apparently, which tells me why her career here at B----- has been so checkered. Turning down lunch with two managers and Lead Engineer? All card-carrying members of the B----- Gentlemen's Network? And then complain on a weekly basis that you feel "shut-out" of office decisions? And are surprised when your budget is cut? Are you STUPID? But I digress.)

So here we are at lunch, four men and a lady (ha!). Two Managers, Lead, Mentor, and me. I'm a little nervous, but I'm trying not to show it. Trying to get to know the New Manager. The rest of the guys all get pizza, chips, fried fish, etc. I get a big salad. (Hey--if I eat carbs at lunch I fall asleep, okay? I'm sorry to perpetuate stereotypes, but damn me if I'm going to get a slice of pizza when I want a salad just to BREAK a stereotype. That's just as ridiculous.)

Big Manager looks at my plate. Spinach, tomatoes, broccoli, cottage cheese. "Baa-a-a-a-a-a-a," he says.

I've worked with Big Manager for my whole career so far, and I feel comfortable with him, so I shoot back, "Lead Engineer is eating vegetables too--why don't you make fun of him? I don't look at your plate and say, 'Oink, Oink,' do I?"

Everyone laughs. Big Manager looks down at his plate, confused. "I'm not eating pork, I'm eating fish!"

And, y'all, here's the key: I didn't jump in to explain the joke. I said to myself, Self, it's not important if other people think you made a dumb joke. YOU know that you were funny. If the other guys got it, they'll know that you were, too. You'll only insult Big Manager more if you explain the joke, hammering home that you called him a pig AND that he was too dumb to get the joke the first time.

And so I said, "Oh yes, you're right." And kept eating my spinach.

There's a very old guy who has also moved in to sit next to me. He's old (did I mention that?) and Hawaiian and reminds me a lot of the teacher from the Karate Kid, except so far I am NOT impressed with his actual brains--he was sure that IAM wasn't going to strike, for example. HA. He likes to ask me how to map network drives--wait, beg pardon, he didn't actually ask ME, he asked MENTOR. A man who was at that moment running late for a meeting, and this old, slow, blinking Hawaiian guy asked him how to map a network drive. I offer to help, instead, shooing Mentor out the door. Old Hawaiian looks at me. "You can do that?" he says.

It was clear to me that he thought that mapping network drives is something that only skilled people can do, a learned technique, and that only old experienced guys like Mentor could do such a thing. It never occurred to him that since I was younger, I would automatically have more computer skills than Mentor.

In fact, I have very little patience with old people in general. Slow blinking ones are more irritating than others, but what's annoying is they don't understand that in today's world, they may have engineering experience, but their very age counts AGAINST them. Or at least it does with me. They are slow to understand that computer skills are linked to age because, once they realize that, what does that make them? Archaic and useless? Yes, it does. And no one wants to realize that their very age--something they cannot change--is a large black mark against them.

This is why B----- annoys me--they value age and experience, not skill. They value tradition, not innovation. They may SAY they do, but they don't. They have retained all their old engineers all these years, and fired only the new engineers in the layoffs, and so now all these 65 year-olds are begging to retire, and B----- is facing a real brain drain. (I think it's high time, but I am concerened that there's no middle generation to take up the load--there's barely anyone between 50 and 25.)

If they had only fired some of their old engineers earlier! They could have saved money--new engineers demand a lot lower salaries--and kept the knowledge flowing, but now they're stuck, and unions haven't helped. Our union requires this thing called a retention index assigned to each person, which is based 85% on seniority, so the more senior you are, the less likely you are to get fired. And that's a union thing that B----- can't change.

Anyway. But this Old Hawaiian was gone for lunch one day and because he doesn't know how to set up his voice mail, when his office phone rang...it rang 25 times. And then whoever it was tried him on his cell phone, because it clearly wasn't a business call (the Old Hawaiian works less than I do) and his cell phone rang--with a very loud annoying musical ditty--another 14 times. Because Old People have absolutely no cell phone etiquette whatsoever. And never ever think of turning their damn phones on mute. (I would DIE if my cell phone went off at the office.) And when he returned, this is what I said:

"Hey, would you like me to help you set up your voicemail on your office phone?"

And he said sure. And we went on.

Later on, I was getting lunch, and a cubemate stopped me in the hallway. "I just want you to know," he said, "that you were so polite and deserve a medal. I would have beaten both phones to a bloody pulp."

So I'm improving! Really! And I made friends, as has been previously mentioned, but the REALLY cool thing is that it turns out that THEY have friends who WORK ON MY STUFF! I made my own business contacts! On my own! With no hand-holding! Now I have toys! It's awesome.

I laughed so hard that snot came out my nose.

Over these 1974 Weight Watchers cards.

In other news, the party was a smashing success. Several games of beer pong were completely demolished. Apparently some people's tolerances were, too. We all found it odd that although Roommate comes from a more backwater area than I do and several of his gigantic countrified friends came (one had chops and a handlebar mustache, at 26) that it was MY friends who caused the most trouble. My ashtray was dropped and broken by one--sad, but what can you do? Another one drank himself belligerent and maudlin, caused a ruckus, and then fell asleep outside his car, on the ground, on rough gravel. A quote:

"He's passed out in a pool of his own vomit."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine."

Hey, we've all seen worse.

I fell asleep with all my clothes on while we still had guests in the house. I do that a lot.

Also, my proactiv came very quickly, but I didn't start using it until yesterday, my mailman has a crush on me and it's annoying, and I went to Bumbershoot and saw Aqueduct, Brazilian Girls, and Mudhoney. Aqueduct was pretty boring, Brazilian Girls and Mudhoney were AWESOME. Woo!

I made friends today!

WOO HOO!

And they're not even interns! They're not leaving! Or already gone! (And if they were, it would be very hard to befriend them anyway.)

They're real, full-time workers, and they work HERE at MY SITE, and even better they work in MY BUILDING! And they were excited about meeting me! And they're cool! WOO!

And better yet, we've decided to schedule weekly lunches. So we're all hanging out every Wednesday, at 11:30, every week. Rock on. I'm really, really hyped up--meeting new people, especially other hyper engineers who speak my language, is exciting, and we all fed off each other until we were literally shouting over each other in the cafeteria.

And for anyone local, yes, I will probably be crossing picket lines to go to work tomorrow. Things are awfully tense around here. And yes, gas is about to skyrocket and New Orleans is hell on earth. What else is there to do but shout and laugh?

And also donate to the Red Cross, of course, which I did. And then I'll donate again tomorrow when B-----'s Community Fund swings into action and starts to match our donations. There are some perks to working at a big company. And then there's the blodd drive a week from today. And y'all better know I'm donating to THAT.

An Old Post I Like

In a hurry last night between walking Titan to Proctor with mom, running over to New House to get the keys (!) and introduce Titan to Figaro, Monica's cat (!!) and running out to Federal Way by 7 pm for Tutoring (which went SMASHINGLY...)

I dropped by Stadium Thriftway. I got a huge iced mocha breve, my drink from high school, and a rosemary roll.

I'm almost over the waves of nostalgia that come with drinking iced mocha breves, although I suspect I'll never quite be over them.

But the rosemary roll...I didn't eat it until just a few minutes ago, as the Mom of the kids I tutor fed me last night, so I saved the roll for this morning.

As I heated it up in the cheap office microwave, I was overwhelmed by the smell of warm rosemary, and thought about the time in my life last year--about nine months ago--when I was working for a lawyer, and basically living the life of every pissed-off administrative assistant under the sun. Peruse the Best of Craigslist for more hysterical administrative assistant rants than you can shake a stick at. Like I said, the job wasn't great, but it was summer--I worked there from late June through late September--and it was GORGEOUS outside, sunny and perfect, and I had broken up with Chris and enjoying being single (and having boys all over the place) and enoying the location--I could walk to work through the park every day, which I did, and often stopped at Stadium Thriftway for those mochas. And jo-jos, when I was still drunk or hungover, and Naked Juices or Odwalla Juices, and what I called Credit Card Cheeses--little individually wrapped credit-card-shaped slices of Tillamook Cheese, and all kinds of other treasures, especially the dip sample bins. My journal entries are full of memes and party talk--I was making just enough money to pay bills and drink heavily, (see: jo-jos) and I wasn't working more than six hours a day.

And even though I was broke and writing columns and short stories that were going nowhere and being turned down for About.com, not to mention being stuck on a freezing-cold Alaskan cruise for a week with my extended family, I was happy. A lot happier that I had been the previous spring, when I was a sad, sad little girl, with no money and drum lessons I couldn't afford and a boyfriend who wasn't right for me and no sense of direction. But not as happy as I was just last winter when I loved my job, I had disposable income for the first time in a year, I was part of the service community in Pioneer Square, I gave in and fell in love with TheBoy, and B----- said they would hire me.

Sigh. I love the smell of warm nostalgia in the afternoon.

More Booze, Less Food

What's that I hear? What?

Is it another house party?

God Help Me.

It's a Happy Monday!

...Because I found a brand new blog that I really like. Check it out over there on the side--it's on the very TOP! She's AWESOME! And she uses the word "everyday"! (Man, I should have gotten that word--in this specific usage--copyrighted. It's blowin' up. And I was first, damnit.)

And for your convenience, as a way to sample without committing to clicking the blog link (much like I wish proactiv would do for me) there's two specifically wonderful entries below:

Experience has made me mich. (aka Why Men Should Pay For Dates.)

and

They say she's working like a man, but they don't understand.

I mean, who can NOT love a blogger who references poems or songs with every post title?

Today, I bought proactiv

Yes, I did. I just got regular shipping, although if I had known it would take 2-3 weeks, I would have gotten the faster shipping. So there will be no report for awhile.

But my skin has always been my worst enemy. And I thought I'd have to live with it like this until I just grew out of it. But it doesn't look like I'm growing out of it--and it's gotten worse since I was in high school. I've always remembered having acne--until I saw old pictures of myself the other day and realized that highschool pictures of me have much clearer skin. Humph.

We'll just see how it goes.

And now that I'm thinking about this clearly, I realize that there's an effin' proactiv booth in my local mall. I could have just bought the whole thing there without the shipping costs. I wonder if they'd give me some samples?

Happy Happy Casual Friday!

Forget all about that last unhappy post--I've been tagged! And it's Friday! And I'm going out for sushi! WOO-HOO!

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. Take a long backpacking trip
2. Become a published author
3. Sing in a band
4. Live in New York
5. Own a beach cabin and ski cabin
6. Learn another language
7. See Southeast Asia

Seven things I can do:
1. Write
2. Sing
3. Play instruments
4. Act
5. Drive a stick shift
6. Think Logically
7. Talk

Seven things I cannot do:
1. Drive safely or slowly
2. Be monogamous
3. Refrain from criticizing people
4. Accept authority
5. Be humble
6. Let go of obsessions
7. Do something illegal cleanly--it's madness to put this on here, but it's really something I cannot do. I thought it fit.

Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Intellect and sense of humor. I can't separate these; they're equally important!
2. Trivia knowledge
3. Tolerance/Support of diversity
4. Rangey skateboarder build
5. Courage
6. Artistic ability
7. Athletic ability

Seven things that I say most often:
1. "Like..."
2. "I KNOW!"
3. "I do what I can."
4. "For REAL."
5. "I was under the impression that..." (Useful for tense work situations)
6. "I'm STARVING!"
7. "Hey, he's cute!"

Seven celebrity crushes:
1. Mark Wahlberg
2. Kanye West
3. Josh Homme
4. Christian Bale
5. Brad Pitt
6. Johnny Depp
7. Garret Hedlund

Seven people I want to do this:
1. T-town girl
2. leah
3. Ms. Pan
4. Shananigans
5. Beau
6. Aphra99
7. TWAM

Boy, am I an unhappy camper right now.

Yes. Unhappy. And the reasons, if I listed them, would look petty and stupid, for the main reason that they ARE petty and stupid. But knowing that doesn't make me feel any better. Yes, I have eaten--I'm eating right now. So I've done all I can, physically, to better my mood. Now I'm going to go smoke a cigarette, but I'm so full of piss and vinegar and I may just light my backyard on fire instead.

Quick Rave: Fit Day!

Oh FitDay.com, how I love you! Let me count the ways in which you are better than the Excel spreadsheets I was previously using to track both the calories I ate and the superfoods I consumed. Plus the occasional investigation online as to how many calories I burned doing my favorite activities. You let me set goals, you let me know politely but firmly when I don't achieve them, you let me track consumptionAND exercise...and you have nifty pie charts! I love you, www.fitday.com!

Also, I love T-town girl and dewey for mentioning fitday on the same day--the omen of the stereo blogging encouraged me to check it out. Bless you, ladies.

Do Y'all Ever Want to Be Anonymous?

Sometimes, I read my IIF's blogs, (my single girls, you know I'm talking to you!) and I just want to scream, "XXXXXXXXX!"

The X's are in place because what I want to say will probably insult them.

It's odd that these women and I have so much in common--bloggers, internet addicts, all about the same age, all looking for love, professional, pet owners...and yet we are so different in the way we approach our love lives. Proving, once again, that your immediate peer group--as in, the girls that you've grown up with and actually see on a regular basis, or at least enough to party with--are the biggest influence in your life, no matter how much time you spend on the internet.

Some blogging women really inspire me--Crazy Aunt Purl, for example, is my hero. Other women inspire me on a more intermittent basis, as I'm sure I do to others--we all have our moments of brilliance!

But it's my girlz who influence me the most. I party with them, I look at boys with them, it's them I call when I need advice right this minute, so it's only natural that their outlook on love is what influences me the most. And, from reading blogs, it's becoming more clear to me that we're awfully old-fashioned.

Blame our mothers--both my mother and JustMarriedFriend's mother are Southern. And old. And still with their husbands. BestFriend's mother was raised conservatively and BestFriend's father was too, so when they wanted to start sleeping together, they got married first. And they're still together. SouthernBelle is, obviously, Southern. And on top of all that, I surround myself with men 24-7--I live with one, I'm dating one, I work with all men, etc, etc. It's impossible to describe how little female interaction I get during a typical day--no roommate to come home to, only two women in my entire building that are anywhere close to my age, etc, etc. The few women I do talk to--including close friends and business friends--I have bonded with very closly, but we get about 10 minutes a week to talk.

What does all this add up to? I'm old fashioned. (Girls, you would be surprised how conservative men really are in their love lives.) I went through a 'chasing men' period right when I moved back to my hometown from college, and I hated myself every second of it. Before that, and since then, I've let men come to me, and it's worked beautifully. So what does this have to do with the title? I want to be an anonymous advice giver for my blogging girls, so that I can say what I think with no repercussions. And hope my little bit of anonymous advice will sink in. But that's a low-class, cowardly thing to do--hiding behind anonymity. I can either say what I think and be prepared to defend it, or I can keep my mouth shut. And right now I'm opting for shut. I love you all.

There's a BOY in my house!

This is the weekend that Roommate moved in.

This is the weekend that I went to a wedding and Roommate moved in.

This is the weekend that I got in a fight with TheBoy and I went to a wedding and Roommate moved in.

There's boy stuff on my sink—like Hugo Boss cologne on the counter, and an electric shaver, and Nivea for men facial wash and other special just-for-men stuff. There's boy stuff in my shower—he brought his own shower caddy, and there's Old Spice High Endurance body wash in my shower. And a pouf. (I don't even use a pouf.)

There's a gigantic TV in my living room—like, it blocks out the sun—and two huge bookshelves of books and movies. There's a big white leather sofa. That reclines. There's a portable bar in my kitchen. This boy has way nicer stuff than I do. That's fine, now I can just use his. :)

Last night was the first night he spent in the house and I couldn't sleep—way too keyed up. There's a boy in my house, there's a BOY in my HOUSE, THERE'S A BOY IN MY HOUSE! This morning I was up at the crack of dawn and had 55 minutes to get ready instead of the normal 30. I brewed my own coffee before I left and everything. And I haven't wanted to sleep once. If I'll remain this keyed up for awhile because of the new energy in my space, I should be paying HIM for living here. (Shhhhh. Don’t tell him, okay?) UPDATE: The minute I typed that, I of course began falling asleep in my chair. Hmmm.

And in my many musings today, I've come up with this: do we naturally bond platonically with members of the opposite sex who remind us of our significant others? For example it's a well known fact around the office that I remind Mentor of Mrs. Mentor—I've never met her, but apparently we're sisters lost at birth, according to Mentor. It's not surprising, of course; Mentor and I bonded in my first day here, and he loves his wife, so it's not surprising that two women he likes resemble each other in personality. And Roommate reminds me very strongly of TheBoy—they don't look at all alike, but they relate to me in similar ways. Roommate is much more mouthy and a smartass. TheBoy is more of a quiet source of humor, suddenly breaking out with hysterically goofy shit. But I went grocery shopping with TheBoy (he just called me out of the blue and offered a ride, since he was going shopping and he knew I didn't have a car, so did I want to come with him? DID I?) and he bought all kinds of meat, a two-gallon jug of very cheap milk, frozen breakfast sandwiches, and a 12-pack of PBR.

I bought: three organic oranges, two organic kiwis, two kinds of baked organic tofu, organic celery hearts, 100% cranberry juice, organic baby carrots, a Naked Juice (Green Machine), two bags of soy-rice crisps, one bag of corn-vegetable flour pasta, a 24 pack of string cheese, a very small block of extra-sharp cheddar cheese, ground corn flour for polenta, and a few other things I can’t quite recall. The boy had one more bag than I did PLUS a two gallon of milk PLUS a 12 pack of PBR, and he pointed out that his bill was still 4 dollars less than mine. He likes to point out that I’m a health nut.

Funny how this didn't stop him from compulsively eating most of a bag of my soy-rice crisps, though.

I told this story to Roommate, who laughed, and then came and looked in the fridge. He closes the fridge. He opens the fridge again. He closes the fridge. He looks at me. Silently, he picks up the receipt from the grocery store.

"I really thought you were exaggerating when you said you were a health nut. Apparently not. I don’t even know what half of this shit is."

He reminds of me of TheBoy the first time I bought kefir in his presence. At least we won't have any trouble separating our food.

Sex In This City

You know over there, to your right, on my profile?

How I talk about ups and downs in this life I call mine?

It's definitely been one of those weeks months.

(For example, I am posting at 9:00 on a Friday night.)

My girlfriends and I are having one of those Sex in the City nights. Not the kind of nights made famous on the HBO show, but a real sex in the city night. Where everyone is single, no one is having actual sex, and everyone is on the phone. Separately. In their own houses.

It starts with LongtimeFriend.

LF: So, what are you doing?

Me: Oh, I'm sitting on the floor in an empty room, reading blogs, on a very small laptop. (I'm not joking, y'all. Said room is my roommate's old room, and it has one of the two activated cable modem outlets, and y'all know I can't live without my internet. So I'm in Old Roommate's old room, stripped bare of stuff, sitting on the floor.)

LF: Hmmm, that sounds exciting.

Me: Yeah. (phone beeps) Oh, that's SouthernBelle, I need to talk to her, I'll call you back.

Note to my readers: SouthernBelle is a woman who is ten years my senior and can party me into the ground and drink me under the table. She is incredible and wild and wonderful. When we go out, we do extremely illegal things and cause EXTREME amounts of trouble. It's unbelieveable that I am not in jail.

SouthernBelle: Hey, whatcha doin'?

Me: Contemplating some week-old pasta. You?

SB: I'm answering some work emails and sending out my resume. (Notice that she is both working for her current job and looking for another one at the same time. Reminds you of the early 90's, doesn't it?)

Me: Oh yeah? What's wrong with the old job?

SB: Bastards shorted me three grand on my last paycheck.

Me: Shit.

SB: Yeah. It's time to move. How's things with you?

Me: Oh, it's going to take the repair shop a month to fix my Jeep, I have no idea how I'm going to live without a car, MaleRoommate got his key today, and that's weird, TheBoy is leaving for Ghana in a month and I have no idea how I feel about that, and my work project drags on and on and it's way behind schedule and I'll probably be Reprimanded for it.

SB: Yeah? What's the damage going to be on your Jeep?

Me: $8800. Which the insurance will cover, so it's just the deductible for me--about $500 or so, plus the ticket, plus possibly renting a loaner from the repair shop.

SB: Damn.

Me: Yeah, I have the money, or almost, it's just that I was saving it for fun things. Like, mods to the Jeep. Not repairs.

SB: Yeah, I've noticed that the more money you make, the more expensive life's surprises are. It's like, in college, when you have a dropped-class fee and it's $50 you think, Damn, how am I going to get that much money? Now that you have big fancy job, wrecked car fees are more like $1000, and you think, Damn, how am I going to get that much money?

Me: Yeah. It's like, the more expensive the shit you own is, the more expensive it is to repair.

SB: Yeah. Now, if the apartment building burned, I'd be real upset--Motherfucker! I bought that shit!

Me: Yeah. Listen, I gotta call Longtime Friend back. Good talking to you.

SB: You too, have a good night.

Me: Hi, LF.

LF: Hey. So, whatcha doing now?

Me: Choking down some cold week-old pasta. I just tossed half of it out, it's disgusting. You?

LF: Yeah, I'm contemplating making food. I know I should eat, but I can't bring myself to waste the energy.

Me: That's what I ate the pasta even though it was gross.

LF: Yeah, I have a ton of food ingredients at home, but I might just go to Fancy Grocery Store and buy something.

Me: Yeah. Now I'm contemplating opening a bottle of wine.

LF: Oh yeah? Something good?

Me: No, it's a $4 bottle of Zin.

LF: Yeah. I should go and finish up some schoolwork.

Me: Yeah. Talk to you later.

LF: See ya.

Notice, in all this conversation, no one once tried to make plans to get together. We're all standing in our kitchens, on the phone with each other, doing jack shit. I thought about trying to make plans, and then I thought, do I really want to? And the answer is no.

See how exciting?

Google is letting me down

My gmail is really screwy. And everyone should try http://www.google.com and see what you get. I was surprised. I thought it was the drugs, but really it's just Google. When Google and Starbucks take over the earth, I just hope they'll remember me as a loyal worshipper and allow me a small farm.

Good Things DO Happen

Nice things about today, and this weekend:

Lovely weather today.

I'm dressed well. AND wearing eye makeup! Tomorrow's goal: tinted moisturizer.

Indulged myself with food--hot cup of coffee and oatmeal for breakfast, a big ol' sandwich for lunch.

Partying with my engineers on Friday was even more a complete spectacle of debauchery than I could have guessed. It had been quite awhile since any of us got out--and we made up for it. :) Very dirty deeds were performed.

The doggies got along great on Thursday. And Roommate complimented me on how well I was holding together after The Accident. He expressed enthusiasm about moving in and, in general, made me feel like a trooper and a survivor. All good things.

Saturday, MidwestEngineer called to ask if I was okay--he said I had seemed a little quiet at the Howl and wanted to make sure everything was all right. (Cue: AWWWWWWWWW!)

Today, as I was chatting to JadedEngineer, I mentioned my accident, and he reiterated Roommate's opinion--"Wow, you didn't say a word at the Howl. You seem to be handling it well." I thanked him, and joking attributed my inner strength to the power of my new jeans. His response: "Um, yeah, speaking of jeans, you looked great on Friday. Have you lost weight?"

HELL YEAH I HAVE!

And finally, this exchange between a colleague of mine and I about a frustrating meeting this morning:

Me: "Thank you for being an excellent meeting moderator. As authoritative as I try to be, I feel awfully helpless, sometimes; it's hard to get people (and by "people", I mean "TechGuy") twice my age to take me seriously. You really made the meeting work today--thank you so much."

Her: "You're welcome and do an excellent job, I just had to get going today!
The older guys sometimes don't take us so seriously, but eventually they will learn ;)"

Me: "You give me hope. :)"

Her: "Just hang in there...you'll probably end up getting promoted right past him! (It's always fun to wave on the way by....)"

Encouraging words for all of us!

My car is still impounded, and I am sick

And I have leftover osso buco on my stove. I should probably freeze it--and would, but is it still good? How do I know? It's less than 24 hours old...but it's been sitting out in warmish weather all that time.

I have to get my car out of impound 120 hours from the time of the accident--roughly five days and five hours. It was put into impound on Thursday at 7--so I can retrieve it by Tuesday at midnight. I think this is the insurance claims adjuster's job, but I'm not really sure. He's supposed to call me today by 1:00 pm at the latest. The point is, if it's not taken from impound, it'll go up for auction. And that would suck. (Actually, that's an understatement--this is the thing that CANNOT HAPPEN.)

Still sick over here. Lost my voice two nights in a row. But I did prove to TheBoy I could cook, which is important--I had never cooked for him before. It's funny that all his friends were excited that I could cook, like, "HEY! She can COOK!" I mean, did they think I ate out three meals a day before this? Living by oneself implies a certain level of cooking achievement, in my mind. It's true that I'm famous for being a health nut, and enjoying things that no sane human would--i.e., spinach straight from a bag, like a rabbit; nutritional yeast, juice with absolutely NO added sugar, wheat germ, kefir, really thick green juice with occasional lumps, apple cider vinegar tonics, organic everything, whole-wheat bread, tofu, baked tofu, plain organic active-culture yogurt, etc, etc...so I think TheBoy was a little scared I'd cook some combination of yeast and green juice.

Like I don't know the difference between personal food and company food!

Still sick. I love you, green tea. Also, this house is out of paper towels and toilet paper, and the trash needs to be taken out.

I am the biggest failure ever

It's true. I am.

1) Yesterday, I took a sick day from work. Because I WAS sick. And yet I ALSO needed new jeans. Because the ones I had been wearing had gigantic crotch holes. So I went to the Tacoma Farmer's Market, for breakfast, which was awesome, and then I came home, put my flowers in water, took Dayquil, and took off to the Supermall. I bought tons of jeans, made a date to see BestFriend and try on all the jeans for her enjoyment, and drove back home. On the way back home, I took a left, apparently failed to see a motorcycle, and he crashed directly into me on the driver's side door.

I got out of the car. I thought he was dead. I didn't know WHAT to do. Millions of people stopped--it was rush hour, after all--and I called 911 and the police showed up and we had all kinds of excitement. I was in total shock. The motorcyclist turned out to be fine--he had a broken shoulder--and they towed my car off to the impound and from now on it's just a money issue, but for awhile they were holding the scene in case it became a crime scene, because if the motorcyclist died...well, I didn't want to think about it. But then it WOULD be a crime scene and they'd have to re-investigate the whole thing. So that didn't happen, which is good.

Other good things: I had just reinstated my insurance (a week ago), so I'm insured. My premiums will go up, but hey--this is why I HAVE insurance, right? It's unlikely that the car will be totalled--it's just a motorcycle, so the impact wasn't anything like a car would have been. From now on it's just a money issue and I can't do anything about it. Except ride around with my mother.

2) B----- has this time system, right? You have to enter your time in, and every Thursday, when the pay period ends, you have to sign your weekly time. It seems like a small thing, but it's not--my manager gets his hand slapped every time I forget, and he starts to get mad. After all the mess yesterday, I forgot to input my time, and he just sent me an email: "Next time you forget, disciplinary action will be taken." Just what I need--to be fired.

3) Also yesterday, during my day of hooky, TheBoy was also home and doing nothing. I could have called him, but didn't think about it. I assumed he'd be working, and besides, I had called him the night before and he hadn't called back yet. And then when I crashed, I called both LongtimeFriend and BestFriend before I called him. By the time I called him, he was on the phone with another important call, and he couldn't answer--and then he had to be at work. By the time he had time to come over and comfort me, New Roommate was already there, making sure the doggies got along--they do! They play really well together!--so he was doubly frustrated from sweeping me off my feet.

Apparently now he's mad that I didn't call him first, before anyone else---"This is what I'm here for, babe," he said--and mad that I didn't call him yesterday when I was around town doing nothing. Of course, if I had called him, I probably wouldn't be in this predicament, but what are you gonna do. Everything turned out okay--he cuddled me for a long time until I fell asleep. But he's right--I purposely didn't call him first because I was worried he was going to be judgemental and worried he would be mad at me for being stupid and, and, and.

Apparently this week I just can't win.

Exciting Things I Did Today

Warning: This post is rather bland. Feel free to skip.

1) Talked to a CEO of a company that makes a really great software tool--and may give him the hook-up to my alma mater to create a relationship there. Which would make me feel like the Omnipotent Business Woman that I one day hope to be.

2) Met a really excellent woman who works for Large Defense Aerospace Company, who has become a role model. She is 45, looks 35, and HOLDS HER OWN in a roomful of men--she happily uses both her power bootay (which she dresses in form fitting, but never too-tight suit skirts) and her power intellect; she is incredible. When she speaks, everyone listens.

3) Ran into Cute Tacoma Engineer and had a nice long walk/talk. He was wandering, I was going somewhere, so he just walked me to where I was going. We joked around and enjoyed each other. A bright spot in a long day.

4) In my continuing tour of B----- women's bathrooms, I found a gigantic one, as big as the men's rooms, and it CONTAINS A COUCH! I can take a NAP! Even when I don't drive!

5) Ate really well--covered nine superfoods and got lots of water. This was partly due to me feeling awful and trying to ward off the incoming sickness until Friday--if I can. I may not even have time to get sick then. Bleah.

But still: happy day!

Oh My Gosh!

I haven't posted in five days! What have I been thinking of?

Well, I've been exhausted, and now I think I'm coming down with something--but I'm trying to hang on until Friday so I can work from home that day. There's no fun in not having to come into work on Thursday--Friday is the day to stay home! If, of course, I can make it until then.

Nice things have happened to me--I've been granted "regular" status at my favorite kickboxing class (you know what I'm saying--it's not like they give out prizes, but I can feel the attitude difference) so I'm beginning to bond with the instructor and the other regulars, I've lost three more pounds according to this morning, and last night TheBoy cooked a fantastic dinner for his mother and invited me! And I love his mom, so I'm always happy to see her, and even better, she was feeling me out on the possibility of scheduling a trip, WITH HER, to go see TheBoy in Ghana! If that's not flattering, I don't know what is.

AND after a long hard couple of weeks--almost a month of long hard weeks, actually--it's PARTY TIME! A bunch of young engineers and I are on our way to cause large amounts of trouble at Howl At The Moon on Friday. There's all kinds of drama going on, and I'm at some of the center of it. It's going to be AWESOME!

Due to Popular Demand

I was going to talk about all this in the comments section of the previous post, but who really checks the comments daily anyway?

So! Roommate FAQ gets a whole post to itself! (Himself?) Anyway, he should feel pretty damn special, because I never did this for Monica. :)

Name: Roommate
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Status: Single
Orientation: Straight
Hot or Not Scale Rating: 5. (Hey, the truth hurts, but honesty to IIFs is the best policy!)

Does he have a nice car? You bet--bright red Ford F150, with a very nice lockable stainless steel tool box in the back.

Yeah, but does he have pets? Damn skippy! He has a two-year-old German Shepherd Mix! Her name is Sascha and she's only 45 pounds to Titan's 70. They *shouldn't* have dominance issues.

*Shouldn't*? Haven't they met yet? No. Of course, Roommate staying as my roommate will be dependent on this unknown.

Has he just moved out of his parents house? No. (Whew.)
Has he ever lived with strangers before? No. (Dangerous.)
Has he ever lived with a non-related girl before? No. (Danger, Will Robinson!

Oh my god! What the house? What about the kitchen? What about THE BATHROOM? Will he object to tampons and other Things That Must Not Be Named? Are you resigned to living in squalor? Hey, if you read my Craigslist ad, you know I'm not Mr. Clean myself, and he said something that sold me: when I was showing him the bathroom, I said, "Sorry about the clutter, I'm a product whore." He looks at me and says, "I was raised by my mom and three older sisters. You've got nothing on them. I can take whatever feminine stuff you can throw at me."

Now he sounds perfect. Aren't you single now? Quick answer: No.

Yeah, right. Hey, if anyone tells TheBoy that I've been going around saying I'm single, fur will fly.

Okay, but assuming I will never meet TheBoy? Well, the official, totally non-official and down-low stance is that I'm not closing myself off to any possibilities.

And I revealed my profile on match.com and am emailing three guys right now AND my stylist just called and set me up.

Ummm...we're going to get those stories soon, right? Maybe. I'm trying to wait until I really AM single.

Forget all of this factual smokescreen. Is this a recipe for disaster or what? Well, because it's me, we have to assume that, yes, it's clearly a recipe for disaster. HOWEVER. Because of circumstances beyond my control--the Hot or Not rating, and the general way in which Roommate and I click, and believe me, I was on the lookout--it has the highest probability of not being a disaster that I can personally assure.

Did I get everyone?

And, TWAM, I saw that Criagslist post too, and I thought of it constantly as I was interviewing the poor guy. :)

New Profile!

Just thought I'd point it out. I do have a new roommate, and he seems pretty damn cool.

Yes, of COURSE I'll update you when it all goes to hell in two months. :)

Last Days + Border-Crossing Fat

These really are the last days, folks.

First, the link to the article and short movie that I posted before. Rather disturbing, yes? Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

1. From the Stranger: "First up is a ridiculous tragedy from Oklahoma, where a 63-year-old man in the town of Hominy is facing murder charges after allegedly gunning down 26-year-old waitress in a local diner in broad daylight. According to the Editor & Publisher report, the motive for the alleged murder is believed to be a letter written by the waitress to the Hominy News Progress, suggesting the man was responsible for some local vandalism. Surreal fact: The Hominy News Progress had recently honored the alleged murderer as Citizen of the Year. Tragic fact: The waitness was 11 weeks pregnant."

2. Then there's the Yahoo news report about the Florida dad who allegedly beat his toddler son to death to "prevent him from being gay."

3. Think that's disturbing? What would you think if you knew that The Onion had already done this story? Is it even more disturbing that The Onion showed more restraint than real life did?

4. Bombings in Egypt, the lead singer of Bad Beat Revue falls on his head during a leap from stage and dies, hatred of Muslims, more hatred of Muslims, oh yeah, and a dastardly plot involving cocaine. Half of the Seattle music scene would be dead.

5. Also politics is all over the place, no one is safe, and the world keeps getting worse and worse, and am I crazy that I link this feeling of Last Days to the possibility of dementors breeding?

But in a happier time, there's also talk about fat. See, T has this habit of, when eating, saying, "That'll go right to the thighs," or "Hello, spare tire." BestFriend asked her today, 'Do you have discussions with these different foods so that you know where they will end up? Like an immigration officer: "Are you going to stay near the stomach (the love handles is a nice area) or were you thinking of settling down closer to the thighs? Or maybe down in the ass?" Are there ethnic districts? Does Thai food always congregate in the spare tire area?'

And T's excellent reply:

"Yes, it is similar to crossing the border at Mexico. Fish generally swims as far upstream as possible (finally settling down around the thighs), ethnic foods go straight for the spare tire (as it is a transitional area, almost like a tent city that has just shown up without any sort of authority or jurisdiction, but is growing at an alarming rate), then there are the illegal border crossers such as maple bars that immigration won't let through, but for some reason seem to find themselves inside anyway - those, my friends, generally begin the downward spiral toward a double chin, settling right along the border, and soon you start to see signs along the freeway depicting mommy and child maple bars running to the freedom that is Southern California (my double chin), and worst of all is the grease pit burger with extra cheese, bacon, french fries, and fat (for good measure)...those babies head for the homeland, you know what I'm talking about, that thing that follows you around catching the eyes of black men of all ages spurring nicknames such as shelf-booty - the ass."

Could it be better? I don't think so.

This is sort of shocking

The Stranger has really angry editors.

Also, I'm going completely insane

I picked up my cell phone last night and dialed nine to get an outside line. I couldn't figure out why my call didn't work. I did it again, carefully dialing 9 first to get that outside line.

When I picked up my office phone this morning to listen to my messages, I tapped a key on the computer keyboard to choose 1 for the menu. I was surprised when the menu kept reciting options. I hit the keyboard "1" again, then realized what I was doing and almost ran screaming out of the office.

Also this morning I was driving to work, got off at Federal Way to get gas because I had had no time to get some the night before, and after I got gas I pulled back on the freeway again. It wasn't until I saw that road sign by the Port of Tacoma that says "University of Washington, Take Exit 133" that I realized I had GONE THE WRONG WAY for about 5 miles. That's right. I pulled out of the gas station and got on the freeway going SOUTH, back towards HOME, as opposed to continuing to go NORTH, where MY JOB IS.

UPDATE: Also, I have worn the same pair of pants three days this week. And it's not like they're black; they're light gray, folks. Easily recognizeable, curse them. But they're the only clean pair I have! (Note: Victoria's Secret clothes shipment is in the mail. WOO!)

It is not my day

1. This morning about 1 am, I'm jolted awake in a panic by a loud, metallic, CRASH somewhere in my house. My first thought is, of course, OHmygod someone's trying to break in! I spring out of bed, completely nude. (Hey, I went to bed with a head full of wine, okay?) I can't see anything, but the moon is out and after a second my eyes adjust. I creep out of my room, thinking, Why aren't the pets going crazy? Then I see it, or rather, him, poor guy. Titan is standing in front of me with something large and vaguely rectangular HANGING from his collar! I get up close and I discover that the poor dog fell asleep on top of the vent, as usual, but the licenses and things on his collar chose this night to slip through the actual vents and then turn sideways, locking the vent to his collar, so that when he went to stand up, he took the whole vent with him!

Once I discover this, I have a very hard time not laughing, especially because Titan is so adorable and confused, and clearly very sleepy--he tries to focus on me as I work to untangle his licenses from the vent, but it's hard work for him. After just a few seconds I got him untangled, set the vent on the floor, and crashed back into bed.

2. This morning, partly as a result of my night-time adventures and partly as a result of wine, also partly as a result of having no clean pants, I had a hard time waking up. I made the train with a minute to spare. (But hey, I made it.)

3. Also, there was no food in the house so all I had was a piece of bread with butter. This is not enough food, as people who know me in RL know.

4. My stomach was growling all the way through web-ex meeting I hosted this morning, both the teleconference AND the webex people had their heads up their asses and didn't have a record of either meeting I had scheduled a week ago--literally, I have the confirmation email RIGHT HERE, BITCHES, DON'T TELL ME YOU DON'T HAVE A RECORD OF IT!--so we started late...NOT THAT I'M STILL BITTER OR ANYTHING.

5. So after an hour and a half of minutae, I'm watching the clock tick by, because the cafeteria closes at 9:30, and they take away the oatmeal, and I've only had a piece of bread this morning, as I think I've mentioned.

6. Finally free after pointless babbling! I run to the cafeteria at 9:31 to see that I already missed the oatmeal for the morning, and lady yelled at me and said, "After 9:30, it's time for soup!" (It was 9:32). I almost yelled, "It's not like the fate of the free world depends on it, lady! Give me my fucking oatmeal!" But then I thought perhaps I should just really eat something instead, so I took the greasy absolute piece of crap omelet that was the only thing they had still available and choked it down.

7. To add injury to insult, I had run the whole way there in stilettos, very tall ones. GIVE ME MY OATMEAL NEXT TIME OR I WILL PUNCH YOU. And you too, B----- telephone operators.

Also, in case anyone was wondering, I will probably not be posting the pictures of the house, since my ex-roommate is moving out and these pictures won't be indicative of the space as it will be in a couple of months. If there's any that are salvagable, I'll see what I can do. Don't hold your breath.

So, last night, the bomb dropped

And the result is this Craigslist ad.

Argh, argh, argh

It's awful how much I'm focused on my own weight, now that I'm trying to change it. A sample of my mental dialogue this morning:

I got to see my niece this weekend! That was great!

I've gained two pounds.

I got to read Harry Potter! That was great!

But I've gained two pounds.

I got to watch movies with my boyfriend and drink wine and go to a "couples" barbeque!

And thanks to that, I've GAINED TWO POUNDS.

Man, I'm hungry!

DON'T EAT NOW, BITCH, YOU'VE GAINED TWO POUNDS!

See what I mean? Not healthy. Margaret Cho said it best: "When you diet, the first thing you lose is brain mass." Although she, too, is much skinnier than she used to be. Traitor.

Coffee always helps. Get your free sample of Doubleshot here! Many, many thanks to The World Against Me for making my day.

I can't summarize

So, I haven't posted in several days, so I have a lot of events to catch everyone (all two people who read my blog) up on, I have news that should seem really important to me but that I can't seem to get excited about, AND I have PICTURES OF MY DECORATED HOUSE!

How do I put all this in one post without being boring? Will being currently over-caffeinated and underfed help or hinder? Film at eleven. And it might be eleven before this post is over. Everyone (all two of you) all comfy? Got some coffee? Got some Jameson's in that coffee? Got nachos? Here we go:

Possibly Important News First

After months and months (no exaggeration, at least six months, or most of our relationship) of uncertainty, TheBoy has his Peace Corps assignment. What? You didn't know TheBoy was leaving for the Peace Corps? The story is too long and boring to tell, so here's a synopsis (Update: This is totally not a synopsis. Skip down to the bottom for the pithy statement.). TheBoy and I were friends for years, he made several efforts to date me, I refused, about a year ago he tried again and I went for it, knowing that he was Leaving For The Peace Corps *soon* and even if it went badly, I wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath for long. Not to mention I'm a commitphobe in the first place, so the idea of a relationship with a time limit was very attractive. Yes, I'm insane.

Still with me? We started dating seriously in November, and in February I moved to Seattle. I thought about breaking up then--we barely saw each other, and surely I should start dating guys in Seattle, right? As is obvious now, I decided to stay with TheBoy, because, gee, I really liked him. Then I became completely isolated and depressed in Seattle, and soon went from thinking about breaking up to depending on TheBoy for oxygen. I was obsessed. I was short on cash, short on friends, and completely isolated. No longer did I want TheBoy to leave for the Peace Corps. In fact, I wanted him to stay, and if he wouldn't, I wanted to go with him. I had been at B----- for about one month at this time, and I was ready to cut and run.

It was at about this time that the Peace Corps gave him a choice of assignments: he could leave in September, or he could leave in January 06. It seemed more likely that he would leave in January 06. I breathed easier. Then on Easter, in front of his entire family, whom I was meeting for the first time, he dropped the bomb: he had decided to leave in September.

I was devestated. I thought he was running away from the relationship and from me, and it wasn't helped by the fact that I had been so clingy and dependent on him recently that he would have had every right to do so.

Fast forward to a month ago. We worked through that okay, especially after he missed a few deadlines (whoops!) and I backed off a great deal from the relationship. It seemed like we were fine and now he would leave in January, like he had originally planned. Okay. At this point, I was starting to get antsy--I couldn't see him much, I had moved back here to Tacoma, but now I was at the gym a lot and enjoying my new house and going out with a ton of bachelors from B----- every weekend, and I was seriously thinking about breaking up again. I broached this to him and he put his foot down--he loved me, the best part of his life was being with me, and he was not going to let that go lightly. After a night of thinking, I agreed that I still, after everything, enjoyed being with him more than anyone else, but in my head I was still thinking, Will I still feel that way through January? Can I really go through the entire holiday season with him, knowing he's about to leave?

Those questions were decided for me. Yesterday, TheBoy got his Peace Corps assignment: he's being sent to Ghana, and he leaves 9/23--two months from yesterday.

Although it's hard to put into a pithy statement, examining our history like this has made me better understand why I didn't immediately burst into tears when I heard the news, which surprised him--he'd been expecting major waterworks and screaming, and possibly being dumped. Of course, it's clear from reading the above that I have come to terms with everything already--it's not like I haven't had time. He's leaving, it's something he has to do, we're breaking up then, (possibly before) which is something I have to do, and we were both blessed by our time together. May he forever be blessed for pursuing me until I gave in, because my life has been incredibly enriched by his love. And no, we're not breaking up right away; if I had my way, we wouldn't even talk about it--we'd say goodbye at the airport and go our separate ways. The point is, nothing needs to be said. And that's a wonderful feeling.

Whoops, that was supposed to be a synopsis. Guess I got carried away. And in case that's too long, here's my best attempt at a pithy statement: We were great friends for 8 years and great lovers for almost a year. And you don't want to give that up lightly.

I've changed my mind: the picture post will be separate, but equal. (Ha.) On a side note, TheBoy and I watched Sideways last night and drank Pinot Noir, and it was fantastic, both the movie and the wine. Everyone, go see it!

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Argh.

So, not only has my weight stablized, but it's crept back UP. Well, not really--it's now just a pound lighter than the post where I said I'd lost eight pounds. Humph. I should have taken BestFriend's advice--she said, "Your roommate may have healthier advice, but if I were you I'd just take the money and run." But I didn't. Thinking I was in the clear and that nothing could stop me, I indulged in pizza and iced vanilla lattes, and before I knew it (i.e., in one day), I was back up to where I was. I'm trying to convince myself that I'm building muscle, not putting on pounds of pizza and vanilla fat, but I think we all know that's ridiculous.

On that note, though, I have three questions:

1) Should I have some oatmeal to tide me over this morning, and then have a late lunch, as I'm used to?

2) Why doesn't Starbucks include the nutritional information of their plain crossaints? (Yes, I had one today. I was in a huge hurry. So sue me.)

3) How did I entirely miss the appointment of Attorney General Gonzalez?

Baffling, I tell you.

Stressed Out and Banged Up

So, I'm not losing weight too fast--me weighing 140 pounds yesterday morning was just a fluke of a long weekend. I weighed 142 this morning and that's pretty healthy. I repeat, I am not losing weight "too fast"--I do not need to be shot.

Also I am very tired of taking care of Monica's pets, and it's only been one day. Monica is an elementary school music teacher. She is, possibly, the least dominant person I know. Her pets run roughshod over her--although I don't think cats can possibly be dominated anyway, because they're too ignorant or too apathetic to learn cause and effect. (If I do this, she'll yell at me--therefore I won't do this anymore. Right.) Dogs, at least, react when you yell. But her dog doesn't even react much--except to hunker down and look as small as possible, and lose all brain functions. This is okay, although I'd prefer less of a "fear turns me to jelly" attitude, but what's worse it that I am entirely unused to the idea of a dog that doesn't come when you call it! At the very LEAST this dog should come when I call her in the house. Titan comes running when I call in the house because he's hoping he might get fed. Katie won't even come in the house, and she hates to go outside, which also frustrates me because Titan ALWAYS wants to go out, and I'm annoyed having to spend my time coaxing Katie to go OUTSIDE, as in, a place that dogs should naturally want to go. It seems to me like she's too stupid to act on her natural bodily functions, which really makes me surprised that she remembers to breathe.

Wow, I'm in a really, really, bitchy mood. This is partly because yesterday, when I was coaxing Katie to go outside, and I was bending down to pet her, Titan tried to stick his head in to get petted, only he was running a little too fast to stop and...
WHAM. Head butted me in my eye so hard that I fell down and saw stars, and immediately started to bawl, much like I can imagine Kristy did when she ran full-tilt into the wall. Picture this for a second: I've just come home and changed into a little denim skirt, but I'm still in my work clothes on top. I'm laying out full on my back on my dirty concrete patio and howling to beat the band. Katie is standing there, still stubborn, and taking every opportunity she can to sneak back into the house without peeing, so I'm alternating bawling and yelling at her, which sounds sort of like this:

"BOO-HOO HOO, OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS HURTS--KATIE, COME BACK HERE! COME, YOU STUPID DOG! COME!" (Katie doesn't respond to "come", of course, so I have to run up and drag her back into the yard.) "BOO HOO HOO, OW, BOO HOO," (softer, trying a different approach,) "Katie, come on, girl! Who's a good girl?" Titan, who had originally skedaddled when I started yelling, is attracted by my soft tones and comes running over, so then I have to go back to shouting, "NO, TITAN! LIE DOWN!" "BOO HOO, I'M IN SO MUCH PAIN!" "It's okay, Katie, who's a good girl?" "NO, TITAN, NOT YOU! LIE DOWN!" "BOO-HOO-HOO!"

And so forth. I swear to you I almost beat them all into a bloody pulp and then opened the back gate, hoping that they'd take off for parts unknown and I'd never have to see any pets again ever. I refrained, called my mother (always a good choice) who tried to calm me down over the phone, and eventually I fed the dogs outside and shut them out there for a few minutes, let Figaro out to run around the house (the cat, who's a nonstop yowler, often making it difficult for me to hear my mother over me crying and Figaro yowling), weighed myself about 5 times, opened the refrigerator door 14 times, paced around the house 11 times, and chugged a glass of wine with three aspirin, and then hung up with my mother, left the dogs outside, left Figaro loose in the house, and ran out to my car to make my tutoring appointment, because everything above happened in the space of fifteen minutes. And my life went on--I had to be somewhere.

Side note: the wine and aspirin kicked in and I had just been hit hard in the head, and unsurprisingly enough, it was very hard to tutor--I didn't have a single neuron firing in the right order, and I don't think the Diet Red Bull I was drinking helped at all.

But on the plus side, it did make it VERY hard to go to sleep later. Going to sleep at midnight and waking up at 4:30 is just not healthy.

Please don't shoot me!

So, the last post? In which I said I lost weight? July 12th.

Since then, I have lost an additional 5 pounds. Yes. Five Pounds. In six days.

According to my roommate, The Running Coach, that's too fast.

Really, I'm almost done posting...

My new hero: Opinionista.

And her post today is, of course, about not being judgmental, which I have a VERY hard time doing myself--Girls of the Blogosphere, it is really hard for me to not rant and rave about why girls sell themselves short. To all of you, separately. And now I'm happy that I didn't do so, because it would have been a waste of my time. Opinionista puts it best.

Ladies and Gentlemen!

INTROducing...MY VERY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD!

Okay, I have a couple of those. But it sounds ridiculous to say, "Introducing...one of my very best friends in the whole damn world", because it sounds wussy, like I can't make up my mind.

So! She's HERE! She's smart! She's funny! She's witty! She wears stilettos! She'll knock your socks off! (She'd better, after all this.)

And her blog is just over there to the right, in my "Blogs I Love" Column, right under Crazy Aunt Purl. Because that's how important this girl is to me. Blog: One of THOSE People. And we all know who those people are. Read it.

We're just a couple of T-Town girls, y'all. (Pssst: if you want to see more tales involving her, look for anything involving BestFriend on my blog, and that's her!)

Jehovah's Witnesses, or How I Learned to Stop Judging and Love My Neighbor

So, I went to bed at 11:30 last night, got woken up by a phone call at 2:30 am, and finally dragged my sorry ass out of bed at 6:00 am. As in, the time that I have to actually BE AT THE TRAIN STATION. Okay, so I'm not making my usual train today. I have a brief discussion with myself over whether I should take the later train and take the bus between the train station and the office, or drive. If I take the later train, I can avoid driving, always a plus. And since I took that goddamned ecology quiz yesterday, I'm suddenly very aware of how much I consume. Then I can either take the first train home, which would make a short day (but no one would notice) or the SECOND train home, which would include riding with Young Tacoma Engineer, who's funny and cute. (Yes, he has a live-in girlfriend, but he's still on the Potential Interest List.) However, after losing my phone (I had already put it in my bag, where it was supposed to be) and putting on my jeans before underwear, TWICE, not to mention losing my keys (in my pocket), I decide I don't even have enough time to make the latest train to work. And I need coffee very badly.

I get coffee. (Plain. No cheating here, no sirree!) Starbucks has this going for it, at least: they seem to hire a diverse group of people. Surly, cheerful, sullen, quiet, talkative, freaky, funny, cute, ugly, fat, thin, miserable, happy, disabled, perfectly abled, male, female, transsexual, you're never sure what your barista is going to look like. But it's unlikely that you'll be hit full in the face with a gaggle of cheerful, blindingly-clear-skinned, super-thin, hyped up young girls with perfect hair, like what happens at many early-morning independent coffee chains. (Where do they find those girls, anyway? Are they beamed directly down from the mothership? Why can they all afford adorable cars on a barista's salary? Why do they all have rich boyfriends?) But I digress...I'm at the UW Tacoma Starbucks, right. It's sunny. I'm really short on sleep. A shiny black late-model Nissan Maxima turns to park right before I do. Two ladies get out. They're wearing nametags, and they say Goody Obedience on them. Great. Jehovah's witnesses. Of course, they're here for the 3-day Tacoma Dome conference. I vow to myself that they will NOT get ahead of me in line.

I'm not fast enough. One lady gets ahead of me, one doesn't. My mama has raised me right, goddammit, and before I can stop myself, I hear myself turning around to the lady behind me and saying, "Would you two like to stand together?" My brain says: WTF, Mouth? What are you doing? Fortunately the lady behind me is very nice and says, "Oh no, we're not attached at the hip." The lady in front of me turns around and says, "In fact, we've already discovered we have so much in common that a little space is nice!" I'm thinking, "You're both members of the same weird cult, you live in the same part of the country, you're roughly the same age, and you're both married--of COURSE you have a lot in common, idiots," but I don't say anything, watching to see how much I'm going to hate the lady in front of me. She orders two coffees, both pretty complicated, including one with 8 SHOTS of Butternut Toffee syrup (but nonfat!) but so far, she seems nice. She's extremely polite to the baristas, she was nice to me but not overly so, she hasn't tried to convert me yet, OR the barista, and although she gets two pastries, too, she doesn't take up a long time at the counter, she doesn't hover directly in the middle of the counter so you can't be helped by the barista on either side, (I HATE it when people do that) she hands over her cash quickly, and tips the barista well. She jokes with me about the pastries. She's funny! She moves out of the way when she's done! I get my tall coffee. As I'm leaving, I say to the lady behind me, "I want to thank you for improving my opinion of Jehovah's Witnesses this morning." She's surprised, but she smiles, and says, "Well, thank you!" I move on into the bright sunlight.

The drive to work was very, very smooth.

This is a brag

Today is a day that shall live in infamy, for several reasons:

1) I finally remembered my lunch, as in, the lunch that I packed on Tuesday morning. And then forgot. I emailed my roommate, because I had forgotten my phone, too, and she said she'd put it in the fridge. She did. Tuesday evening: I eat some of the lunch. Wednesday morning: I added to the lunch to make up for the food I took out and set it by the door. I forget it again. I call my roommate (remembered my phone, this time!) and she puts it back in the fridge. Wednesday evening: I eat more of The Lunch. Thursday morning: I add to The Lunch to make up for the food I ate yesterday and actually bring it to work. Go me.

2) It's my six-month anniversary at B-----! Today! Today is my six-month anniversary! In a few more weeks, B----- will beat out The Melting Pot as the longest job I've ever held.

3) Although I mentioned fact number two very CASUALLY two days ago, and didn't even talk to TheBoy last night, I got this email this morning:

hey beautiful,

Congratulations on 6 glorious months at b-----.

Isn't that CUTE???

Join Me in Asking President Bush to Fire Karl Rove

This is really important. For all of you who haven't heard about the Karl Rove scandal, you can certainly google it, but the jist is that Karl Rove allegedly leaked the identity of a covert CIA operative to a reporter to pay that operative's agent back for daring to oppose the war. Karl Rove must be stopped. Ask the President to do the right thing.

On another note entirely, the luncheon went fine and I got really good free food, and they made us wait for an hour so by the time I got there I had two kinds of rice AND a roll AND a huge berry tart, all to myself. What? I've lost eight pounds? No longer...

...but on the other hand, I walked for an hour last night--AFTER kickboxing--(see last post) and am walking quite a bit tonight, AFTER hip-hop class. As long as I don't regress, I'll be fine. This losing-weight busines is some tough shit! On a side note, it's really weird to see the numbers drop on my scale--I've never tried to lose weight before, ever, in my entire life. Weird, I tell you.

Last night, I found a dog

She was wandering down South 12th, occasionally meandering into traffic, and I was concerned enough that I pulled over as soon as I could and called to her--I thought she was male for quite some time, not feeling the need to find out for certain, but eventually she peed on someone's lawn and I knew her gender. I called out to her and she came galloping up to me like I was her best friend, and I lost a little bit of my heart. I walked up and down South 12th for an hour, deliberating on what I should do, all the while thinking that I have my own German Shepherd at home (although the friendly bitch by my side looked purebred) who hadn't had a walk from me yet that day and wouldn't get one because here I was, focusing all my attention on this stray, when my own dog at home would have killed for an hour-long walk on that nice night. I knocked on a few doors and accosted a few people walking along the street, not that there were many, and I got nothing. I called my best friend, who also has a dog, and she suggested letting the dog roam--she had a collar and a bandanna and a flea collar on, and was obviously loved, but she didn't have a license or a tag of any kind, and the pound would be forced to assume she was a stray and put her up for adoption. I couldn't take her from her summer evening stroll and lock her up in a cage in the hopes that someone would take her home before they put her down. I thought taking her to the pound would be the "correct" thing to do, but that letting her roam might be the right thing. She clearly had a home to go to, and after following her around for an hour (as it got more and more past my bedtime, which is 10:00 pm, and it was getting close to eleven) and walking her past TheBoy's house--he thought I was crazy, by the way, but he was very supportive, and advised letting her roam--I turned and left her, walking fast. She eventually turned my way and followed me, but then went off to find her own path, and I drove home, saying a prayer.

And now I'm CRYING AT MY DESK when I have to go to a LUNCHEON in an hour, less than, and I have NO MAKEUP ON OR WITH ME, because I took my damn makeup bag out of my damn laptop bag this morning because it took up too much damn room, when I KNOW better. I KNOW that any time you don't bring your makeup, you'll automatically need it. I know this. Fuck me. I'm crying over the joy of finding Sweetie, which is what I named her because I kept calling her that for lack of name, and the sadness of losing her (She was such a nice dog! You should have seen her!) and the guilt and feeling of hopelessness that I couldn't do more for her and the sadness of all lost dogs and unloved animals and anger against Darwin, that survival of the fittest even exists, because clearly it's all due to him that there's not enough love and resources to go around in this world, and how amazing animals are in their unconditional love for you and how wonderful dogs are and how I feel so sad because I couldn't live up to the love and hope in Sweetie's eyes. I couldn't make her world better. I couldn't be her hero, and I wanted to be. I'm sad for her family, imagining how lucky they are to have such a wondeful dog and how much they must miss her when she's away, and even sadder over the possibility that they may not love her the way she deserves, and, yes, I'm crying over guilt that I spent more time on her than I did on my own ignored dog that beautiful summer night, and that getting a drink with Jessica seemed to be more important than walking my dog until I found Sweetie, and, oh, all sorts of other things. Including the fact that I'm clearly on the rag. :)

Ways to make myself feel better: well, I have spoons chilling (ha!) in the freezer for just this purpose, and I can put them against my eyes and splash cold water on my face and walk around purposefully outside, thus preparing for the luncheon, and I do at least have lip gloss, and after going home today I can walk Titan both before hip-hop and after getting a drink with BestFriend and HellaCool, and enjoy what promises to be a beautiful night with him. And Titan did ride around with me in the car last night for an hour as I ran errands, which he loves. And I threw the ball for him a few times in the backyard. And YESTERDAY, Monica (Roommate) and I played Frisbee in the nearby park and took Titan with us, and we threw tennis balls for him and he frolicked and generally had a wonderful time. So THERE.

Also, I really have given up fancy coffee

Well, almost. But still! It's a HUGE improvement!

And in an effort to stay with the improvement, I bought myself a Starbucks card for $30 (because I got a free half-pound of coffee with it) and am using it for as long as I can, goddammit. And I made a pact with my friend two weeks ago to only drink fancy coffee on the weekends, which so far I'm...SORT of sticking to. As in, my coffee drink every morning is very definitely plain black coffee, but sometimes in the afternoons...when the traffic is heavy, and it's warm, and I'm falling asleep at the wheel when I drive home...I get myself a Frap. And it is good. (And no, the coffee card didn't affect the overdraft any. I had to get it with my Visa card. Before you ask.)

But I tell my friend every time I cheat on her, so I get exercise from groveling! In fact, I'm SO hard core about this week-day ban that yesterday, while at Starbucks and buying my plain coffee, my friend J was working there, and he passed to me a fresh-made frap that was a mistake, and I took it home and gave it to my roommate! So THERE! I turned down FREE fancy coffee!!

Ahem. I think instead of Fraps on the drives home, I'm switching to Diet Red Bull. (God, I've become the kind of person who drinks diet! I swore I'd NEVER be that kind of person!) And not only that--for those all-in-one needs, I've even switched to Sparks LIGHT. (Click on the blue Sparks Light can.) For those of you who don't know what Sparks is, what the hell is wrong with you?

And the end result of all this--plus the portion-watching, although I have no limits when it comes to Indian Food--I have lost eight pounds, ladies and gentlemen.

Eight pounds. Less than the size of a cat. But not too shabby, all the same. It might be more like ten pounds. Or more like six pounds. But I'm going for eight; it's the average, and it's about 5% of the weight I started with. I want to lose another ten pounds, making the total weight loss just a hair over 10% of my original body weight, and I think that's healthy. Although if I ended up losing 15 pounds I wouldn't say no. :)

Your Attention, Everyone

I am wearing deodorant! Yes! Me! Deodorant!

No, you don't understand: I hardly EVER wear deodorant, because I don't smell that bad (really, I've lived with two separate very honest people) and I have a gigantic phobia of deodorant. Not that build-ups of aluminum chloride or whatever will cause me to get cancer, (right, and Gates will send me a million dollars) but that deodorant will stick to my clothes and gum up my razor and, worse, stick to my fingers if I accidentally touch my underarms, and then I can't even wash the deodorant off with soap because it's DEODORANT, and it sticks to my fingers and makes touching things weird. Yes. It Makes Touching Things Weird.

But temperatures have gotten warmer here, folks, and Dove has this fantastic deodorant ad campaign out, and I've been very active lately (moving, throwing parties, dancing, walking the dog in the sunshine--although it's cold and gray here today) and I've been sweating, and when you can smell yourself, y'all, it's not a good thing. So I bought deodorant--while ON THE WAY TO CLUBBING IN SEATTLE. AT A GAS STATION. But it was Dove! And so far, it's fulfilling all my needs. Go deodorant! I can't believe I don't use this stuff more!

Also, in the Quest For The Perfect Hair Goop, I bought hair goop from Garnier Fructis, more specifically their XXL gel, which I will try as soon as I decide to actually spend time on my hair. Which hasn't happened yet. But everyone should go to their site because it's a great time waster: they have a soundtrack AND a hair quiz!

Also I just discovered I have an overdraft of 43 dollars, which for me is tragedy--MOST of that is the damn fee! There's no space in Crazy Aunt Purl's budget for that! ARGH!

The most annoying thing is that I specifically went to two different banks yesterday just so I could transfer money from one account to the next. And I didn't transfer enough. ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In other news...

Blogger Images sucks. And I've added two new blogs, extremely worthwhile, to my Blogs I Love list--check them out! Pictures are coming--really.

Independent Thought

First, a snippet thought from before the house party that I just discovered in my old, forgotten, drafts:

I came home yesterday to discover that an army of musicians had moved into my house.

No, really, it was only Monica (yes, we scheduled the house party for two days after her move-in date...so?) but I was so overwhelmed I walked in circles around our house like a sick animal. In my head, I'm thinking, Call your Mom. Call Rachel. Call a priest. Call your roommate. Call off the party!

Y'all know now that I didn't do ANY of those things, and that Monica and I moved our household of furniture in, basically, a 48 hour period. ROAR!

And more scattered thoughts:

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be single, soon, or at least less committed. I like TheBoy a lot--but I'm itching to be single. Yes, there's boys on the list I want to date...but that's not the reason. It's just so summery and warm and nice out, and TheBoy is leaving for the Peace Corps in January, and after months of heartache and emotional wrangling, I've pretty much written off the relationship, so now it's just a waiting game--and if you know it's going to end, why wait? I know he's not the right person for me, and in six months he'll be leaving for two and a half years. I'd like to stay with him in some capacity, though...so I'd like to just step the commitment back. But if he doesn't want that (likely) then I'll say goodbye.

I have internet at my house! WOOOOOO!

I need a chair for my computer, or at least a stool. Or maybe a kneepad. I spend a lot of time on my knees, typing, in lieu of sitting. Feel free to make jokes about this.

Monica and I continue to make our house adorable. Pictures are coming. IKEA rules my school.

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, EVERYBODY!

No pictures yet...

Because, um, I enjoyed myself a great deal at the party, and couldn't work my camera phone, (although I didn't get half as effed up as I did at my LAST house party!) and no one stood still for pictures anyway, (and with the amount of trouble I was having with my camera phone, they would have needed to stand still until they aged) and the light wasn't very good and I was too involved changing music, re-filling the jungle juice bowl, and talking to people!

Highlights: My parents came, and even stayed for a little while! They weren't scared of my friends!

All my B----- peeps carpooled down from Everett! (For the record, that's about an hour and a half, one way. Three hours round trip.)

One of the B----- peeps brought Everclear, from his home state of Montana, and I made some excellent and very potent jungle juice with it.

One of my friends passed out, not once, but TWICE.

Another one of my friends passed out only once.

The Dogs were a little crazy, but good. Lots of laughter, lots of fun, lots of drunkeness, and I didn't even take my shirt off, this time! (Yes, the last house party I had, I did.)

Woo!

I really hope y'all appreciate how much work I do for you...

But you know I love it anyway!

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honor to bring you the long-awaited and much-requested PICTURE POST of my BRAND NEW SPACE!

First, the street view:




And then, the living room:


Note the boxes.

And the kitchen, taken twice from the same angle (hey, I'm an engineer, not a photographer):






Hey, the pictures look SORT OF different, right? Did you note the blue covering on the microwave?

The adorable breakfast nook:




No bedroom pictures. Hey, I gotta respect my younger readers!

But we DO have a PARTY BATHROOM:


Note the shower curtain is not yet fully hung in this picture.

The Frighteningly Large Mudroom:





Again, taken twice, but from different ends. I promise.

And the backyard! Once from our "back porch":




And once from the alley:


Note the lack of curtains in that window by the shed, which is my bedroom window. I'm surprised I don't have teenagers camping outside that window at night.

And there it is, folks! My adorable house! Yes, my kitchen is turquoise, my mudroom is lavender, and my bathroom is red. And there are boxes everywhere. But this weekend will be different--oh yeah, I'm having a house party! Everyone is invited! If you read this blog, consider yourself invited! Comment to me and say you'd like an invite, and I'll send you one with the address. You can see my house in it's finished, fully occupied state--but assuming you can't make it, you know there will be pictures come Monday.

Really Short Post

I will eventually fill out this blog by including some hysterical dialogue between BestFriend and myself, but until then, here's an ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS LINK!

Holy Shit!

Procrastination = Me!Me!

ramblin' girl (or, as those of us in "the know" like to call her, RG) has officially tagged me with the following, and as I worked super hard yesterday and am therefore casting around for things to do today...what could be a better time than this? (Note: do not believe for one second that I worked too hard to read the brand spankin' newly updated Best of Craigslist yesterday.)

Pick 5 of the following questions and then complete the sentences. Then pass it on to 3 more of your blog friends! (No tag backs allowed.)

If I could be a scientist?
If I could be a farmer?
If I could be a musician?
If I could be a doctor?
If I could be a painter?
If I could be a gardener?
If I could be a missionary?
If I could be a chef?
If I could be an architect?
If I could be a linguist?
If I could be a psychologist?
If I could be a librarian?
If I could be an athlete?
If I could be a lawyer?
If I could be an inn-keeper?
If I could be a professor?
If I could be a writer?
If I could be a llama-rider?
If I could be a bonnie pirate?
If I could be an astronaut?
If I could be a world famous blogger?
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world?
If I could be married to any current famous political figure?

In no particular order, here are my choices:

If I could be a bonnie pirate, I'd wear Anne Bonny perfume, drink spiced rum, dye my hair red, and get lots of ink, which would go nicely over my pirate tan. I'd sail to the South and attack cruise ships, dispatching all the squabbling fat-cat guests to the bottom of the ocean and pressing one cute boy from each ship into my sevice--probably from the wait staff. The rest of the staff (hey, I have a soft spot in my hear for service staff) would be paid a little something and left on the nearest island.

If I could be a world famous blogger, I'd die happy.

If I could be married to any current famous political figure, I'd be married to Dubya (really!) and undermine him from within. Can you imagine what a really evil woman could do as the First Lady? I'd sleep with the vice president and all the Senate, pit the Republican party leads against one another, make them fight duels, get the president thrown out of office and make the entire party implode.

If I could be a librarian, I'd fight for free speech, start aggressive reading programs, secretly pass out revolutionary material to liberals, allow revolutionary elements of all kinds to meet in the library, and start a propaganda war against Bush from which he would never recover.

If I could be a doctor, I'd work in impoverished countries with kids--I'd try to keep them well and fed, try to give them a better life, and hope they do good things with it.

Whew! Good thing I'm slacking off today.

AND...I tag...

The World Against Me, and
They Call Me Lizzurd, and
Julie (In Toronto!)

because all of these people are awesome, and I selfishly want more from them. Isn't that the whole point of tagging?

Titan did NOT get better right away.

And I was a basket case, during which my boyfriend was not the most supportive of people. Thursday night, as I'm watching my dog throw up every hour, he calls: "I really want you to come over! Titan will be fine by himself for an hour or two! I'd just leave him in the backyard with all the food he can eat and let him puke it out of his system. But I admit that I don't know anything about dogs and it's probably not very good advice." I resisted the urge to insult him, reminding myself that I was tired and stressed and emotionally twisted.

The interesting thing is that I really didn't WANT a lot of support. At other, similar, times in my life, I've been all about being on the phone constantly, crying on other people's shoulders. This time, not so much. I called my two close friends who also have dogs--Jess, and Rachel--and they comforted me over the phone. (Jess brought over cooked rice in case Titan could hold food down! Awwwww...) And that was helpful. But beyond them--I didn't feel like outpouring to others, I felt like drawing inside myself and spending all the energy I had on my dog.

Friday he got worse and worse, not even being able to hold down ice cubes, and finally at 2:00 pm I took him into the vet's office for IVs, worried I'd never see him again. Then a second interesting thing happened: I picked up the phone to call my boyfriend and really didn't want to talk to him; I didn't think he would care and I didn't want to hear him pretending support just because he thought he should.

So I called an Ex instead, who I hadn't talked to for almost a year, and who had just begun text messaging me a few days before, and we talked for half an hour while I drank a cup of coffee, sitting in my Jeep with the doors open in the sunshine in the vet's office parking lot. Very calming.

I head up to Seattle, because I have to go meet a guy to tutor him. He's an adult, which I don't find particularly funny--he's studying for the GREs to go back to grad school, more power to him--except that I'd forgotten how much harder it is to tutor adults than children! ARGH! As a child, I hated asking for help--I wanted to pretend to myself and others that I knew everything already. This adult guy, C, at least doesn't have that--he's probably twice my age at least; plently old enough to know what he doesn't know. The problem is, he's very exactly sure of WHAT he doesn't know. He didn't give me a chance to talk at all--he had very specific ideas of what he wanted to do, and what he didn't want to do, and how he wanted me to spend my time--that's great, but honey, I'M the tutor. I know more about math (his subject of need, why is that always the case?) than he ever will, and he's trying to tell me how to do my job! Adults are like that--he's hiring a specialist, and he wants to get the most for his money by telling his specialist exactly what do to. Would he hire an interior decorator, or a heart surgeon, and then tell them exactly what furniture he wanted where, and how many valves he wanted replaced? (Actually, now that I've spent some time with this guy, I think he probably would.)

No matter. I swallow my pride and move on to meet my girl Shrewsbury at The Melting Pot, which has a great early happy hour, and on the way the vet calls and says they want to keep Titan overnight for more IV re-hydration, which is actually a big load off my shoulders--I know they can give him better care than I can, and once he's already at the vet's office, the trauma of being there is done--he might as well stay until he's 100% better. Rolling home after two glasses of wine, I send good thoughts to my dog and head over to the boy's house, where we talk about nothing that is bothering me (sigh) and then to a house party, where I see tons of people I went to elementary school AND middle school AND highchool with. God love you, Tacoma.

This morning I got Titan home and he seems to be doing fine--he's eaten twice, now, and is holding his food down just fine! YAY!!!!!

Thank you, everyone, for your good wishes. I love you all.

Notes to Self

A piece of sushi rolled under your car seat yesterday after it jumped out of your hands while you were driving like a maniac because you were late to an appointment, which you were too late to make and the receptionist yelled at you, AND trying to eat (remember how you cursed and screamed, because you love that sushi roll?) and it's still there. Pick it up before it spawns a whole colony of Snakeheads, or something, and you're eaten alive in 15 seconds flat.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program!

Titan is sick. Sick-to-his-stomach sick. (Let me tell you what a pleasant sight THAT is to come home to after a long day, see above.) And, worse, he's drooping around all mopey and uncoordinated--I'm worried! Or, I would be, if I wasn't under such bone-crushing, brain-liquifying stress at the office that I can't think about anything else except coffee and the cheap (3.50) bottle of wine waiting for me at home. I called the vet's office and they recommended I take him in, and he's due for his shots anyway. This happened once before, a year ago, and I put him on a starvation diet for 24 hours and started him on bland food, which he enjoyed--it's people food!--and then he was fine. I'm hoping the same thing will happen here--but at the same time, he's seven now, and he's a German Shepherd--he's not a long-lived dog. My last dog went from fine to cancerous and having to be put down inside two weeks--very sudden--so I'm worried about that possibility. But odds are that he's fine, and I'll get to walk him and love him when I come home tonight. Sigh. What a cutie.

And The World Against Me is right: EVERYONE who powers blogger needs this shirt. I already have it. Boo-yah. (However, I also agree with TWAM that everything on this site is cool and worth buying, especially ALL of the CUBE GOODIES! I would have the best-decorated cube in town!

And speaking of that, who wants to build their own office cube? The Cubes are awesome!

And one more note to self: it would figure that the one day you decide not to stop for coffee on your way to the office in a burst of self-righteousness and responsibility, figuring that you might as well wait for the free coffee at the office than get a cup of coffee for 1.75 at Starbucks, even though the drive is 45 minutes and it would sure help to get those brain waves going...and because you want to be at the office early...

...well, that would be the one day when there's an accident on the freeway and it takes you ONE AND A HALF FREAKIN' HOURS to go 25 miles. AND you've forgotten the lunch you carefully packed for yourself, which includes half a sandwich, two string cheeses, a salad, and JUNIOR MINTS, which you were looking forward to, and so of COURSE you're forced to get off the parking lot (freeway) and pull into a McDonald's drive thru because you're so weak from hunger you can barely drive, and what's a girl to do?

On the plus side, I successfully avoided sugary coffee. And two days ago I bought lovely knickers, as Belle Du Jour would say. (Google her--I'm at work!)

I'd Like to Thank This Blog...

And indeed all blogs, for connecting me to the human experience and making me fully aware that the injuries and indignities I suffer are just part and parcel of the human experience, and so therefore, I should NOT obsess about them, but simply treat them as pimples on the ass cheek of life and travel on my merry way.

Because this morning, when I was not quite awake and I stepped in to my shower, left foot first this time, it slipped sideways down the tub, I simply blocked my slide with my right shin, felt the sharp pain of the tub edge meeting the middle of my shin, thought, "Heh...I've read stories in SheWalks' blog MUCH worse than this!"...and went on with my shower. No slowing down, no crying and rubbing the shin, nothing!

So, question of the day is: does the navel gazing that is blogging actually make you LESS self-obsessed, not more? By forcing you to realize that there are other people out there?

And am I a very strange person because my second thought after "OW!" was "Hey, I can put this in my blog!"?

Blog Shout-out!

To kiwi, who I sadly missed a week ago when he traveled the distance between Eugene and Seattle and had dinner with Super-Stud Landon. (Not to say that Kiwi is not a super-stud. In fact, I happen to know that he's particularly HANDY around the house, if you know what I mean. He's just taken.) I was pleased to be invited and sad I couldn't go--the Upstate still had its hold on me.

*As you may have noticed, kiwi's blog link doesn't actually work, per se. No, I don't know why. But he's in my comments somewhere--go find him!

I'm posting a ton in other people's blogs...

So, as an alternative to thinking up new things to say here, I'll simply cut-and-paste. Because laziness is the key to...um...repetition?

How I Practically Busted Off My Own Butt:

Just a few short weeks ago, I came back from kickboxing exhausted and not fully in control of my leg muscles, and my parents' shower is always kind of slidy, so when I stepped into the shower with my right leg first (because I'm right-handed) it slid out from under me immediately, and because I had no reaction time whatsoever (since my muscles resembled jelly) I forgoed anything like flailing or grabbing the shower curtain rail, and simply sat down, very hard, on both the edge of the tub AND the washcloth rack IN the tub. You know how you get a bump on your head when you hit it? I actually had a bump on my ASS. (You couldn't see it, thanks to fat, but you could feel it, as my boyfriend discovered.) The bruise was less like a bruise and looked more like a blue flesh-eating virus had attacked my entire left ass cheek, with concentrations of black and red in the center. Once again, thank God for fat--I would have cracked my tailbone.

My New Addiction:

Okay, so I had some Starbucks today, so sue me. The two places that sell the Liquid Crack that is MarketSpice Tea in Tacoma aren't open early enough to serve me--I'll have to buy some! (Damn, more shopping.) So I had Starbucks this morning, instead, but I didn't have Starbucks for FOUR out of SEVEN days last week. For me, that's incredible.

But back to MarketSpice Tea. Liquid Crack, I tell you. It's wonderful, amazing stuff, with or without a tad bit of honey for sweetener. The two places that sell it close by, which everyone in Tacoma should visit: The Mandolin Cafe, which is about 100 times more incredible than it looks on their rather amateur website, and the Shakabrah Cafe, which is totally incredible and has no website. (This is what I love about Tacoma. Although I love the Internet more than I love air, even I can recognize the coolness of these places, which are SO COOL in real life that they don't even need a website. They don't even want one. They have no need to prove to Seattle-ites how cool they are, because everyone who needs to know, knows. That's just how cool they are.)

Sigh. MarketSpice Tea. I could really use some of that. But until that happens...I'll make do with my rather flavorless Stash "Premium" Green Tea. Right. Stash. (Okay, Stash isn't that bad, but they aren't as good as MarketSpice. For those of you who are confused, MarketSpice is both the name of a Seattle Tea Company, based in Pike Place Market since 1911, and the name of that company's signature tea. They also make many other kinds of tea. All of which are completely awesome.)

New House!!! New Life! (sort of.)

I have more fans! And more people to blog-stalk! This is AWESOME! Soon, though, I'll get to the point where I won't be able to remember what happened in my real-life friends' lives, including TheBoy. I'll be entirely consumed by IIFs, and if my real-life friends want to become my friends again, they'll have to get blogs and become IFFs. And that is the day, my friends, the day in which real people must become imaginary to be real, in which the Apocalypse will arrive.

Notice the change in subtitle and profile. I live in a house now, my very own space (rented, not owned, sadly) with Titan, and it's wonderful. Yes, pictures will be coming soon--lots of 'em.

Has anyone ever thought that suits have a smell?

Suits, as in, the fancy business dress that you wear. I'm sitting in a hotel room in a CASINO in UPSTATE NEW YORK (capitals emphasize things I DON'T like) and am sprawled out one of my huge beds, and for a second I swore I could smell my mother.

It's hot here in Syracuse, and I smelled hot polyester shirts and hot wool suits and my mother's skin, like she used to smell when she picked me up from school, the car smelling like warm skin and her pantyhose tossed off and crumpled up in the back seat, her shirt wrinkled in the back where it'd been creased from her sitting all day, and her jacket hanging carefully over the back of the car seat. I smelled all that.

And then I realized that my nose was against my own legs (shut UP, I get in weird positions to type) and that my warm polyester shirt had been tossed on the bed not far from me, and my legs smelled like, yes, warm polyester, and lotion--of course, since I'm my mother's daughter, it's the same kind of lotion my mom uses. I wasn't smelling my mother, I was smelling myself!

In other news: has anyone noticed that casinos have the absolute WORST food on the PLANET??? I'm so hungry that my stomach growls are audible 12 floors down, in the casino, over the noise of the slots, and even with this incentive not ONE thing on the menu looks good. Of course, I'm going off the room service menu, and I'm in UPSTATE NEW YORK--there ain't nothin' here, y'all, except golf courses. I wanted to take a walk around the grounds yesterday--because this Casino And Connected Buildings Resort is HUGE and has NINE GOLF COURSES, or some such ridiculousness. I mean, this resort complex covers half of the state. (Probably.) So would it be so unusual to ask if, on this rather large slice of paradise, there might somewhere be a nature trail?

If you're thinking, 'Obviously not', you're not good at reading comprehension. Apparently there IS something DRASTICALLY wrong with asking if there's a nature trail. The girls behind the desk at the Health Club (and, y'all, I am not skinny at all, but I was skinner than either of these girls--behind the desk at the HEALTH CLUB) looked at me like I was a crazy person.

"A what?"

"A nature trail, you know, or anything besides the concrete paths that lead to and from the damn parking lot?" (And I'd like you all to know that I'm not joking when I say there are shuttles. Yes, shuttles, to ferry people who are too sick to walk the few blocks between the parking lot and the casino--because god forbid they not get to the casino.)

"Uh...we've got...golf courses..."

Right. So I went out and walked the golf courses, and it was lovely, and I didn't see a single damn soul for an hour. I ran the sand traps, because they were the only hills I could find in Super-Flat Upstate New York. Yes, I did. Shut UP. And I didn't rake them down after myself either. (Although, in my defense, I had no idea you were supposed to. I saw the rakes, but I assumed they had been left there accidentally by the groundskeepers.)

I have decided on the mozzarella sticks and the chicken tenders, both appetizers. I figure they come frozen and the casino kitchen can't screw them up TOO badly. No, I don't want to leave my room--I've been on my feet in stilettos all day at a business exposition (thank you, B-----) and I'm sitting still in the air conditioning. Thank you.