Thursday, December 27, 2007

I'm So Over December

Well, it’s been an… interesting week. Eventful, at least. First, we took The Funasaurus’ car in last Thursday because it was making funny noises. We got an estimate back for about 20 cents less than what we still owe on it. We decided to go ahead and get the work done, The Funasaurus needs a car, after all, but we ended up maxing three separate credit cards out.

If I’m going to do that, I’d much prefer to do it at Nordstroms, than a damn car dealership. But life doesn’t always go my way.

Nay, actually, life has been going rather THE OPPOSITE of “my way,” recently.

On Monday The Funasaurus got more sick than I have ever seen him, puking his little Funasaurus guts out all day long. He normally has a nice olive complexion. But on Monday he was closer to a shade of “blank piece of copier paper.” We were pretty sure it was food poisoning as opposed to a virus, seeing as how The Funasaurus has an immune system stronger than Fort Knox, whereas I tend to get any germ within a forty mile radius, and mutate it into the most extreme, disgusting, painful variation for about twice as long as it’s supposed to last.

When The Funasaurus is that ill, and I am doing the Claustrophobic Dance (you know, the bad hippity hop, too much energy-thing) around the living room, we were sure it had to have been something he ate. The only thing is, The Funasaurus and I had eaten together all weekend. So we couldn’t figure out what it could be.

He was feeling better on Tuesday, but on the off-chance it was, somehow, freakishly a 24-hour flu that I had not contracted, we decided not to go to the big family gathering for Christmas. My parents went and repped for the Golashes side of the family, and apparently The Funasaurus’ aunt and uncle put on quite the spread, complete with three separate kinds of homemade pies.

I love pie.

They brought us ham and green beans as leftovers.

I think they hate us.

Anywhos, we went back to work yesterday, and I slid on some black ice on the highway and managed to control my car enough as it fishtailed to avoid hitting the car in front of me and slam into the concrete median, instead.

So now I have a nice little bump on my head, and fucking 3/4 of a car left. The remaining chunk of car is now in my backseat. Happily, the car still runs, so I was able to drive off the damn highway and get to work. Sadly, I am now missing a huge piece of the fender, a headlight, and, oddly enough, the ability to spray my windshield. (Although the wipers still work.)

We picked up The Funasaurus’ car in the afternoon, and it began shimmying on our way home. We called right away, but they didn’t call us back for half an hour. At which point the shimmying had gotten worse, and all the service techs had conveniently gone home for the day.

Sure am glad we maxed out those credit cards.

We figured that was THREE, though, between The Funasaurus’ car, missing Christmas, and my accident.

Naturally, as soon as I went to bed, I began puking my guts out and shivering like a puppy at the vet’s. So I spent the night moaning and keeping The Funasaurus up with my bi-minutely trips to the bathroom.

It was the 24-hour flu, after all.

This morning the snow continued to fall, as The Funasaurus took his car back down to the dealership, shimmying and shaking down the same highway that I slid on, yesterday.

Here’s hoping these things happen in fours, now, and we’ve already filled our quotient for the year.

Princess Rainbows and Sunshine

Friday, December 21, 2007

Princess vs. The Snow

So here I sit. The bags are packed. The presents are wrapped and stacked, sitting on the kitchen table. Work is done, reports were sent, FedEx should pick up any second. The plan is to leave… soon-ish. We’re driving in to the mountains, to see a Christmas show, friends, and a quaint ski town.

Naturally, this is the first time in three weeks that the forecast is calling for snow. The flurries are falling, and threatening to grow heavier and thicker with each passing second. The universe, as always, can faintly be heard going “neener-neener-neener, sucka.”

The Funasaurus is still working, and Discount Tires’ wait list to put on snow tires grows longer with each fucking snowflake.

I have comfort-eaten my fair share (as well as The Funasaurus’ fair share) of all the varietals of chocolate that have made their way into our house this holiday season. Paired with the artic winds, dry air, and also maybe a few glasses of alcohol, my face has become dry and peel-y, as well as breaking out much the same way a 16-year old boy’s would after a Stuffed Crust Pizza.

It’s sexy.

I take solice in my newly reddened hair and darling new sweater.

The angle from whence you see the least amount of said acne, and also how THRILLED I am at having my picture taken this close-up.

On a model with considerably better skin and wearing a much cuter blouse. I am just not sure I will ever be cool enough to pull of yellow ruffles.

Anywhos. Please do your best Sun Dance for me, The Funasaurus, and my darling sweater. And also for my poor little Honda, seeing as how The Funasaurus’ car (you know, the one with all-wheel-drive) is in the shop. Or, at the very least, (or, perhaps, preferably) please do a little, May There Be Tasty, Tasty Wine, Wherever You End Up Dance.


Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The Season of Pleasure

On Monday night I met a girlfriend for Ethiopian food. It was, in a word, divine. I adore Ethiopian food, give me unidentifiable spicy mush on spongey, sour bread and I am a happy, happy girl.

The Funasaurus, on the other hand, does not exactly share my passion. Nay, he is more of a carnivore than omnivore, being repulsed by most any food-thing bearing a tinge of green. (Sour apple Jolly Ranchers excluded.) He also has a pointed aversion to some food-ish textures, particularly foods that fall in the nebulous gray area between “solid” and “liquid.”

Sadly, this means custard is out. Stew and most soups are poo-poo-ed. Jell-O is nasty and chocolate mousse induces his gag reflex. (WTF, Funasaurus?)

Anyway, you can see how an entire meal made up of unidentifiable variations of green mush piles is not really... Funasaurus-ideal.

But The Funasaurus was off to a meal at Outback (much more Funasaurus-appropriate) and my good friend who is a fellow foodie took me up on my suggestion to drive waaaaay out to the middle of nowhere strip mall (I stand by my conviction that the best food in America can be found in strip malls, normally squished between a laundromat and a bingo hall/Radio Shack) where we ate ourselves silly. She even let me order kitfo, which may be my favoritest food ever. EVER.

That, or dark meat chicken McNuggets… but since those are no longer available….

So Monday was pure bliss, and while kitfo often makes Ethiopian night + 12 hours a gurgly mess in my stomach, I did not have to visit the bathroom unexpectedly once on Tuesday, making the whole venture a raging success.

Then I braved the psychotic, tinsel-inducing freak show that is the mall parking lot, and went shopping last night. Mostly for Christmas gifts, but also I may have made a little detour through Anthropologie, my favoritest store ever. AndspenttwiceasmuchonmyselfasIdidonanyoneelse. I have an upcoming conference in January, and I recently came to the conclusion that despite a very large, overstuffed closet, I have Nothing to Wear. At All. Amen.

And it has been quite a long time since I went shopping for myself, especially for business-appropriate wear. I may have gone a little crazy. I may have found a hot dress, a darling sweater, and an even darling-er sweater. And also four or five shirts and one pair of pants that had a red pen stain on them but ohmylord they were originally priced at $138 and marked down to $29.99 so how could I not get them oh and also a belt and then I made friends with the sales girl and she gave me her e-mail address and I invited her to my New Year’s party.

Do run-on sentences make you breathless, as they do me?

I think it all just might have given me a little orgasm. I am a very, very satisfied material girl. I almost had to have a cigarette, walking out of the mall. Spread the cheer! ‘Tis the hap, happiest season of alllllllllllllll!

Much love and kitfo to you and yours.

Thursday, December 13, 2007


Y’all should have taken me up on my bet, yesterday!

Not two full hours after writing that post, taunting the universe (I never learn) I felt the familiar, mucus-y burn of post-nasal drip. (Ha ha, aren’t you pysched you came here to read THAT!)

It has escalated into random bouts of sneezing and glass-shards-in-my-throat feeling, and oh, damn you, viruses everywhere. Nobody loves you, and you will get coal in your slimey little viral stocking.

Who’s pouting about her sniffles?

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Jane Would Have Gotten a Flu Shot

We had our first book club meeting on Monday, to discuss Persuasion. The discussion was the perfect mix of literary, “The mood was very autumnal,” (go us with the big words that we all pilfered from the introduction!) scientific, “Second-cousins means your grandparents were cousins, but you are from the same generation, whereas ‘once removed’ refers to a difference in generation, ie: your mother’s cousin is your first cousin, once removed,” and gossipy, “I am having this romantic tryst with this guy I was in love with but then he got married but now he’s divorced I think and I’ve only ever met him for a week at a time because we met on a mission trip and he lives on the other side of the country. But I’m flying out to see him for the first time in ten years before next book group, so I will let you know what happens.”

Plus, I made mulled wine, and while other folks in the group daintily sipped a small cup, or just drank the tea I provided (come on, how are you not going to serve tea at a discussion of a Jane Austen novel?) I was chugging the mulled wine like it was a competition. So the discussion seemed very smart to me, especially by the time I was seeing double.

I got my wish and it snowed quite a bit over the weekend and yesterday, and Mother Nature laughed at my wish for Slippery Cold Variations on Water before changing out my summer tires for my studded snow tires. But I showed her, I sent my boss an e-mail bright and early saying, “Please, sir, may I work from home, today?”

And he wrote back, “Absolutely. I just went out to run to the store, and the roads are shit, I’d rather you not be out there.” So wOOt wOOt (official Word of the Year, according to Merrriam-Webster) I stayed in my pajamas all day yesterday, and I found it vaguely conducive to working.

And also napping.

Does anyone else feel like the days are even shorter than normal? I mean, is North America getting even more north-ish, or something? Because I think there’s all of about two hours of daylight, anymore, before it starts to get dark again and I am sleeping on average ten hours a night, and I am still able to take naps, here, folks!

On the other hand, this is the first year I have not gotten the flu, by now. Nor any little cold and sniffles bug that seems to be going around. I also did not get a flu shot.

Want to take bets on if I just jinxed myself?

Friday, December 07, 2007

Deck the Halls with Scotch Tape

It’s painful, really, how unexciting my life is these days. It finally looks like it’s going to snow at any second, which’d be nice, what with it being December, and WTF, Denver, with all the 70 degrees and whatnot? That’s not very Christmas-y of you.

(Though it is nice for tromping through the parking lot after dark- feels less ominous, somehow, when you don’t have to zip up your jacket.)

I am ready for Christmas! I hung lights, (yes, me! In clogs! Balancing on the hand railing, 12 feet above cement! Totally OSHA compliant… in BACKWARDS world.) have forced The Funasaurus to listen to Christmas carols, (although some people [*cough*CelineDion*gag*] should not be allowed to remake ANY holiday music) and wrapped pretty, red, fuzzy ribbon around our columns outside, to make them look like candy canes. And I used the ever-popular outdoor adhesive: scotch tape to stick them up there.

And then I was surprised when they fell down into little red fuzzy ribbon lumps.

I also commandeered The Funasaurus’ sister’s wreath, that her company sent her, and put it on our front door. Seeing as how she’s living with us rent free, I figured I had some say in what to do with the large box oozing pine needles and sap that was sitting in my living room. She tentatively suggested putting it on our coffee table as a centerpiece, and I took one look at the googly-eyed, mouse-deprived Tatum who was eyeing the pinecones with pure lust, and tried not to laugh in her face too hard.

I’m full of Christmas joy!

Anywhos, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Preferably after I get home, tonight, and don’t have to drive anywhere. But I’d be o.k. with a few flurries this afternoon, too. It just completes the feel.

Also, our annual New Year’s Eve party is fast-approaching, and we have yet to pick a theme. Generic, Happy New Year is the fall-back, but we prefer to go with something snazzier. Like last year we did a James Bond theme, what with it being 007. (2007.) So we had old black-and-white Bond films playing in the background right up until the countdown, and had a costume contest with prizes. And, naturally, martini makings.

Any suggestions for 2008? Winning ideas shall receive an invite to our fab, fab party (who am I kidding, I don’t care who you are, please come! We like people! There will be lots of alcohol!) and also lots of love from me.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Little Cabin in the Woods... With High Speed Dial-Up, Please.

This weekend I dragged The Funasaurus on what I called, “an adventure” and what he called, “an enormous waste of time and gas.”

I like to play a little game called, Let’s Pretend We Have Lots of Money and Also We Don’t Have to Work Anymore. And with that mindset, I scrounge around on real estate websites for my dream home. I found one last week and forwarded the link to The Funasaurus all, “Look baby, want to move to Golden?”

And he wrote back, “Despite what the address reads, if you look at the map, this house is closer to the summit of some very tall mountains, rather than downtown Golden.”

“Pshaw,” I said, “What do maps know?”

So after lunch on Saturday I offered to drive us home. And then I got on the highway going the wrong way. “Where are we going?” asked The Funasaurus.

“On an adventure,” I said, mysteriously, hoping he was envisioning fabulous voyages and fun shopping sprees. (Because I would have been totally up for that, after doing what I had in mind.)

“We going to see that damn house, aren’t we,” he said, less like a question and more like a statement of fact from a resigned husband who knows he’s just been kidnapped in his own car.

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” I demanded, looking around for clues. Like car gnomes, or something, might have tipped him off.

He shook his head, and let me drive him 40 minutes to Golden, then another 20 minutes up a windy mountain road to look at my darling little log cabin. Which was amazing, and had a really great view from EVERY angle. Though I fell a little less in love with it when I saw the bear carcass nailed to the north side of it.

“But at least your commute would be picturesque,” I attempted.

“Providing there was no snow on this high, alpine dirt road,” said The Funasaurus, eyeing the snowdrifts on either side of us, “It would take me at least what my commute is NOW, to get to the highway. Where I would then have to drive another 40 minutes, imagining there’s no traffic at 7:30 AM on the busiest highway in the state, to get to my office.

No thanks.”

So my dream was squashed, but it was fun to find a new road, nonetheless. I like new roads. And upon further inspection of the real estate link, there is not only a dead bear on the outside of the house, but a very large, dead elk head on their chimney inside. Which made me gag more than just a little. I like my meat in ground, neatly packaged, plastic containers with “free range” stickers that bear exactly zero resemblance to the cute little animals that they once were, thank you very much.

Plus, in retrospect, the cabin didn't have turrets. How is my dream home NOT going to have at least one little turret? So the search is still on.