Have I mentioned the most

Have I mentioned the most wonderful thing I've heard all day? Two of my favorite people are...you know. Together. My experiment in social engineering worked! This is a very good thing, the two of them together--they're so cute! And as an added (and rather selfish) benefit, Boy and I can stop feeling guilty for being the most blissful couple on earth. Now we'll have another couple to be blissful with! We'll double-bliss! Ha, I slay me. No, seriously--this is great. I'm so glad that we can spread the bliss phenom.

Why, oh why do these

Why, oh why do these hours have to pass so slowly?

My, aren't we pleased with

My, aren't we pleased with ourselves today. Well, I am, anyway. It's Friday, I've got a four day weekend coming up (yeah, I'm taking Tuesday off. We'd planned on going up to the cabin, but I think I'm too lazy for that. I'm not going to do nothing, though. Heh. Double negatives.)...anyway, Friday, four day weekend, Wet Spot tomorrow night with Blondie and her boy-toy, AND....(drumroll please)......

WE HAVE A ROOMMATE!! Most importantly, she's a roommate who's not going to kill us in our sleep, heh. I've been slightly concerned about that--I mean, we were just advertising all over the place, had strangers calling us, who knows! It could have happened. But now it won't, because our new roommate (who doesn't move in until the end of september, but she's still paying this month's rent, heh) is one of my coworker's best friends! We had lunch yesterday! We're friends already!

Okay, enough of that enthusiasm. I have to go cut some bamboo sticks.

Ooh, am I ready to

Ooh, am I ready to go home.

Shh, I've got a secret:

Shh, I've got a secret: one of my coworkers is extremely fucked up--our other coworker (there are three of us in my little group) gave her half a Zanax because she (the first one) was freaking out over something...and now she's all slow and blinky and completely. high.

It's very funny to watch, though--Coworker 1 is usually very prim and proper and girly, and now she's...not. She's talking like Molly Ringwald's sister in 16 Candles. You know, the older, blonde sister who was getting married to the schmuck? Yeah.

I've got to try that stuff. Forget the Vicodin nonsense--it appears that Zanax is the way to go.

I'm leaving for a two-hour

I'm leaving for a two-hour lunch now. Jealous much? Yeah, I'd be deathly jealous if...well, if it weren't me working here. Ta!

Okay, here it is! See,

Okay, here it is! See, even the URL is an inside joke! Ha, this is great. I've got to put a sitemeter on it, though. I want to know exactly who's not getting our jokes.

Grr. I hate it when

Grr. I hate it when technology works against me.

So Blondie and I are

So Blondie and I are starting a weblog together! Heh, you'll all hate it, trust me. It's just one long, inside joke with little entertainment value for anyone other than the two of us...but it's keeping us out of trubble. I'll link to it once we've finished tweaking it.

Ha! Fidius.org says my pirate

Ha! Fidius.org says my pirate name is Captain Anne Rackham. (heh, I said "rack". How appropos.) Wanna know what that means? "Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!"

Hehehehehe. I said "rack".

Of course, on the day

Of course, on the day when I have absolutely fuck-all to do and my boss is out of the office, our ISP gets all screwy.

In Unrelated News: Maybe I wasn't clear on something--Yes, it's awfully callous and selfish to yell "jump!" at a woman sitting on the edge of a bridge. However, it's also incredibly selfish to sit there and halt traffic for four hours during the morning rush, and for what reason? "Relationship problems". Fuck that, and fuck anyone who makes excuses for it. It was selfish and cowardly, and just as worthy of disparagement as the assholes who egged her on.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Okay, now I feel rilly

Okay, now I feel rilly bad about the Stroke Joke. Boy and I went to dinner at Dad's and found out that a long-time friend of the family has just recently had a stroke.

I am going to burn in hell for eternity.

Other important and not-quite-funny things that I've been thinking about and should mention:

First--Read this post that pisses me off, and then read my comment. No, wait, let me just post it here:

"As an actual lifelong resident of Seattle (as opposed to the being one of the influx of transplants who give the rest of us a bad name), I don't think I'm wrong in saying that you've made a broad (and incredibly unfair) generalization--or at least implied one. Not every single person who lives here is a callous, heartless bastard, not everyone is at the lowest level of human interaction. That woman, the one who jumped? She made a lot of people angry, including myself. She sat there on the edge of the bridge, holding everyone's attention for four fucking hours, backing up traffic for twenty miles in either direction--and though she may have had personal problems that were giving her grief, she caused the entire city to grind to a halt.

I might be a hardass, but I'm not cold-hearted. Still, I have not an *ounce* of sympathy for that woman, regardless of her (self-inflicted, remember) injuries and personal problems."

So...there.

Secondly--I've been thinking a lot about reparation. Not just on a personal level, for wrongs I've done unto others, more on a grand scale. While listening to NPR on my way to work a few mornings ago, I heard an excerpt of a debate over reparation for generations of slavery...and it was rather overwhelming. At first, I thought the idea, while it held some merit--after all, it was a horrible thing, slavery--but where would we start? Just one big apology from every person of european descent? And then I started thinking about something closer to home (as I'm of neither european--at least not mostly--or african-american descent). If you're too damned lazy to click the link, here's a synopsis:

"Cobell v. Norton is a class-action lawsuit filed on June 10, 1996, in U.S. District Court in Washington, D.C. to force the federal government to account for billions of dollars belonging to approximately 500,000 American Indians and their heirs, and held in trust since the late 19th century.

Through document discovery and courtroom testimony, the case has revealed mismanagement, ineptness, dishonesty and delay by federal officials, leading U.S. District Judge Royce Lamberth to declare their conduct "fiscal and governmental irresponsibility in its purest form."

Then-Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbitt, Assistant Secretary of the Interior Kevin Gover and Treasury Secretary Robert Rubin were held in contempt of court in February 1999 by Judge Lamberth for their departments' repeated delays in producing documents, destruction of relevant documents and misrepresentations to the court in sworn testimony. As the case proceeds, new revelations of false testimony, financial misconduct and bureaucratic retaliation have continued to surface.

The facts underlying the litigation involve a broad sweep of United States history. Although U.S. policy in the 1870s was to locate Indians on reservations, hunger for the land by non-Indians led to a break-up of most of the reservations starting in the 1880s. Thousands of individual Indians generally were allotted beneficial ownership of 80- to 160-acre parcels of land in the break-up. As trustee, the government took legal title to the parcels, established an Individual Indian Trust and thereby assumed full responsibility for management of the trust lands. That included the duty to collect and disburse to the Indians any revenues generated by mining, oil and gas extraction, timber operations, grazing or similar activities.

As a result of more than a century of malfeasance, the United States government has no accurate records for hundreds of thousands of Indian beneficiaries nor of billions of dollars owed the class of beneficiaries covered by the lawsuit. The suit encompasses approximately 500,000 Indian beneficiaries.

The purpose of the litigation - which was filed by Elouise Cobell, a member of the Blackfeet tribe in Montana, and her co-plaintiffs - is two-fold: to force the government to account for the money, and to bring about permanent reform of the system."

Elouise is my cousin. I am one of those 500,000 beneficiaries, as is my family--mother, brother, sister, grandmother, aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Only five. hundred. thousand. native american beneficiaries of financial reparation being made for wrongs done unto us for generations.

It can be done. While winning reparation for slavery is not my battle to fight, I belive it can be won.

...

Anyway, enough of the deep, sensitive stuff. I'm going to go have a piece of pie and then fuck my Boy's brains out. Have a good night, folks. Dream well. Or at least dream better than I did last night--I had two crazy dreams last night, and in both of them, I played a hooker/call girl/paid companion. Not that I have any problems with sex workers--I have friends in the adult business (not that that's a surprise, right?)...they were just rather startling dreams. Anyway, until tomorrow.

T minus 5 minutes and

T minus 5 minutes and counting. The office is officially dead. I love this place.

Speaking of Blondie, she's becoming

Speaking of Blondie, she's becoming quite sexually adventurous, in part thanks to me. So nice to see predictions (Blondie's Mom, 7 years ago: That girl [meaning me] is a bad influence!} come true!

I've got twenty minutes of actual work, and an hour until I can go home. There is something very very wrong with that equation. And so, my friends, I'm taking my time. Reading weblogs. Occasionally working. Chatting up sexy British lads who call me foxy, heh. Making plans to go to karaoke night at a gay bar (I know. Just don't say it.). In short, accomplishing fuck-all.

Ahh, life is grand.

Blondie and I now have

Blondie and I now have the sickestsickestsickest inside joke, all about me chewing on a pen and having a stroke. I could just smack myself for being so horrible.

But I won't, because it's rilly fucking funny.

I have to say, today's

I have to say, today's been a great day so far. I arranged for some vacation time, I'm being incredibly productive, I have this feeling of purposefullnessish about me...heh. I can't wait to get home and fold laundry and go for a run and water the flowers and do some weeding and see Muffin (she's in town just for the evening) and have dinner with Dad and his girlfriend and....

*phew*

That made me tired, just typing that. Oh well. Good intentions.

Heh, no, seriously--I'm feeling very productive today, and I don't want to waste any of that. You know, any more than I've already wasted by participating in office antics. It's positively craaaaazy around here. One. Long. Weekend.

No, sorry, that's smack, not

No, sorry, that's smack, not crack.

Marque dos para espanol!

I'm in an extraordinarily good

I'm in an extraordinarily good mood.

Must be the crack.

The Squirrel Girl tried to

The Squirrel Girl tried to get on the bus again this morning! What a loony. You'd think she'd have learned.

...

Nothing much to say right now--we're working fast and furiously to make up for yesterday's nightmare. Tomorrow will be better.

I think I'm turning japanese.

I think I'm turning japanese.

Oops, I did it again.

Oops, I did it again.

So in a casual discussion about what part of the body we notice first (and let me say for the record, the girls asked about female bodies first, not me!), I accidentally came out again.

On both counts.

And so ensued the same discussion as always--Don't you get jealous? Doesn't Boy get jealous? etc etc ad nauseum ad infinitum. Ah, well. They handled it pretty well.

Actually, very well. A few minutes after we'd gone back to working, Kim walks by my desk, winks, and says, "I knew you had it in you". Heh.

My abdomen has felt very

My abdomen has felt very unsettled as of late--not an upset tummy, not cramps, not flat-out nausea, just not...quite...right. I think i'm going to start a Hypochondriac's Log like Cate (who, if I haven't told her lately, is my current favorite blogger--what with all the things in common, like having the hots for badboy-rockstar-types). That way, you don't have to hear about my physical ailments unless you actively choose to.

Then again, you don't have to read this blog.

Work is a big big

Work is a big big mess today. Next time I complain about having nothing to do, kick me, because that's just silly.

My commute took 40 minutes longer than usual today, and do you know why? No, it was not the simple rush hour traffic Seattle is now so famous for--it was the stupid woman threatening to jump from the Ship Canal bridge (the big big bridge that you must cross to go anywhere), thereby requiring the closure of all. eight. lanes. of I-5.

People who are really going to kill themselves do not do it by jumping off the interstate in rush hour traffic. People who want lots of attention threaten to jump off of the interstate in rush hour traffic.

Grr.

...

And now, after the longest, most pointless meeting, I must turn my attention to work.

NINE total site visits today.

NINE total site visits today. You people who aren't reading my weblog suck.

All 5 billion of you.

For those of you who

Then the Psd to HTML or PSD to CSS conversion is carried out by hard coding the image to fit into HTML frames or layers

For those of you who keep tabs on the happenings in my romantic life, Boy and I have now been together for eight months. and two days. every single moment has been bliss. except for when I was pregnant and throwing up and when he was sick from the wisdom-teeth-painkillers and throwing up. no one likes throwing up. that aside, every moment has been bliss--the new-relationship-anything-is-possible-i-can't-believe-how-in-love-with-this-incredible-person feeling...but better, because now there's so much more certainty. He's going to love me when I have wrinkles. He'll love me when I find my first gray hair (though with my hair-color-addiction, that's not likely to happen any time soon, heh.), and when I have to wear reading glasses and i have liver spots and most of all he loves me even though sometimes I fart in my sleep (oh shut up.), which is a reasonably gross thing that would scare many of the former gentlemen of my acquaintance away, were they still around. No, I'm not making educated guesses about these things, that could be dangerous--he tells me this, and I believe him (and not just because I have no choice but to trust this person who's now in possesion of all of my smushy feelings, but because I know that it's true.).

Can you believe I managed to mention both vomit and farts in an entry that was supposed to only be about love and feeling fantastic? Sheesh.

For the record: I've got

For the record: I've got no problem with crying like a schoolgirl. I've got no problem with people wanting to clean their own kitchens. I most certainly have no problems with fading into obscurity, as my weblog's decreasing popularity (via my sitemeter) will show you.

It's just curious, how much he sounds like a normal person despite (what could be considered) abnormal circumstances. That's all.

No, seriously, it doesn't bother

No, seriously, it doesn't bother me. I'm just curious as to where everyone went...was it taking the weekend off? Hey, I couldn't help it! The new monitor doesn't arrive until today, and the iBook is dead until the new AC adapter shows up. Gimme a break, willya?

*sob* Why aren't you reading??

*sob* Why aren't you reading??

If I was a certain

If I was a certain type of person, I'd be concerned that my average daily site visits have dropped to an all time low. I might also be concerned that no one, absolutely no one, has been commenting on anything I've said.

But I've grown as a person and no longer take these things personally.

Two reasons, Keith: 1) When

Two reasons, Keith: 1) When I'm famous (and that day will come, you all know this to be true. No one with as much charisma and presence as I have *ahem* can manage to avoid fame. Just wait. /end head-swelling), I won't be cleaning my own kitchen. And 2) None of the famous people I know clean their own kitchens, either.

Want a list of those people? Ask nicely. I might even tell you stories of Christmas dinner at the (former) Vice President's house.

Lordy. That post took an

Lordy. That post took an hour to type (between work-doings), and then I left it there for another hour and a half.

I've been reading more and more of Mr. Wheaton's weblog, and it's raising all sorts of questions. What does it feel like to create your best work at 12 (Stand By Me much?), enjoy fame through your teens only to quickly fade into obscurity by the time you're 25? How many other semi-famous types clean their own kitchens? Why does he cry like a little schoolgirl so damned often?

A Sidenote On Fame: If you've got a listing at IMDB, you're famous. Let's not quibble over semantics.

My salad today was comprised of what must have been the most absorptive lettuce on earth--my normal 2 tablespoons of Brianna's Bleu Cheese dressing was not nearly enough. And I'm not much of a dressing hound, either, so you know it's got to be something weird with the lettuce.

A Sidenote On Salad Dressing: Despite the looks of utter horror that my regular (no, gourmet) bleu cheese salad dressing receives (every single woman--and two of the guys--in my office is on a diet, I swear. Jaysus. It's absurd), I insist on using the regular stuff, and not all that Lite and Fat-Free and Done-Right dressing. Have you seen what that crap is made of? Chemicals chemicals chemicals. Why save yourself 12 grams of fat if you're just going to get cancer from polyglicerides in fake salad dressing? Life is short, and I've got too much to do. I'll take gaining four pounds over salad-dressing-cancer.

Ah, weekends. Laundry, yes. Vendor

Ah, weekends. Laundry, yes. Vendor Faire, yes. Corset, YES YES YES. (too hot am I.) Long baths, no. Playing in lake with kid sister, yes. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, yes. Weeping at the futility of man, no. Weeping at the stupidity of Jay and Silent Bob, almost.

Friday entailed post-work shopping for the most beautiful corset on earth--Boy was duly impressed. Home, clean up, X-Files, sleep? Something like that.

Saturday: We woke in gorgeous pools of sunshine and lazed in bed until our stomachs couldn't handle it any longer, so breakfast was made and dishes were done, then off to the vendor fair at the Wet Spot. Met Nia and one of her girls there, perused the wares, and left empty-handed--we had come for a sling, and none were to be found. Ah, well, we were directed to a local manufacturer, perhaps something will come of that. Also, new sofa cushions were ordered, because the ones that came with the sofa suck mucho ass.

Sunday was comprised entirely of family-oriented programming: Breakfast at Mae's (note to self: never ever order the thing you think you want the most, because it'll end up being wrong, and too much of it at the same time.), a stop at Mom's to pick up my Kid Sis, and then home to swim and sun and dive for my old crappy jewelery...then play Pente, have hotdogs, watch the Simpson's, sit in the hottub, make origami, paint with watercolors, play with my old stuffed animals, try on all my shoes (this is, of course, while Boy reads the New Yorkers and lounges.)...and all in the space of five hours.

Good lord. I don't know how my mother does it, I really don't. I was positively worn out by the time she picked Kid Sis up, and she'd only been with us for an afternoon. I'm glad that I've got these afternoons with her, though, because it's less than a year before they leave on their trip (for those of you who are only recently joining us, my parents and my kid sister are leaving next June to sail around the world...for two years. What am I going to do?? Mom and I talk like eight times a day--what am I going to do when all they'll have is ship-to-shore radio and sporadic email? *sob* You'll notice I'm having some issues with their leaving. More on that at another time.) less than a year! *sigh* If it weren't for Boy, I don't know what I'd do. Probably go with them, actually. Sort of a hindrance, though, spending two years on a boat with my parents--I've got to finish with this growing-up business, and they're not much help.

...

Boy just called to check in (I left superearly this morning, he hardly remembered it) and to tell me he loved me and to ask if I wanted to go to Vegas with EDS next weekend...but I think we'll pass. As much as I've had a hankering to go, I think we should take pity on Davo and stay home--he'd booked this huge room to share (with some friends who cancelled or something)...but no one wants to share a room with us. Especially in Vegas. Heh.

I absolutely luff it when he calls to tell me he loves me. Boy, that is, not Davo. If Davo told me he loved me, I'd get more than a little weirded out.

...

I'm trying to stretch the itsy-bitsy amount of work I have to do until noonish. Mondays are horrid because I rarely have anything to do, which means I end up doing shitwork for CS...which I don't mind, but it's brain-dulling work, and as we all know, my brain doesn't need the encouragement. I think it's time to talk to my boss again about finding another position in the company--next month will be the 3-month mark, which means I'm eligible to submit letters of interest and such forpositions. Problem: I like the people I work with, and that's a pretty significant factor to consider. Not that I'd never see them again, and we'd still be working for the same company, but...you know.

For your perusal (via Keith, always a source of entertaining links), here is a link to a former teen celebrity's weblog. No, I'm not a trekkie in any sense of the word (though I did get a kick out of that one Star Trek movie where Kirk and that doctor guy went to the prison planet because they killed the Klingon guys and there was purple blood floating all over...Kim Catrall was in it, too! You know, that one movie? [sidenote: hopefully this'll get rid of any trekkie traffic I might get via Google.]), but I find it very interesting that this (somewhat) famous person (who's now 29, holy crap) is every bit as much of a dork as everyone else with a weblog.

And let's not fool ourselves, fellow webloggers/journallers: We're dorks.

Anyway, entertain yourselves with that link to Wil Wheaton's weblog (heh, alliteration) while I pretend to do some work. Hate mail here, trek fans. And too-cool-to-admit-we're-dorks webloggers. Send away. I haven't gotten a single piece of hatemail all week!

I believe I'll be going

I believe I'll be going home now. No web access until the new plasma-screen monitor shows up at the house--so have a lovely weekend, y'all.

Okay, so I spaced--I do,

Okay, so I spaced--I do, in fact, have something to do this weekend. Tomorrow is the Vendor Fair at the Wet Spot, which is always fun. Lots of good stuff to play with, and that guy who wears (and makes, I hear) the chainmail will be there.

Not that I'm into that kind of crap--but the chainmail guy is completely hot. I bet he'd look good with a big sword. and a fiery torch. Heh. I said fiery torch.

Yesterday someone said something about "exploring the private areas" of some building, and I burst into snickers. I'm such a dork.

The thing that's bugging me

The thing that's bugging me about this inadvertent un-closeting stuff isn't so much that I'm embarassed to be bisexual, or that I don't want anyone to know, necessarily...it's that I have to explain myself at all.

Blah blah blah,and utopian society, everyone is accepting and gets along and things like this are never an issue. Whatever. I'm the last person on earth who would qualify as an "activist" in any sense of the word--I did my time as a cause-head, and now I just want to live my little life in my little house with my wonderful Boy and never have to see another person again. Except the WebVan delivery guy (ha, just kidding, no more webvan!), since I wouldn't be leaving the house and would somehow need groceries.

Wow. This post started out as more stressing over the Lunch Happenings, but has digressed into sad sad self-pity.

I think I'd be having an easier day if I wasn't listening to the cd's that the Ex made me--they're so full of songs that should mean nothing at all to me--but in this time of emotional vulnerability they mean all sorts of unintended things. Songs that we danced, drove, fucked to--long enough ago that I shouldn't even remember that we did what we did and felt how we felt.

Of course, on the topic of shared emotions, there is little to say. Supposed love vs. assured lust is a difficult competition--suffice to say, my side lost. But at least we were never short on action.

Oh cripes. At an informal

Oh cripes. At an informal "let's get everyone to mingle" lunch meeting-thing today, I sort of inadvertantly came out. To a bunch of coworkers. Who had been making gay jokes.

See, I would have kept my mouth shut. They'd been making these "jokes", more like comments about our (presumably) gay waiter, when one of my coworkers said something about how it was okay to make these jokes because none of us were gay, right?

Yeah, me and my big fat mouth.

I made my (now) trademark half-gay remark, to which said coworkers replied, "But you live with your boyfriend, right?"...Yeah, but that doesn't stop me from having a girlfriend, does it.

Cripes. I have got to keep my mouth shut.

For Mike, providing he still

For Mike, providing he still reads my weblog: I had my first Finnish visitor this morning. They arrived via Google..."little+nipples". Is that a Finnish fetish? Heh.

Speaking of vomit (and I

Speaking of vomit (and I know, it's disgusting, I'll stop mentioning it after this one last post), there's nothing like seeing someone vomit into a dumpster in an alley to brighten a hectic morning.

Today is Friday (chalk this up to the Duh File), and that should make me rejoice--but it's been a crazynonstoptoomuchtodo day already. But guess what! I have nothing to do all damned weekend. Not a single thing. Maybe some laundry, but even that doesn't really need to be done. Just...nothing. I better buy a book. I plan on taking a couple baths this weekend. Maybe sit in the hottub with Boy. Make cake. That kind of thing.

Not, of course, that I don't bathe regularly--but this bathing will be done laying down, you know? Yeah.

There's nothing like throwing up

There's nothing like throwing up at work to really garner the respect and admiration of coworkers and supervisors alike. *sigh*.

I've only been here for 9 hours! Vomiting doesn't usually occur until at least 11 or 12 hours for me. Oh, and don't go blaming this on the tequila--I've been feeling fine all day, except for a nagging headache--but someone burned some toast or something and it triggered a serious gag reflex.

...

On a non-vomitous note...isn't it weird how quiet your life seems when you suddenly shut someone out? All this noise and drama and conflict just...gone. That's a good thing. Right? I guess so. But along with the noise and drama and conflict there was friendship and cameraderie and shared history and flirting and helping each other be better people--those parts are gone, too, which isn't quite as good. It's a shame that the negative had to outweigh the positive, because it could have been a fairly long-lasting deal, friendship-wise.

I need to take a step back and see how much better the big picture will be with this change.

You can judge my level

You can judge my level of stress by looking at my right hand. The more stress, the more my hand breaks out in a most irritating rash--and right now? Bright. Red.

...

I think that vacation would be good. Sun, Sand, Sex. I want three weeks of nothing but those things. And some pina coladas. Red Stripe beer. Calypso music.

There's always an angle, right?

There's always an angle, right? There's motive, inspiration, something that makes you say the things you say when you say them, keeps you from keeping them hidden.

Why not just admit it? Manipulation is not always a bad thing.

It's time to be serious

It's time to be serious about getting back into an exercise regime. I put my fat pants on this morning because I was feeling a bit bloated from last night's debauchery (and don't start thinking that they're leggings or stirrup pants or something else reasonably disgusting like that *shudder*, because they're not--it's just a pair of jeans that's one size bigger than I normally wear. Girls, you understand this.)...and they were just a wee bit snug. Yikes.

So, back to exercising and salads for lunch instead of pasta. M-W-F, running (hell, it couldn't be any more convenient now that we live right. below. the Burke-Gilman Trail.)--T-Th, pool. I wish I could switch that around and do the pool three nights a week, but I don't think my skin could handle it.

Most Disgusting Lunch Ever: Tomato

Most Disgusting Lunch Ever: Tomato Slices With Mayonaise, Seasoned With Pepper.

Yes, one of my coworkers was eating that. I almost gagged when she took a bite. Ralph!

God, don't you just hate

God, don't you just hate knowing that someone doesn't like you? Yeah, me too. It's rather dispiriting, especially in a work environment.

3.5 glasses of wine = no hangover, marked increase in energy the next day.

sidecars (brandy, cointreau, triple sec, orange) and Sauza Conmemorativo = ohgodmakemyheadstophurtingmyeyesfeellikethey'reexplodingoutofmyhead.

I thought Zone was all

I thought Zone was all crazylike and obsessive when he talked about this nutty Robbie Fulks character...but I've been listening to "Let's Kill Saturday Night" over and over and I can't get enough. I haven't even seen him live yet (Sept. 7, Tractor Tavern, site of much drunken debauchery), and I'm already considering becoming a groupie and following his tour to Palo Alto, where he'll be playing at a "house party, email xxx for details" (that's actually what's listed under Tour Dates on robbiefulks.com. that's so cool!).

Did I mention that my

Did I mention that my car ran out of gas this morning on my way to the Park&Ride? Yeah, like three stoplights away from a gas station. Turned hazard lights on. Sat. Waited. Honked at assholes. Started car. Drove to gas station. Car died again right as I pulled up to the pump. Got gas. Drove to P&R. Weird stuff. Office by 8:30 (which is brilliant, since I was here until 6:30 last night. Ten hour days suck.).

I'm such a rockstar.

Oh, how long these last

Oh, how long these last few days have been. Between a major load of fuckery at work (yeah, it was my fault, but I didn't know I was doing wrong!), my personal life has been all strife-filled and such. Suffice to say things will be smoothed soon enough.

The girls who looked at the house on Tuesday are coming again tonight to meet Boy--and I'm hoping one of them will say yes tonight so we can stop stressing over finding a roommate and get some damned sleep. Not that falling asleep has been a problem for me the last couple of nights--between the bottle of merlot on Tuesday and my adult-beverage consumption last night at pool, I've been conking out pretty regularly. It's Boy who's got the worries.

Speaking of pool--wasn't last night entertaining? I had sidecars and tequila, neither of which were a good idea, because I'm seeing a new side-effect from drinking: I'm pretty demanding, right? Well, when I've had something to drink and I don't get my way, I start getting all belligerent and antisocial, which is no one's idea of fun. Me, belligerent and antisocial? Something to behold.

Pool was good, though--the more I drank, the better I got! I actually sank three balls...in two (three? I don't remember) games. That's practically a record at this point. Karawynn brought a new friend, and everyone was jolly and laughed at my jokes, so I had a fine time. Boy was prompt with picking me up, if only to drop me at home before he took the old (huge) monitor over to the buyer's house (had to get rid of it, it was too big for the space in the office, so he's going to get one of those crazy flat-screen plasma-dealies. w00t!). Came home, had some lovin', fell asleep in the middle of the X-Files.

Some odd happenings at the bus stop this morning:
-the girl who was painting her finger- and toenails bright bloody red, balanced against the garbage can...and then she turned slightly and I noticed she had a live squirrel on her shoulder. She made an attempt at getting on the bus, but the (very smart and not-interested-in-passengers-with-rabies-potential) bus driver said she couldn't. Also (and even weirder to me, the fashion maven), she had a screenprint of a squirrel on her white skirt.

White skirt? Squirrels? Crazy.

-the Microsoft employee (no, I'm not psychic, they're just fairly obvious with their employee ID clipped on their belts and such) who started chatting me up, took out a joint, sparked it, and offered me some. At 730 in the morning. Guh. I can think of few things less appealing for breakfast than pot. Poop. I'd rather smoke pot for breakfast than eat poop. (here's where Boy starts laughing even though he's completely disgusted, heh. I'm such a fuckin' lady.)

Then again, if I worked at Microsoft, I'd probably have to get high every morning, too, or I'd want to kill myself.

-The uber-fake'n'bake'd (jaysus, run that through spellcheck.) permed colored made-up I'm a model but I do secretarial work on the side girl with the vacant stare, drinking Pepsi. Again, few things more gross than Pepsi for breakfast.

Tomorrow will be spectacular, because it includes lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. And it'll be Friday. Go read Cate's journal right this very second, because that things-we'll-never-do-as-a-couple comment made me laugh so hard I almost wet myself. Cate, I am in complete agreement.

The smothered burrito I had

The smothered burrito I had from the little taqueria across the street is revisiting my esophagus with vengeance.

Heartburn, curse of the culinarily adventurous. I should have known from the instant fire in my mouth that this burrito would be trouble. Then again, I've always had this problem with sitting right in trouble's lap when I know his girlfriend is going to walk in the door.

Or something. My brain is mush after a day like this, and I'm getting a little punchy. Time to head to pool--alcohol and kinky grrls will solve all my problems, right?

No more Beta Band--Wyclef now.

No more Beta Band--Wyclef now.

...

Shit. This post was from two hours ago. I've moved on to De La Soul. And the Bay City Rollers.

I'm listening to the Beta

I'm listening to the Beta Band. Just thought you might like to know.

So I consumed an entire bottle of Kenwood's '99 Merlot (which, if you're into wine, you might check it out--especially if you're a merlot fan like myself. And it was on sale! $13/bottle instead of $17. Good deal.) last night, and feel none the worse this morning. In fact, I was particularly energetic this morning with little outside stimuli. Boy came home and found me slightly drunk (and slightly belligerent) but standing (well, then sitting--on the sofa with a bunch of JellieBellies) and was less-than-pleased...but had no problem with the wonders of natural lubrication that a bottle of wine provides, heh.

Had some wonderful young women check out the house while I was slightly smashed...I've got to remember not to do that--I kept forgetting all the serious stuff like "When would you be ready to move in?" and instead asked questions like "Don't you just love the color of the bathroom? *sloppy giggles*", but they were very friendly and easy-going and I desparately hope to the heavens above that one of them will move in.

This morning was spent at our warehouse, where I discovered that for the last two days, I've been fucking up royally (though only because I was never given a key piece of information that would have kept me from said fucking-up. Tonight is pool with the girls, and a possible stop at Venus where I will purchase that damned corset if it kills me. Or, most likely, breaks me. Either way.

Focus.

Speaking of kinky, did I

Speaking of kinky, did I mention we took Blondie to the Wet Spot the other night? She went to the orientation and everything--I'm so proud of her!ng horizons etc. We went fetishwear shopping, too, and guess what I got! That's right, I finally got the PVC nurse's uniform. It's sexy as all hell, and the shoes are something else, too--they kill my feet, but Boy adores them.

Also found while shopping: The most incredibly gorgeous corset on earth--custom-made for Miss Leather 2001, but she consigned it before ever wearing it...I tried it on at Venus on Saturday--it couldn't have fit more perfectly if it had been custom made for ME. I need it. I would give my right kidney for it. Ask Blondie! It looked fucking hot on me...and it felt incredible, being all squeezed into it.

have. to. have. it.

My dirty confessions are getting

My dirty confessions are getting dirtier by the day. Last night before heading to the airport to pick up Boy's coworker, we accidentally watched the Fox Network's Teen Choice Awards--and I got all hot'n'bothered and practically ravished him where he sat. Luckily, we made it to the bedroom before tearing each other's clothes off--I think the neighbors were out in their hottub.

What can I say? That J.Lo is a hottie. Too bad G.Cloo wasn't there, heh.

Then, I get to work this morning, and Coworker K is talking about how she was watching the Teen Choice Awards, too--and it all flooded back to me in a haze of lusty remembrances. Ha! Looks like I'm back in the saddle.

Figuratively. We don't actually own a saddle. We're not that kinky.

I had this big post

I had this big post all typed out when our entire network spazzed and my computer didn't take it well--there went my post. And the actual work-stuff I'd been doing. Ah, well.

I've got the strangest urge to go to Vegas. Can't you just see me and Boy living it up in Sin City? heh.

It's not just "going to Vegas". It's gambling, booze, and cheap sex that I'm in the mood for, woohoo!

Shit! I forgot to water

Shit! I forgot to water the flowers yesterday. Well, not forgot, more like "neglected". I figured it would rain, right? It's been threatening to do so all damned weekend. Hope dad doesn't poke his head in today. He'll get mad.

Especially if he finds out that I know about the sex toys he got at the library.

Keith (who is currently changing

Keith (who is currently changing his life on a trip to L.A.) is going to love this:

I had a dream last night that George W. Bush was my dad. And Marky Mark was my brother. And that my real dad and his girlfriend had a dresser-drawer full of sex toys from the library.

Talk about a fucked-up night. I woke up *very* confused this morning.

And my sternum hurts. Feels like I got pounded or something.

Did you think I was

Did you think I was kidding when I implied that the party was a bust? Because I wasn't, you know. I was absolutely heartbroken. I've never had that happen--have lots of people say "Oh yeah, totally, see you Saturday!" and then only have EIGHT people show up. It was humiliating.

I guess the redeeming factor was solely that the people who mattered showed up--Blondie, Nia, Zone (who is positively adorable in his newfound girl-induced bliss!), Evil Dave, Quincy, and a couple others. They were wonderful. We had a good time.

But don't think I'm going to let the deadbeats off the hook.

A gracious thank you to

A gracious thank you to those of you lovely people who came and ate and drank and socialized and appreciated our incredible view--I'm so glad you came!

And to those of you deadbeats who didn't bother to show up (even after you had RSVP'd...to say nothing of the almost-40 people who didn't bother to even look at the invitation), I hope you're pleased with yourselves. You've just made me cry. Big, fat tears from my poor, tired eyes.

Our office has been transformed

Our office has been transformed into a Tiki Hell.

I never thought I could feel this way--after all, I am the one who has an End-of-Summer Luau every year, yes? But I really have to tell you that I'm completely overwhelmed. When I left last night, everything looked like...an office. A big noisy crazy office, but an office all the same. Today, we've got bamboo screens and tiki torches, wicker baskets and palm trees.

Yes, I said palm trees.

Really, though, it's the music that's getting to me. I can take the rest of it (it's kind of welcome, actually. The screens let me feel a little more boxed-in [hey, I'm mildly agoraphobic. Gimme a break.].)...but the music is something to be reckoned with. Especially since it's blasting from a boombox someone put on my desk. In my Inbox. Which sits directly in front of my face. Wanna know what we're listening to? "Authentic Luau ALOHA Party Music: Sounds of the Islands", with such all-time hits as "Tropical Dreams", "Hawaiian Breeze", and "Jamaican Nights". Current selection? "Let's Just Luau". Kill me. Kill me please.

As I told Cate in an email--I think we're taking our company motto ("Tommy Bahama: Purveyors of the Island Lifestyle") too seriously. Or too lightly. Whaddev.

Time to stop the hula music.

So, I never heard back

So, I never heard back from my parents--I guess leaving the country (or getting back in?) isn't as important as they made it sound. I started to wonder last night what they were doing running around without my kid sister's passport in the first place--It's been ingrained in us (well, me--I make no claims as to my brother) that when travelling, the passport is priority numero uno. And the money. Whaddev, you catch my drift.

Heh, I used to get really obsessive about my passport. When I went to Europe for the second time (there were three trips), I was with a group of kids from school, and we were staying in hostels all over the place--and not the nicest hostels you could find (those were down the street, heh. We visited, then had to go back to our shithole hostel.)...lots of unsavory-types, rather sinister in appearance--or so thought a bunch of 13 year old girls (who happened to be prone to hysterics, I'll have you know. *I* wasn't!! I swear. I was the level-headed one of the bunch...which maybe gives you an idea of what we're dealing with.). Anyway, long story a bit longer--I used to freak out when my roommates would take their passports off at night (I slept with mine on. See? Obsessive.).

What a nutty, crazy child I was.

For those of you who

For those of you who missed out on yesterday's secret confession, I have another one for you:

I am a jellybean racist. Black licorice-flavored jellybeans have no place here. Wait--black-licorice-flavored-anything has no place anywhere.

Before you fly off into a fit of self-righteous political correctness, hear me out: Boy says that I'm not a horrid bitch--I just say the things that everyone else is thinking.

Jury's still out on that one, but I tend to agree with him.

I'm currently on hold with

I'm currently on hold with the Department of Vital Statistics, trying to get a copy of my kid sister's birth certificate faxed to wherever my parents are at this point. They left the other night, didn't tell me where they were going or when they'd be back--then I get a cryptic phone call today asking me to get a copy of the birth certificate faxed to me, so that I could send it to *them*...but they still haven't told me where they are. Or when they'll be back. They just want to know how the dog is doing.

This is insane.

No clue where my father and Evil-stepmother-to-be are, either. Oh well. At least they've got my brother and my pseudo-brother with them--no one digging through our fridge while we're not home! w00t.

Updates to follow at 5 and 6:30, stay tuned. Doppler radar parent detection. blah blah blah.

For those of you with

For those of you with whom I worked at YMCA Camp Colman (the greatest place on earth), this will make you laugh:

There's someone named 'Shaniquah' here in my company. I just heard her get paged. Seriously! It wasn't Mieka or Sherri, it was the head of Sales' secretary paging this Shaneekwuh person, and she's not the camp-joke kind. Blondie, you're probably the only one who gets this. It made me laugh anyway.

More small-world coincidences: A friend

More small-world coincidences:

A friend of mine from the Midwest was recently visiting this beautiful, damp city o' mine--unfortunately he was here during our Moving Madness, so we were unable to get together. Instead, he hung with a friend of his who's in the graduate bioscience program at the university...and her friends, who have collectively dated three of mine. How's that for the smallest big city in the world? Nuts. Pure nuts, I tell you.

So maybe "dated" would be the wrong word in some cases, but you get the idea. I had a minor freak-out, and called a couple of the related parties, who freaked out and laughed their asses off, respectively. It was a wonderfully entertaining part of my day.

I have thusly added a

I have thusly added a link on the sidebar to the list of players. Aren't you proud of me? I did it without pestering either Boy or Keith or some other technically-inclined type (of which I am not).

After reading Last Days' account

After reading Last Days' account of Thursday, August 9th, I realize I must post the following notice for our readers at the Federal Bureau of Investigation:

Dear Secret Agent-types--

Just because my weblog pops up on searches for kiddie-pr*n by sickoperverts does not mean I have ever had anything to do with said pr*n, or the making/trafficking of the same.

Thank you for your time, move along.

Ten o'clock Toast has turned

Ten o'clock Toast has turned into 930 bagels. Accompanying my plain bagel with plain schmear is pine-orange-nana juice, because I'm not getting enough Vitamin C and E or Potassium. I should take vitamins or something, but they make my stomach upset. I was never the child who got all excited over chewable (blech) vitamins.

I don't know what's going on lately, but apparently it's skeletons-from-the-closet time for me--between the phone call from that old high school crush and running into a former *ahem* gentleman of my acquaintance yesterday, you'd think that was enough, right? Last night at the hardware store, I ran into an old college prof--which would have been great, right? because his class was one of the few I was interested in and actually attended etc...but he wasn't with his middle-aged, dark-haired wife...he was with a very youngish blonde woman. Hmm. I never pegged him as the type to boff his students, but hey, whaddev.

Perhaps it's the boots I'm

Perhaps it's the boots I'm wearing, but my knee is killing me.

Three-inch-heels = bad.

Confidential to the person at

Confidential to the person at Portland State whose cat is in heat for the first time--you want advice?

Get your damned cat fixed. Sheesh.

I should be devoting this

I should be devoting this time to productive things, like cleaning the back bedroom/office, or the main bedroom/closet, or making the world a better place...but instead, I blog.

I've had more time to myself in the last two days than I've had in (what seems like) a long time. One would think that it would be welcome, that I'd have all sorts of entertaining, introspective moments...but I am not, by nature, an introvert (this should be patently obvious by now, if you'd been reading along for the last five months or so. You have been reading along, haven't you? Oh cripes, go back and read the archives.) As I was saying--I've had all this time to myself wherein I could have done so many wonderful things...but I've not--and do you know why?

It's because nothing is quite and fun and rosy and wonderful as it is when Boy and I are doing it together.

Man, that's disgusting.

So very very true. I've missed him for the last two days--not because he's physically gone--he's been sick, and in pain, and all drugged up with pain killers and leftover anasthetic, and I'm not doing much to make him feel better (goal paramount). Not that I'm not trying! I've made milkshakes and mashed potatoes, fed him popsicles and painkillers...But there's really not much else I can do. I wish there was, he always takes such good care of me!

Ah, well. Tomorrow will be better, I hope.

I think I've seen enough reality television for this evening--and hope that those three prospective roommates call me back tomorrow.

At least I don't have

At least I don't have to make dinner tonight, as Boy is still on mushy foods (read: soup and milkshakes and oatmeal), and I believe I'll be skipping the evening meal.

Did I mention I just took a Vicodin? I hope I don't pass out on the bus.

I am so ready to

I am so ready to go home. Of course, I'll get home after I pick up Boy's tax refund check, go to my mother's house and feed her dog and cat, go to my father's house and feed his cats and fish, go to my grandmother's house and feed...her...guh. That's a lot of stuff to do before going home. And when I get home, guess what I'm doing! I'm dealing with all the crap in the spare bedroom/office, because Boy bought me the Sims House Party Expansion Pack last week, and I haven't even installed it because I get all ferklempt when I'm in that room--too messy. After that, the bedroom, because it's reached critical mass. Wish me luck!

I had an unexpected phone

I had an unexpected phone call from an old friend last night--he's editor-in-chief of his school's paper, is graduating next year, has a couple job offers on the table already...he's all grown up and adult-like! I still remember the first time I drove him home, our senior year of highschool, and my big plan was to drop him off last (I always had a car full of people) so I could ask him to Homecoming or something, and we were both mortally embarassed and then Homecoming got cancelled and we didn't do anything together (date-like, I mean), and eventually I started dating my Physics tutor, and by the next time I was in a position to ask him out again (it was New Year's Eve and everyone was at my house because that's where we had parties--said friend and I were upstairs alone and I did my damnedest to get him in bed), we were both too drunk and I had a boyfriend.

It was nice to talk for a little bit, though I found it difficult to be interested in what he was saying, because it seemed so...(oh let's be blunt) boring, everything he was talking about. I can only imagine how the flow of conversation would go if we were to run into eachother face to face. Yeek.

As previously expressed in an

As previously expressed in an email to a coworker this morning, Today feels like Monday. Again. That's what I get for taking a day off in the middle of the week, hmm? At least I didn't put soap on my toothbrush again.

Most. Unexpected. Morning Occurance. Ever:

Most. Unexpected. Morning Occurance. Ever:

Standing at the bus stop this morning, I noticed a relatively large number of Microsoft employees waiting for whatever bus goes from Greenlake to the Eastside. Given my history with said employees (or at least with 12 or so of them), this had the potential to make my morning rather uncomfortable, yes? Yes. As my silly little brain was thinking, "Gee, wouldn't it be funny if I ran into one of the Microserfs I dated all those years ago?", it became a self-fulfilling prophecy--I turned to look at the approaching bus, and who should I see but my own personal McEx (remember, Blondie's got a Scottish ex-lover? Yeah, well, I've got one, too.). Apparently he's finally divorced, has his green card, and is trolling the waters for unsuspecting young girls...Too bad for him--I'm neither young nor unsuspecting any longer.

Well, I'm not old. But I'm certainly not as young as I was when we were dating, and I'm a helluva lot more level-headed about things. And far less easily-mislead.

...

In Other News, Boy is recovering, the weather is crappy, and I have a secret confession that you'll have to ask nicely to hear.

Ha. eBlackmail.

Shh...Boy's sleeping. I'm playing nursemaid

Shh...Boy's sleeping. I'm playing nursemaid minus the costume (though I am wearing my bikini--that counts for something, doesn't it?), and I'm very nervous I'll forget something, like a dose of meds or something--I'd make a horrid nurse.

Speaking of the medical profession--everyone on earth should read Michelle's journal, because she's freaking hilarious. I read her entire archives in six hours--I just couldn't stop reading. Too too funny.

Now, must make Jell-O. I'll try updating later.

This is just plain bizarre...sounds

This is just plain bizarre...sounds like something my stepfather, ever the economist (and at the oddest moments, too--he'll spend $150 on a single draught of cognac, and then use canned parmesan cheese, which freaks me out.), would have done in college.

Via not.so.soft.

Passing the meme, from Survey,

Passing the meme, from Survey, courtesy of Tristesse, via Keith:

1.up your CD player, what's inside?
Beth Orton, "Central Reservation"

2.Look in your VCR, is there a movie?
At home? pr0n in the bedroom VCR, X-Files in the living room DVD player.

3. If there happens to be music playing right now, what is it?
Wouldn't that have been answered with Question 1? Beth Orton.

4. What are you wearing?
Nothing at all...

Nah, tanktop and jeans and my new 9West slides.

5. Look down, what's the first thing that catches your eye?
My boobs. And what a welcome sight they are...hehe.

6. Turn on your TV if it's not on already, what network is it?
If I were to turn on the television at home...hrm. TiVo really has made me forget programming schedules--I have no idea what's on right now. Prolly either Sports Night or a cooking show.

7. Look out the window, what's the weather like?
Window? It was 80 and sunny when I went outside last.

8. If you were to hit redial on your phone right now, where would it call?
1-900-HOT-LIPS. Just don't tell my boss.

9. Say "hello?" out loud, did anyone answer?
Nah, everyone's used to me talking to the computer.

10. What are you planning on doing next as soon as you get offline?
Offline? What's that?

Aren't I just delightfully witty? Yes, I am. Shut up and agree with me.

Two interesting things I observed

Two interesting things I observed while fetching gelato this afternoon:

1) The obviously-married-but-not-to-each-other couple in Torrefazione staring intently with these looks of absolute adoration. It was kind of a shock for me--I thought Boy and I were the only ones in the world that in love.

2) The man in the red Toyota Tercel praying to Mecca, while stopped at a light southbound on 7th Avenue. He must be anticipating an accident (or making it a foregone conclusion) and making his peace with his maker.

I need to get a gelato machine so I can make heaven in my own kitchen.

"Here's to my best romance,

"Here's to my best romance, here's to my worst romance,
Here's to my first romance, ages ago...
Here's to the boys I kissed, and to complete the list
Here's to the boys who said no

It's a rocket to the moon with a touch of Clair de Lune
It gets you high, it gets you low, but once you get that glow, oh!
Some trust to fate for love, others have to take off weight for love
Some go berserk for love, loafers even go to work for love
Some say they'd pay for love just to say hooray for love"

Lordy, Ella. Pretty bitter, don't you think?

This is the most disgusting

This is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard, as quoted from an email from my mother (random forwarded spam, as usual.):

"We could learn a lot from crayons: some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, some have weird names, and all are different colors.... but they all have to learn to live in the same box."

*gag*

Oh good lord. We just

Oh good lord. We just had the shaving vs. waxing conversation again. Other than my eyebrows, I'm a firm supporter of shaving--but I will admit that there are some places that I don't want to stick a razorblade. However, the idea of pouring hot wax on my netherregions...*shudder*. Not so much, thanks.

This was all soooo much more information than any of you needed.

Come on, people. Email me

Come on, people. Email me and keep me entertained, because work is deader-than-dead. I'm tempted to walk over to Bed Bath and Beyond and buy dishes.

No Ikea In Vancouver tonight.

No Ikea In Vancouver tonight. The more I think about driving for three hours there, and three hours back, and shopping, and coming home at midnight on a Monday, the more tired I feel. So, we'll just go without the cabinet for this weekend, and wait for it to come in at the Seattle store. That makes much more sense.

In other Consumerism News, Venus is closed today, and won't beuntil noon tomorrow. Double damn. I guess Boy will have to go without the Nurse costume...unless someone knows of another store in Seattle with PVC-fetishy-costume-stuff? If we were to go to Vancouver tonight, I would know exactly where to purchase one--But we're N.O.T. going, dammit. Too much.

I've never had anything that tastes as good as this cup of Coca-Cola does. Yum.

More additions to The Usual

More additions to The Usual Suspects. I keep having to switch back and forth between the two so I can make my list of people to add. It's taking too long because I've been distracted with chinese food for lunch. And Coke. I haven't had Coke in a while. You know, my very own Coke, not taking sips of someone else's Coke.

Mmm...caffeine and Vicodin...

So, update on the Super

So, update on the Super Romantic Weekend my coworker had: It was her second wedding anniversary--remember, her husband sent her that superromantic email that made the rest of us girls die of envy, just aching for our boys to do something similar? Apparently he rented a house out on Hood Canal, and they spent the weekend on the beach and tooling around the peninsula, being deadly-romantic.

I can't wait for winter, when the weather doesn't make me want to lay on the dock all day, and Boy and I can go away for the weekend again.

Ohhhhh cramps. In the last

Ohhhhh cramps. In the last month, I'd forgotten about them--and they're attacking with a vengeance. Good thing I have ready access to Vicodin.

Please, do send some good

Please, do send some good wishes to Kathy at Kitchen Logic, who has a sore back. And good wishes to Cate at Distraction and Other Casual Occurances, because she's recovering from a cold (which has to be the absolute worst thing in August. Yick.).

If not good wishes, read their blogs. Funny funny girls. I wish they lived around here.

I don't like to generalize

I don't like to generalize about Mondays--they're so widely maligned already. But this morning, I can't help but say Mondays Suck. It started off with three distinctly different dreams, all of them involving being at work--so when I finally woke up, do you think I wanted to come in to the office? Nope. To add insult to injury, when I went to brush my teeth, guess what I used instead of toothpaste? Yep, that's right. I put soap on my toothbrush.

So it's 9:30a.m., and it's already been a long day. It's only going to get longer. We're leaving directly from work to drive to Ikea...in Canada! Lovely. See, the bathroom cabinet we want is out of stock at the local Ikea, won't be available for another three weeks or so--which wouldn't be a problem if our housewarming party wasn't until October. But it's not, it's next weekend! And we want the cabinet before the party. Solution? Spend our evening driving to Canada and back. At this point, I can't think of anything I'd like to do less, but hey, that's life.

At least work is pretty slow this morning. All of the managers and supervisory-types are in some silly seminar to make them better managers and supervisory-types, and they'll be gone all day! w00t!, to quote Drome.

(Speaking of Mr. Drome--where the hell have you been lately? I haven't heard from you in ages!)

Work will be slow for me tomorrow, too...because I won't be here! Boy is getting his wisdom teeth out tomorrow morning, so I'm staying home and playing nursemaid. I've gotta find a costume. I think Venus might have a PVC nurse's costume in stock--including the little hat. I'd need white shoes, though, which I refuse to purchase. Of all of the bazillion pairs of shoes I own, only two are white-ish--and they're both crosstrainers, which doesn't exactly go with the PVC, right?

Anyway, time for toast.

Small update on The Usual

Small update on The Usual Suspects, go take a look.

(in particular, see notes on Zone, whom I haven't seen in for-freakin'-ever...*ahem*.)

So here it is, 930am

So here it is, 930am on a beeyootiful Sunday morning in August...the lake is flat, the sun is bright, and the temperature couldn't be more perfect. I just got out of the lake after swimming some laps--out to the buoy and back to the end of the dock, which is just about the same distance as swimming two lengths of a half-Olympic pool--and now I'm having some Cinnamon Toast Crunch and checking my mail. And blogging, too, of course. Outside. On my deck. In the sun. Because wireless ethernet is heaven incarnate.

As Nia said yesterday with much dry enthusiasm--"My heart bleeds daily for you."

Yeah, don't you want to just smack me? I'd want to, too. But hey, you can't because I'm just too damned lovable. Right? That's what I thought.

In any event, we've had a lovely weekend so far--Mostly spent doing nothing. My sleepover with Kid Sis panned out after we took her friend home, so Mom came and picked the kid up, leaving me and Boy to our own devices...which normally would work out to something dirty because we're perverts like that--but I think we ended up snoogling on the sofa watching X-Files.

Ah yes, the life of the settled-down. I could get all bent out of shape about it again and look for a table to dance naked on, but why bother? This is great. Next time I whine about missing a variety of male genitalia, just go ahead and tell me to shaddup, because I'm being silly.

So, Friday night was pretty relaxed...Saturday morning, too--slept in a little later than I usually do (Boy's the late sleeper, I'm usually up by 9 on weekends) and then we pretty much just loafed around all day. We were supposed to have two potential renters come by between noon and 2, and neither of them showed--at least one of them was considerate enough to call. I'm getting very nervous about this roommate thing, because it's almost the middle of the month and we still haven't found anyone yet. An interesting idea was discussed yesterday, but I don't know how viable it would be for all parties. We'll see.

After the no-shows, Boy went out and got the propane tank for the grill filled--I used it last week and didn't shut the valve after I was done...how was I supposed to know about that?!--and got some lunch and I....loafed some more, heh. Oh, made lunch for my brother and his best friend Henry (and soon-to-be-almost-brother--he's moving into my parents' house this month. Just adding to the sitcom that is my family!), though not very well. They're strapping young lads, though, and they eat almost anything. I'm not concerned. I just hope they don't get e.Coli.

Nia came over a while later, and we spent some time chatting while we sat on the end of the dock, dangling our toes in the water. The most awful thing happened, though. Before we went out to the dock, we were inside getting ready--sunblock, iced tea, sunglasses--I'd been sitting out there before she came over, so I didn't grab a towel for myself. We got out to the dock, I look down at where my towel should be...and it's gone!! My book is there, the phone, everything but my wonderful fluffy soft beach towel. It had disappeared, never to be found again. General consensus was that it had been blown into the water and sunk, which would have broken my heart...if I hadn't found it!!

This morning after watering the flowers and arranging lawn chairs, I strolled out onto the dock to admire the water (okay, so I was showing off for the neighbor, Pete, and his cousin, RePete, who were getting ready to go waterskiing--I'd been gardening in my black Adrienne Vittadini tanksuit and heeled slides. I'm such a hooch, heh.) I strolled out onto the dock, happened to look down under the boat lift and...there's my towel! Just hanging out on the bottom of the lake. Henry has promised to retrieve it for me this afternoon--I hope it doesn't float away before then. It shouldn't go too far, the currents on the lakefloor are virtually non-existant on days like this.

Anyway, crisis averted.

After Nia left, Boy and I squandered the rest of the afternoon watching X-Files (I admit it, I have an addiction.), and then headed to Bed Bath and Beyond for some good, old-fashioned consumerism. Of course, we got so busy picking out dishes and table linens that we almost left without what we came for--one of those wire hanging basket things for produce--Not only do we not have the counterspace for the amount of produce I buy in a week, the produce is getting ruined in bowls and sitting on the counter. The baskets will help, right? I hope so.

Went to Mitchelli's for dinner (which is a long-standing personal favorite of mine, but Boy hates it--he's so wonderfully selfless, wouldn't you say? I feel bad for making him go, but my latest craving is chicken parmesan--I have to have it.), and came home for more--you guessed it--X-Files. I can't wait until Seasons 4, 5, and 6 come out on DVD.

And that pretty much brings us to today--with me now inside because the power adapter for the iBook doesn't reach outside. I need to find an extension cord. Ooh! Boy's home from his meeting with the old landlord, gotta go snoogle!

Holy christ, it's hot out.

Holy christ, it's hot out. I sat outside in my bikini for maybe five minutes, and I'm toasted. So much for SPF45.

Time to get back to lifeguarding. Aren't they tired of playing in the water yet?? Sheesh.

Aaahhhhh, gelato. I'll be leaving

Aaahhhhh, gelato.

I'll be leaving the office in a little over half an hour, and I'm going home. Straight home. (haha, I just typed "homo" instead of "home". Straight homo is funny.) Home with my kid sister and her best friend, which should be entertaining--we're going to jump in the lake and eat pizza and act like idiots in the beeyootiful sunshine

The part of me that inherited my mother's pseudocatholic guilt wants to apologize for being such a downer the last few days, but then I remember--this is my weblog. I'm glad it keeps y'all entertained...but first and foremost, it keeps me sane.

How's this for an anniversary

How's this for an anniversary present? Coworker K just got an email from her husband:

"If you beat me home, I want you pack everything you
need to last you until Sunday, clothing etc...No
questions..."

Color the rest of us chicks in the office jealous! Too romantic for words.

Confidential to Beb: Thanks sooo

Confidential to Beb: Thanks sooo much for being supportive. You suck.

The problem with being a

The problem with being a woman is that we inherently want men to understand us and be intuitive and fulfill our every desire without us having to say a word. What fools we women be.

People keep asking what's wrong

People keep asking what's wrong with me today, to which I reply, "Isn't it obvious"? We're all stuck inside a freezing cold office building listening to piped-in calypso when it's 90 degrees outside.

I must do my part

I must do my part to pass the meme: Keith was talking about his List of Five, which included one or two of the same folks who would be on my list. Oh, who am I kidding. It was just Angelina Jolie. Here, for your reading enjoyment:

1) Angelina Jolie
2) Keanu Reeves
3) Alison Hannigan, of Buffy and American Pie fame
4) Russell Crowe
5) Paul Newman in 1965, except he kind of looks like my dad and that's a line of thought none of us want to pursue. But wow, Cool Hand Luke. Ohhhh yes.

Who's on your List?

So we had our first

So we had our first dinner guests last night--and things went marvelously, I think. EvilDave and Quincy brought apple pie to go with my burgers (both meat-like and grilled portobello), grilled corn, sugar-snap-pea-jalapeno rice, and some sweet bell peppers, and we sat outside on the deck and acted like grownups before retiring to the living room to watch episode upon episode of Sports Night.

Sports Night was a good show, and it makes me laugh, and the boys and girls are cute--but let's not give too much credit to Aaron Sorkin for writing brilliance. His shows would be drab and painful to watch if they weren't as perfectly cast as they are.

The dog is back in the office today, and it's already pooped twice. In the office. On the carpet. Right in front of the main doors for our floor.

I'm supposed to have a sleepover with my kid sister tonight--we haven't done it in forEVER, and I feel bad that I'm such a horrible sister. I'm a bad daughter, too. Anyway, I'm supposed to have a sleepover with her, but I've been excommunicated, apparently. I haven't heard a word from my mother since Wednesday night, which is highly unusual. She must be mad at me for something, but I don't have a clue as to what I've done now.

I had this dream last night that I was training to be a "Dog Rescuer", which entailed luring home dogs who have gotten out of their yards using biscuits from KFC. I was trying to get this dog out of the kitchen at my dad's new house (which was unfinished in the dream--exposed framing and that kind of stuff.).

I left for work this morning without saying goodbye or anything to Boy, and I feel really bad. I woke up with a notsogood feeling, and I figured it was something we'd talked about before falling asleep, but this is just rough speculation because I never remember those conversations. He's been coming to bed latelate, hours after I've gone to sleep, and it makes me upset--it smacks of stories he told me about living with his ex. Then I get worried and overreact, when it's more likely that it's just the caffeine he had with dinner, or indigestion, or his sore wisdom teeth that are keeping him up--but I still get worried. We've been snapping at eachother more often since we moved, or maybe I've just been more snappy, I don't know. It just feels like everything is different now (and it is, but it's mostly good), and I don't want to ruin things, which I'm highly likely to do because I'm very good at breaking things, trust me.

It may be a copout, but I'm PMSing, too. Can we say "mood swings"?

I just had a white peach, and I feel a little better.

I'm very ungrateful sometimes for someone as lucky as I am. Ready to reaffirm? I've got reasonably good health, my family is in good health as well, I'm living in a house on the lake and I still have a short commute to a job that I don't hate and most importantly, the most wonderful boy in the world is in love with me and spoils me and makes me feel like a million dollars mostly.

It helps to say it out loud.

David Gray's "Say Hello, Wave

David Gray's "Say Hello, Wave Goodbye" is nuts. It's a nice, gentle song and all, but it's sort of like he forgot he was supposed to end the song at some point, and just kept going for fourteen minutes. Man. That's stamina.

I'm parked across the street from my building today, at a meter, and it's making me nervous. I keep running into our department head's office and peeking out her window to make sure my car's not being towed or ticketed. Dad would murder me if I got another ticket.

I've got another meeting in half an hour--which means my day will be comprised almost entirely of meetings. This is a development I'm not entirely comfortable with. Such is life etc.

...

My doctor's appointment didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Bloodwork being done, results in a couple weeks. I wish I didn't have to wait--sometimes it sucks to be so into instant gratification. Patience has never been a virtue with me, but I'm learning.

I could use a hug. Or a Valium.

I had rilly rilly good

I had rilly rilly good intentions of getting stuff done last night, but all was interrupted by naked time--and then I played the part of one of my less-notable ex-lovers, and fell asleep immediately afterwards. At TEN-THIRTY. Pretty pathetic. Ah, well, such is what happens when you work an eleven hour day, I guess.

You may notice that I'm blogging at an obscenely early hour--I've got five minutes to spare before heading to my first doctor's appointment in ages. Hopefully she'll figure out what's wrong with me (I mean, besides me being a freak. We all know that already.).

Who's looking for Laymans Terms?

Who's looking for Laymans Terms? Yeah, I know 'em. They used to play at my parties. Good guys, great music.

Anyway, just curious.

I should reeeeally be putting

I should reeeeally be putting clothes away. I have no excuse to be doing anything other than that, but I'm living up to my title as Procrastinator General.

Listening to Emeril try to speak vietnamese is painful. It's like watching a butcher perform neurosurgery. But less bloody. Same level of screaming-in-pain-clutching-your-stomach, though.

The box of Wheat Thins

The box of Wheat Thins from which I am munching seems to have an unusually high ratio of malformed crackers--misshapen, cojoined, overcooked...

Boy. You can tell what state my brain is in if this is all I can think about--Wheat Thin Birth Defects.

It's been an incredibly long day, for several reasons, some of which you may have guessed, and some of which I've given no hint to. Listening to David Gray is helping, though. Do you remember the first time you heard Babylon? I do, and it felt incredible.

Not quite as incredible a feeling as I'll have when I finally unchain myself from this desk.

It might just be because

It might just be because I've been listening to Buena Vista Social Club all day, but damn, I want a Red Stripe and rum. I miss the caribbean.

Perhaps you've noticed how busy

Perhaps you've noticed how busy I've been for the last two days. I've noticed, too.

That's all.

I hate it when days

I hate it when days that have so much promise end up being so crappy.

Again: Gorgeous, sunny, beautiful morning, snoogling with my naked Boy, all made-up and blow-dried for work (a rare occurance these days) . . . all for naught.

Let's talk about d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n. Yeah,

Let's talk about d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n.

Yeah, I get it. Who doesn't get a little down in the dumps? But my mom gets it really badly. Not just down in the dumps...she's trolling parisien sewers with a big wooden ball.

(Go watch "Building Big", the tunnel one, you'll get it.)

Anyway, she gets in this really depressed space every so often, and it drives me insane. I understand why it happens, and I understand how she feels, but sometimes it's just more than I want to take responsibility for.

it's a good thing that

it's a good thing that my company is not responsible for national security or anything, because things have ground to a halt with the introduction of our new deity, The Puppy.

If you happen to be one of my readers from Iran and such(and there are several, apparently--and someone from Brunei. How cool is that?!? Just don't tell the Sultan where I am, okay? Good.) If you're one of my middle eastern readers, please do not take this as instruction for halting the already halting (haha) american governmental process. I don't want to be responsible for that.

Puppy update: He's got the hiccups, and I've never seen anything this cute in my life.

Every single person who has

Every single person who has come down to our floor to see the puppy has turned into a fawning lunatic. Upon seeing said puppy, people drop to all fours and roll on the floor, begging the puppy for attention

I think that someone made an announcement over the intercom. People I've never seen before are for an audience with The Puppy. Apparently, just laying your hands on him can heal you and absolve your sins.

Just make sure he doesn't pee in our manager's office again.

This puppy is a serious

This puppy is a serious impediment to my getting anything done today. Does not bode well.

...

Alas, productivity in this office is a thing of the past. Must. pet. puppy.

One of my coworkers brought

One of my coworkers brought his brand new puppy in to work today--a little Jack Russell Terrier named Lucky--and it's positively killing me with cuteness. Apparently, Lucky was born with a deformed foot, which marked him for death by the breeder--but Coworker rescued him, hence the name "Lucky"!

Gah! So cute! It's only piddled once on the carpet in the office, too. Of course, the day is still young...

I've been listening to a

I've been listening to a streaming broadcast from one of my favorite sites all day. Well, I tried listening to Pink Martini this morning, but it was vetoed by the folks sitting near me (I've got speakers now, woohoo!)--they were in the mood for Tool, or something of similar disposition. I won't even tell you what they were saying yesterday when I tried listening to Piano Concerto No. 4.

Danger danger: Windows Media Player

Danger danger: Windows Media Player is becoming hazardous to my brain. They have different skins for it, right? And I have it set to that big floating green head, and inside the skull-part is this...thing that makes swirly patterns and stuff...and it's making my head all crazydizzy. When I try to look straight at it, it makes my eyes go unfocused, and it feels like my vision will never be normal again.

[insert remark about level of drug use here]

[insert vehement denial of drug use here]

But man, it sure feels like I'm on drugs when I look at that floating green skull.

I knew I shouldn't have

I knew I shouldn't have done it. The only thing that was encouraging me to was that dumb dumb impulsive part of me--everyone else was screaming "No!! You'll regret it halfway through! You'll like it for a minute, and then you'll just feel sick!!"...but I didn't listen, oh noooo.

I got another caramel milkshake from Starbucks. I think I'm going to vomit now.

Much work to do. Go

Much work to do. Go read the archives or something.

Head! Hurts! Going home now,

Head! Hurts! Going home now, feed Gram, unpack clothes. Cripes. But at least the weather is beautiful!

Oh good lord, this heartburn

Oh good lord, this heartburn is killing me.

I think the Cheesecake Factory should be renamed: Factory of Heartburn and Hangovers. Although you'll be proud to hear that despite the wooziness that accompanied my strawberry martini last night, I managed to avoid feeling hungover this morning. Pretty sad that I have to worry about the effects of a single. drink. *sigh* My old frathouse buddies would be ashamed.

Crisis solved--now I just have

Crisis solved--now I just have to figure out how to use Evite.

Here's the thing: We're having

Here's the thing: We're having our housewarming party on the 18th, and I want to invite some folks that I work with. The catch? I don't want to invite everyone I work with. I can err on the side of politeness and invite everyone, praying that they'll "self-select", as Boy says, and not everyone will show up...But I don't know everyone well enough to say, "Hey, c'mon over! Get drunk on my lawn!". Where do I draw the line?

This was so much easier in school when you didn't have to pretend to like someone even though you hated their guts. Everyone just knew, and acted accordingly.

I think what I'll do is this: I'll invite the folks that I know well enough to invite to this sort of thing, and hope for the best. I was overreacting, wasn't I? It'll be fine, Boy says.

My design is all wonky

My design is all wonky today. nothing is aligning right.

Okay, I've got a new

Okay, I've got a new project! I was inspired by Blondie's addition of something similar. I'm trying to get it finished, but I can't think (off the top of my head, anyway) of people who need to be on that list. I'm going to have to go through every single post and make a list of pals and such. Woohoo! Now I've got something to keep me occupied at work today!

Happy Monday, all. I'm not

Happy Monday, all.

I'm not feeling very talkative today.

If I see one more

If I see one more Google referral on my sitemeter that has anything to do with either "brother+fucking+sister", "big+men+fucking+little+sister", or "bestiality+with+little+anime+simpsons+girls+shiny+pants+no+no+daddy+no"...I'm going to cry. Promise. I will cry my big brown eyes out, so just Stop. It. Right. Now.

From last evening, supplanted by

From last evening, supplanted by laundry and furniture-building:

We are fed and home and in need of rest, but there is much to do still.

After our lazy morning, we headed to the picnick with intentions of arriving around 3. Only took us half an hour longer than expected, with one stop to buy a map and ask directions of the pimply-faced gas station boy. Weather was warm, food was barbequed, coworkers were sweaty and bleeding from Broomball (don't ask. It's positively nuts, nuts I tell you.). Met Quincy's parents, who were terribly cute and nice and exactly as I expected them to be.

Post-picnick, we headed to Ikea for some good ol' American consumerism, courtesy of the swedes. As much as I like the quirkiness of crazy Swedish design, I don't so much like being different, just like everybody else, if you catch my drift.

Drive home, dinner at the 5Spot, and home. Only one piece of furniture to build, two lamps to put together. Not bad, considering both of our histories with the place.

end recollection, begin current musings:

Now, more clothes to put away.

Oh, one more thing before

Oh, one more thing before we head to Boy's company picnick--I have done a potentially bad thing. Maybe not bad, but it's making me a slight bit nervous. I gave my weblog URL to one of my coworkers.

We'll see how it works out.

Now, picnick.

Oh wait! Speaking of picnicks--you bastards haven't said a word about Zone's blogger picnick idea. Oh well. I've got plenty on my plate as it is.

Dammit. For some reason, Blogger

Dammit. For some reason, Blogger wasn't publishing for me yesterday afternoon. Not that anyone is reading these days--my daily average number of visits has dropped from 50-some to NINETEEN. Sucks to have everyone on vacation.

Potentially embarassing happening of the morning: Boy and I lounged in bed until noon for the first time in weeks--we've spent every weekend since the beginning of July packing and such. Naked time ensued, with a shower to follow...Mid-shower, we heard a knock on the door.

Yeah. My brother. Again. He and Henry were here last night, too, eating whatever they could find. I can't wait until he grows up.

Good thing they didn't show up ten minutes earlier, at which point I was sauntering naked through the living room. That's a lesson I don't think either of us need to learn.

None of my posts are

None of my posts are showing up. Wait. No, none of the posts since this morning are showing up.

Fear not, we'll have @home service (ugh) tonight.

Going home now.

Ohhhh, speaking of meetings--my manager

Ohhhh, speaking of meetings--my manager used the word "strategery" with no hint of irony.

I hate working for morons.

Ah, stupid meetings. What a

Ah, stupid meetings. What a wonderful fucking addition to my day.

From my earlier posts today, you might be inclined to believe that I'm the worst mood ever by now. You'd be wrong--my mood is ever closer to good, and getting better with every minute that moves us closer to 3:30pm, at which point I'll be leaving work. Going home. To Boy.

We sat in the hottub last night before (getting naked) going to bed, and it was wunnerful. The moon tried to peek out, and I had my star lantern lit, and we were all crazynaked. Life is so so good.

And slashdot. He's ranked above

And slashdot. He's ranked above slashdot. And CNN. And Salon. Christ! I'm jealous. I can only aspire to be so great. I'm prolly not even on the list, because y'all are such slackers. Except for Keith. He's my only link! *sniffle*

Jaysus. Jason's site is ranked

Jaysus. Jason's site is ranked higher than The Onion. Wow. I wonder where I am? I've got at least two links, right? Right? *sigh*.

IS took our computers away

IS took our computers away last night, which was fine by me, because it left me with little to do--so I went home. I caught the correct bus, too! Went to the grocery store, fed my grandmother (well, not fed her, but brought her dinner.), went home to an empty house and made dinner. Watched Simpsons. Pouted. I'm discovering I'm really not cut out for domesticity--I hate cleaning, I hate laundry, and cooking is often a great big hassle. Ugh.

There's really no hope for it, though--it has to be done. I've been cooking dinner lately because we've been trying to cut down on expenses--and eating out six nights a week is sort of counter-productive, wouldn't you say? Yeah. But it's not nearly as much fun as going out almost every night. And there are dishes to be done.

I'm having a chemical low. It's been a couple days now, and it's frustrating. I think it's mostly just from stress--moving, money, finding a roommate, unpacking, etc. I'm ready for it to go away, too--I think this weekend will help. Boy and I are going to have a date tonight--dinner and a movie (I'm voting for Original Sin, heh. Angelina Jolie mostly naked could lift anyone out of a blue funk!)...and then tomorrow is Boy's company picnic--which I'm not necessarily looking forward to, since it'll likely rain, but it should be fun. We haven't been to any par-tays lately, so I haven't seen any of his (terribly entertaining) work friends in a while.

It's nice, really, staying home. We live somewhere in which I have a lot of ownership invested, so I feel more inclined to keep things picked up (though you'd never know it by the mess that is our bedroom. It'll be put back together by this weekend, I promise. I would have done it last night, but...um...I didn't feel like it.), and I don't really mind so much.

Ah, well. I think I'm making the mistake of using my blog as therapy, which is really not my intention.

Hey! It's already 3! That's

Hey! It's already 3! That's good.

I had this huge post

I had this huge post ready to go, all about how I've made a career decision for the first time in my life--I'm going to work my way through the ranks at this company come hell or high water--I like the company, and (another first) I don't hate coming to work every day. There are, of course, those days when the weather is gorgeous and my Boy is naked and then I certainly would rather stay home and play--but for the most part, I like coming to work, and that's not usually been the case. Not that I've hated every job I've ever had--more like I just like. this. job.

So, big post about the conversation I had this morning with my boss, about how I feel my intelligence and experience are under-utilized, and I'd like to see about movin' on up...And Blogger ate it.

Worst. Burp. Ever. Bleu cheese

Worst. Burp. Ever.

Bleu cheese and caramel milkshake. I think I'm going to ralph.

Crap. 2p.m. Feels like it's

Crap. 2p.m. Feels like it's been hours since i last complained about what time it is, but no. Twenty minutes.

Have you noticed I'm complaining a lot lately? I feel really whiny, and I apologize--it's obnoxious and boring and not entertaining in the least.

I'm having a serious sugar-overload.

I'm having a serious sugar-overload. We just ambled across the street to one of the SEVEN starbucks in the next block and I got a caramel milkshake--I think my head is going to explode.

If not my head, it'll be my stomach.

So they announce over the

So they announce over the intercom that email is back--but now I can only receive email, no sending. Guh.

Great, now Blogger is down.

Great, now Blogger is down. Ev, why can't you do this after 1am PST? *sigh*

Holy christ. It's still only

Holy christ. It's still only 1:30? Can I go home now? This is absurd. We haven't had email all day, our web connection is shaky, and I have no actual work to do.

I want a milkshake.

The IS team just raided

The IS team just raided our floor like they were a SWAT force--but with dorky clothes and lots of personal technology devices. One guy (the one with the Jheri-curl. Eww!) had two pagers, a phone, and a PDA on his belt alone. I haven't even mentioned the tool-thing with (seemingly meaningless) tools attached.

I feel like I'm in that X-Files with Jeremiah Smith.

I keep thinking today is

I keep thinking today is Friday, which would make me very happy indeed.

I'm eating Kix (Kid tested,

I'm eating Kix (Kid tested, Rhoda approved). I wish I had a glass of milk.

The most interesting way to

The most interesting way to learn personal details about a coworker is to listen to them apply for a credit card over the telephone. All sorts of tidbits to keep a nosy bastard like me entertained.

Our designers have finally lost

Our designers have finally lost it. One of the colors for an upcoming line release is "Snook". What color group is that?

I keep thinking mustardy-brown-green...but I'm sure it's probably something like blue-green.

Health insurance crisis over. Thank

Health insurance crisis over. Thank you, Compensation & Benefits Manager-woman!

Gads. My connection at work

Gads. My connection at work sucks today.

Don't even ask when I'll be back on at home. Boy discovered the entire fiasco last night, and I want no part of it. That, my friends, is why I'm blogging like a fiend at work--because I can't get my fix at home.

Words cannot express how frustrated

Words cannot express how frustrated I am with my health insurance provider. I challenge you to find an actual contact number (we're talking telephone numbers, folks. Preferrably an 800.) on their website--it can't be done, unless you have your stupid member login and password.

See, this wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that when I filled out the paperwork for coverage, we hadn't figured out when we'd be moving, so I put the apartment address on the form. This wouldn't be a problem, except for the mail nazi who won't deliver anything unless your name is on the mailbox (mine wasn't). So, no card. Without the card, I have no member login name, no password, no customer service number, nothing, nada, zip, zilch, zero...etc.

I have to say, I'm surprised at how little I'm reacting to this. Normally I'd get all huffy and grumpy and glad Boy wasn't around because he doesn't love me when I'm pissed off--but I think I've just ceased to care.

Although I'll have you know that if I die from untreated symptoms because the stupid health insurance company mailed my stuff to the wrong house--there will be an uproar. Legal action will be taken by my beneficiaries. Against the Mail Nazi, too.

Oh, speaking of beneficiaries...I've never had to fill one of those out before. I had a minor panic moment when I was presented with the form, and left everything to my mother.

As if she didn't already have access to it all.

I think I'll change my beneficiary to the Earth Liberation Front. ELF. That 60 Minutes bit made me laugh. Any suggestions for other worthless causes to leave my earthly possessions and monetary worth?

I completely ruined my bagel

I completely ruined my bagel this morning--someone set the bagel toaster to "Bottom Heat Only", which means the bottoms of my bagel halves are quite toasty, but the tops are just soggy and greasy with melted butter.

Interesting warnings on the bagel toaster:

-Do Not Use Outdoors. (Ah, yes, the infamous bagel roasts must be cancelled.)

-Do Not Place Bagel Toaster In A Heated Oven.

Yeesh.

I think I'm going to vote no on the MSN download. It'll be too much, too much I tell you!

*gasp* On my recent walk

*gasp* On my recent walk over to HR (I wanted to ask Coworker ST which bus she takes to work--I saw her at the Park & Ride this morning, but I was too busy parking my damned car to see what # it was.), I saw a computer with MSN Messenger on it. I'm now trying to weigh the consequences of downloading it...IS is busy these days with upgrading all the desktops, so my download may go unnoticed...but can I afford another hindrance to productivity? Something to ponder.

No bathtub. But at least

No bathtub. But at least now my hair is suitably red, and my eyebrows groomed, and dishes done. We had very bloody steaks last night, and I was sated. I've got to find a way to get protein into my new lunch routine (romaine salad--i need roma tomatoes--with bleu cheese, and a peach.), because I'm getting all woozy by the time I get home. Not that I'm any more hungry than just a salad and a peach--but I think passing out on...say, a public bus? would be bad.

Speaking of busses...I did it again. I got on the wrong damned bus, and ended up at Fifth and Columbia. That sucked. Thank the powers that be for the invention of taxi cabs. I have got to start paying more attention.

Oh, to be home right

Oh, to be home right now, with an ice pack and a heating pad and some time in the bathtub.

Not simultaneously, of course.

Please, everyone, heap some love

Please, everyone, heap some love on Keith, who was marvelous enough to fix the troublesome archives, and with a minimum of griping as well! He'll be receiving his prize of either pie, crisp, or a date with one of the superhotties I work with via FedEx, as he's 3000 miles from Seattle. Thanks a million, Keith!

Being on top of things

Being on top of things at work is good, but I don't like all this downtime. I start feeling guilty for spending all this time surfing.

I've been very very good

I've been very very good for the last two days, bringing my own salad in my own tupperware-thingie, toasting my own bagel instead of going to the bagel shoppe...Unfortunately, as self-satisfied as this makes me--it also makes me want to shop. a. lot. I've saved money (and calories) by bringing salad instead of getting a sammich from the deli downstairs--haven't I earned a new pair of shoes yet?

Sigh. Stupid stupid budget.

Oh, did I not do

Oh, did I not do this a few days ago? Might as well be different like everybody else and jump on the bandwagon: I'm worth $2,628,478.00. To quote myself (from a comment on Aimee's blog)--I guess it pays to be a genius with a D-cup! Heh.

More music from my youth

More music from my youth today: Frente, marvin the album. Buy it. Hear it. Love it.

Dammit. No good. Now it

Dammit. No good. Now it looks like I've only been blogging since May, when in reality, it's been since...what, late March? Something like that. If someone wants to volunteer to manually fix my archives for me, I would love you forever. And make you a pie. And bear your children at some later and as yet undisclosed date.

(Not that I'd want to like...get involved or anything--it's more along the lines of surrogate motherhood. But I'm hoping you'll be appeased with a pie. They're good! More than good, usually. Just don't ask me for a pecan pie, I've been spooked. Apple, pumpkin, blackberry, those are always good choices. Or, if you'd rather, I could make one of my infamous pear-mango-ginger crisps, or a peach-blueberry crisp, or a blackberry-peach crisp...anything! No tarte tatin, I can't find my cast iron pan. See how desparate I am?)

Anyway--commence whining: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Pleasepleaseplease fix my weblog archives?

Are the archives working? They're

Are the archives working? They're still driving me nuts.

Okay, here. Happy now?

Okay, here. Happy now?

For a while, I was

For a while, I was uberpsyched about joining the brand-new superhuge 24 Hour Fitness that justd near my office--it would be cheaper than what my parents pay for my member fees at the club (not that I ever go anymore), and I could work out at lunch, etc...And then I realized how many of my coworkers are members there, too (we get corporate discounts). We spend enough time having inappropriate conversations here in the office--I don't think I want to see what would happen when we were all in the locker room together.

Mmmm...baaaaagels *homer-drooling-noise*

Mmmm...baaaaagels *homer-drooling-noise*

Cripes. How long was everything

Cripes. How long was everything in italics?? That's what I get for blogging while hungry and distracted.