Random Question to the Blogosphere

Does this sound like anything other than gibberish to anyone?

Naya naya tuk tuk tuk

Don't They Know I Need at LEAST Eight Hours of Beauty Sleep?

I am not learning my lesson. Probably because I am drunk every time a new learning opportunity presents itself. Sunday night I was told I didn’t need to be working until noon the next day. So I stayed out late, and ordered an extra cocktail. (and by “an” I mean “four… ish.”) At 7:59 AM on Monday I got a call, “Can you come down a little early and help?”

Glarg.

“Uh, sure. When?”

“NOW!”

I checked people in all day with my hair in a greasy ponytail and wearing the same clothes as I had been the day before. Hooray for first impressions!

That night I was told things didn’t begin until 9:00 AM the next day, so I again stayed out and only kept my alcohol consumption to a few glasses of wine…. And of course the orange liquor aperitif-thing the bartender bought us. At 7:00 AM on Tuesday I got a call. “Cat, can you just come down a little early since it’s the first day?”

I did manage to shower before scurrying downstairs.

Last night we were dining in South Beach. I sat next to a friendly guy on the bus and proceeded to share with him how I had scored a single room and had spent the weekend goofing off instead of working. Turns out he had scored a single, too. I guess he usually gets a single, too, being the president of the company and all.

.

Happily, our entire dinner proceeded to be an exercise in every HR violation imaginable, led by none other than my bus seatmate, so hopefully if I get fired there will be plenty of lawsuits to choose from to secure my future.

And then I went to bed after midnight. Again. I didn't need to be downstairs until 9:00 AM. Naturally, this morning I got a call at 7:00, the woman who normally covers the desk first thing in the morning was sick, could I come down and cover for her?

Maybe if I go to bed early tonight, I’ll finally get to sleep in tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll just order another Irish coffee. That tactic's been working well so far, minus the bloating and vague hallucinations that started this morning.

Party in the City Where I Work for a Week

So Miami is nice. I think I shan’t like to leave. I got in on Friday in time for “them” to announce they were ahead of schedule, and so we were taking the rest of the night off. I checked in and found out I was to have a roommate. Of course, when I walked into the room, it had a king bed in it. I went back down and was like, “I don’t mind sharing a room because, hello amenities! but I am a little unsure about sharing a bed. I mean, this girl and I haven’t even met, yet, and what if she’s a night sweater? I don’t know that I’d like inadvertently cuddling with sweaty strangers…." So now they are letting me keep the room as a single. Sa-weet.

Saturday we met around 9:00 to order room service breakfast, then we worked a bit, then we went to a THREE HOUR LUNCH wherein we consumed an inane amount of mojitos and yummy food on the beach before returning to do a bit more work. Then we split up and I took a nap on my five-million thread count sheets before reconvening for an evening of alcohol and expensive food.

My boss for the week is pretty much the kindest person ever, although I’m a little reluctant to call her my “boss” since really all she does is give me cute new chapsticks, sarongs, and massages. She’s more like my mom. Or maybe my pimp. Anywhos, she’s nice. And organized. And condones hard work supplemented by wine. Or vodka lemonades. And I condone that kind of thinking.

Today we woke up early (had to be at work by 8:00, wtf?) but room service was again ordered and we were done by 11:00 and so then we went to the beach. And I doused myself in SPF 50 and prayed and swam in the warmest ocean I’ve ever been in, and then reapplied sunscreen and sat for a bit in the sun and GUESS WHAT! I am a wee bit tan!!!!!!!! WHO KNEW I COULD GET TAN?! Not I. I am excited. Now, two hours later, it’s already peeling off. But let me assure you, I saw a hint of a tan line in the shower and I am super excited.

I did, unfortunately, forget my camera. Crap. But perhaps I will just stay here and have The Funasaurus and kitties move in with me. I think they’ll like the tan butler. And by that I do not mean he is tan. (Although he is.) I mean he’s there to rub coconut oil on you, on the private beach, if you so choose. I would so choose if I didn’t think I’d burn to a crisp.

This has been a good trip, so far.

Where Are You Going? Why Wouldn't You Want to Hear about My Dreams?

Things Never to Do Again:

Last night.

Last night was a weird combination of events. It started with yoga. I took myself to a more advanced class, in a total act of masochism. Naturally, the toughest teacher in the city was there to teach that night. The room smelled like B.O. before the class even started, there were so many people crammed in. Which made me feel good, because there’s anonymity in numbers. And I know yoga is supposed to be about your own personal journey and blah blah blah but of course I am totally comparing myself to my neighbor, and I know I’m not alone, given the number of times I’ve accidentally met my neighbor’s eyes in the mirror.

So class began, and I was terrified as my neighbors started contorting themselves. Not to be outdone (I was totally outdone) I began contorting myself, too. I don’t know if it was the delicious pomegranate acai yogurt flowing through my veins, or what, but I was happily surprised to find I was keeping up, more or less. (Mostly less.) I have never sweated so much in my life. I am surprised I didn’t look like dried fruit when I was done, I couldn’t understand how there was any liquid left in me. But I hung in there, and never once had to drop into Child’s Pose, which was a first for me.

We did lots of chest and heart-opening poses, and towards the end of class I noticed that some of the sweat on my cheeks and around my eyes was suddenly burning. So I wiped it away and it felt strangely satisfying to my eyeballs. That’s when I realized I was crying. But hadn’t realized it. Now THAT is a strange sensation.

So I got myself together, threatening I’d give myself something to really cry about. Like the fact that I am turning into SUCH A HIPPIE, good grief.

Then I got home and the DVR was freaking out again, so I called The Funasaurus to interrupt his workout to have him walk me through the fine art of tricking a piece of electronic equipment into letting you just watch T.V. And I sat there, happily watching bits of So You Think You Can Dance, until The Funasaurus got home. And then we proceeded to lay on the couches and whine about what to do for dinner.

Eventually, we decided to order out from a Greek place that makes fantastic gyro sandwiches. The delivery service said it’d be about an hour. It was actually an hour and a half. We had dinner at 10:30 last night. When we got our food, we dove in, and it was so good. I remember thinking at the time, “I need to announce on my blog that food tastes so much better late at night!” and that “We should do this more often!”

This morning I am amending that decision to “No, we will never do that again. Ever.” Because I had FUCKED UP dreams all night long. There was all sorts of weirdness going on, from deformed dolphins to washing fish with my favorite sweatshirt to bringing home live crabs to cook. There was lots of deranged marine life, is what I’m saying. And at one point I was pretty sure I was being suffocated to death, and had a panick attack in my dream because something was squashing me but I couldn’t figure out what, and so I woke up just enough to figure out it was The Funasaurus’ arm (he does have a nice strong forearm which is nice for lusting over and hanging on to in scary movies, but when it is carelessly draped across your midsection in a semi-conscious attempt at cuddling, it is… heavy.) So I threw off his arm violently, surprising the poor sleeping Funasaurus who had, up until that moment, thought he was being sweet and cuddly.

Me and my mutant dolphins’ll show him!

So anyway. This morning has been weird. I’m having trouble waking up completely, and somewhere in here I gotta pack, because I leave for Miami at o’butt-crack thirty tomorrow morning. And we’re headed to a family function this evening. Who has a family function on a weeknight, I ask you?

Shiny Things

Where should I wear my newly acquired peacock feather earrings?



I am not typically into feathers, or birds, or bits of animal as bits of wardrobe in general, but for the longest time I have harbored this strange craving for peacock feather earrings. I don’t know why. Then I found these on a good deal at a crafty store yesterday and… well. I couldn’t not get them. No peacocks died in the gathering of the feathers. But my fashion credibility might, if they are not worn carefully.

With WHAT does one pair iridescent feathers??? LBD? Iridescent shirts? Pajamas, as they are not fit to be worn outside the bedroom?

It's a Workout for Your Brain! (Kinda.)

I have made the executive decision to NOT go for a run this morning. I just don’t feel like it. Also, it’s hot out, already. And I went yesterday. And did I mention I just don’t feel like it? Plbthbthbth to you, exercise.

So I’ve been debating giving up my Facebook account recently. I am trying to be less-glued-to-my computer. After yesterday’s little fiasco and one small melt-down about JUST WANTING TO CHECK MY BLOG OMG, I have decided that perhaps my relationship with the internet has become slightly unhealthy. Who needs Facebook? Is it really that important? Sure, people’s pictures are nice to look at, but you don’t have to have an account. Plus, no one ever really updates their pictures, anyway. I just didn’t want to get left out of the party. Who knows what sort of wonderful things might get said on a generic social networking site that I would never hear of, otherwise? Turns out, not much. And so I thought that perhaps it was time to cut the cord.

Except this morning I got a message on Facebook from my old French sister. The one who lived in the south. I thought I had fallen out of touch with that family. I didn’t want to, it just happened. They were busy, I was busy, we weren’t necessarily as close as I was with some of my other French friends. But still, they were good people and I did a lot of growing up in their house. This one sister, in particular, just accepted me as another sibling and I was dragged (happily) into her circle, broadening my horizons in MANY ways.

Many.

Hee.

So I have taken it as a sign from the universe that I was meant to have a Facebook account. I accept my fate willingly, and submit that this is yet another reason that I could not possibly go for a run this morning. I have too much to do! Like obsessively check Facebook for hints of my past!

I wonder if she has a Flickr account…?

All I Got

Last night The Funasaurus was being all plan-y-ahead-y and whatnot, and was talking about his upcoming work week. Apparently he had a meeting in some remote building this afternoon and casually mentioned, “Maybe I should take my computer so that I can just finish working from there and not have to go back to the office.” I laughed at such a ridiculous idea, I mean, certainly he knows that I have dibs on his computer during the workday to email and blog and look up random crap on Wikipedia, right?

I was wrong.

Lo and forsooth (melodramatic? Wha?) THE COMPUTER WAS GONE THIS MORNING. OH and rue the day, however would I get through the day? Darn my husband and his efficiency and foresight and stuff.

So I have spent the day mourning the loss of my favorite electronic. I have been working, swimming, watering the plants, and playing with the cats. Also, tempting my company’s site blocker software. Hello, Blogger! (I did get my reports out first, Company Big Brother.)

I spent the weekend cowering in my dark and air conditioned house as the heat soared into the triple digits. The Funasaurus played volleyball for several hours midday and got a tan. I got sunburnt and withered when he opened the door to come inside. I was not made for this kind of heat. Happily, though, my rose bush appears to be made for *just* such a thing, and is busy sprouting out big ol’ rose buds right and left. That is the big excitement in my life. Non-dead bushes, HOORAY!

Princess-how-will-I-survive-in-MIAMI?! out.

Feel the Burn

So my computer has slowed down pretty significantly, recently, and I am quite sure it has something to do with the copious amounts of pictures (mostly of my cats. I am that girl.) that I have downloaded from my camera. And just leave sitting there, clogging up my hard drive.

Being scared of what the death of my computer could mean to my overall well-being and life happiness, I decided I needed to burn my pictures to CDs. Being lazy as shit, I still haven’t gotten around to doing that after six months of owning said camera. I keep banking on the fact that the universe couldn’t possibly hate me that much.

Then I remembered that the universe does, indeed, hate me just that much and so yesterday I just about had an anxiety attack and decided that something must be done. IMMEDIATELY. I began a long and grueling process of reading up on CD burners, and comparing prices online, and does Roxio really include a burner, or just all the cool stuff you can do to media files before and after you burn it onto a CD?

Then a vaguely smarter friend of mine called (and when I say he "called" I mean “I called him. After he refused to answer on gmail.”) and I asked what I should do and he was very kindly like, “Hey, idiot, I’m pretty sure your computer COMES with a CD burner.”

Me: “Der.”

Him: “sigh”

So it turns out my computer has had a little CD burner in it all this time! Who knew! How very exciting! I spent a good part of last night burning pictures onto CDs and labeling them in one of four colors of Sharpie that I happened to have, until I realized that the DVR was NOT recording So You Think You Can Dance, and MOTHERFUCKER, that is my favorite show and I hate when the DVR says it can’t record because its memory is too full when in fact THERE IS NOTHING ELSE IN ITS MEMORY I DEMAND A NEW UN-FUCKING-STUPID MACHINE.

See how the universe does still hate me? How I still have my pictures, I’ll never know.

So I deserted all of my CD burning efforts and began to watch So You Think You Can Dance. And it’s so not a new idea, but Will can continue to take his shirt off every week for me and I don’t care if the judges are now bordering on calling it gimmicky; that’s a gimmick that works for me!

Life is Good

Things I discovered this weekend that made my life infinitely better:

* Wall-E.



Think E.T. meets Johnny 5 meets the cutest kitten you have ever seen. I love him so, so very much. The kitty porn is gone from my computer’s backdrop, and has been replaced with the most darling little robot ever. EVER. You can get your own bit of cute robotic backdrop love here: http://disney.go.com/disneypictures/wall-e/

* Rachel’s Wickedly Delicious Yogurt.

Chai yogurt- ingenious! It’s all the probiotics you could want in a yummy, Christmas spice-y way. Why has this not been thought of sooner?

The pomegranate acai is worth mentioning, as well.

* How homesick I really am. I bought a shirt this weekend not because it is a flattering color on me, or a flattering cut. (Neither is true.) But it is the EXACT print that used to be on the underside of the umbrella on our patio in my childhood home. Kind of a garish yellow and orange print that had the unfortunate side affect of attracting bees to our picnic from very far off every time we opened it to have lunch. I intend on wearing it regularly, despite said lack of flatteringness.

Pictures to follow if I can actually find a picture of the underside of the umbrella from the patio of our childhood home. That might be asking a bit much.

Meanwhile the vacation’s over, work’s picking back up. And next week I fly to Miami for a business trip and work my ass off but get to stay in a nice hotel, so it’s an o.k. trade-off. I just wish The Funasaurus was going with me. Because I’m codependent like that. Plus, you know, it’s nice to have someone to… snuggle with, when one is staying in a fancy pants hotel with a fancy pants cushy bed.

Eating my Way Through Four Continents

It’s been quite the week of international cuisine, I realized, as The Funasaurus commented on the odd noises emanating from my stomach last night. The Funasaurus had to work late on Tuesday, so at the very last-minute I texted a fellow-foodie and we dropped everything to go out for Ethiopian. It was fabulous and I got to satiate my craving for kitfo. As every other time that I go to Ethiopian, our hostess seemed unsure as to whether we really meant RAW, raw when we said we wanted our kitfo raw. (How it’s traditionally served. Grow a pair and eat it the right way, the flavors are so much better. Salmonella-schmallowmonella.) We nodded vigorously, and said, “RAW.” When the seven tons of food appeared that we had ordered, we dove in. And made considerable progress. And then we started sweating a) from the heat b) from the vast quantities of raw meat bulging in our intestines. (Are you hungry, yet?)

Then the hostess came over, looked at the bit of meat left on our plate and was like, “You didn’t like the kitfo.” We reassured her that we did and that it was delicious. “No, you didn’t eat it,” she insisted. I swore it was my very favorite thing in the world (it is) and that we were just full. She shook her head and looked like she was about to cry. I tried to eat more to prove I loved it, but I was in agony, my stomach was about to explode. So I asked for a box and she dolefully told me I could leave the kitfo.

Normally, I do not get this much grief. (Normally, I don’t eat as many chickpeas, either, though. They were particularly tasty that night.) I was almost annoyed, I wasn’t lying and I hated that she refused to believe I had enjoyed myself. So I left a big tip and took home my doggie bag of flavorful raw meat. And am determined to eat nothing but raw meat when I go back next time to prove my point, digestive track be damned.

Wednesday night my Colombian friend had me over for dinner. His parents were in town and had made all of this traditional Colombian food. Some sort of meat so tender it actually melted in my mouth, fried yucca, and plantains. So good. Plus, we got into a nice heated discussion about whose language had more words (see how me = victorious HERE) and it made me realize just how much Spanish I don’t remember. Sad. I guess this is a good time to start watching telenovellas, again.

Then last night The Funasaurus had a very good day at work, so I told him we should get sushi to celebrate. I don’t know that he was particularly in the mood for sushi, but I sure was, so I peer-pressured him into deciding that’s what he wanted to eat, too.

And that’s the story of my international cuisine-y week. Plus, some leftover Nutty Bars that someone left at our house from a game night two weekends ago. I haven’t had those since I was a kid but, you know, they are really awesome.

Idle Hands

I am… slow at work. There. I jinxed myself. I shall (“I shall!” Who’s been reading Charlotte Bronte, recently?) have heaping piles of work come flowing in anon (oh, wait, that’s ME all up in my 19th century British Lit-speak, hallo) but for the moment all’s quiet. And I like it. I took a nap yesterday. I went for a run. Today I finished the last sixty pages of Jane Eyre, and am debating just re-starting it because it’s so damn good.

I scoured Flickr for more friends. I posted some pictures, and read a little in my Photoshop book. I clipped the cats toenails and changed a flat tire. (Or, more accurately, drove lopsided car to Discount Tires who FIXED IT FOR FREE!) I could clean the house, but eh. I’m not quite that bored, yet.

What do you do when you’re bored? I’m looking for non-chore-related inspiration, here.

Home Again

We’re back in Colorado. And it’s raining. And my rose bush is down to one flower and its leaves are turning purple. Did I kill it? Does it mean it’s been over-watered? Under-watered? Help.

Oh, I ended up getting my first cousins once-removed a coloring book, and a book about summertime. My mom totally trumped me with these little foam horse kit things, but hey. Maybe when the foam wears out (in 2092) they’ll be interested in the summertime book. It’s large print.

My little first cousins once-removed (it’s sad they are not less removed, it’s a pain to write that relation each time) are darling, and I am in love with them, and I am sad that they don’t live closer. I do believe there’s something to the whole “you can’t go home again” –thing, but this trip made me miss home a lot. They just love life so much right now. How do you not want to get in on this action?



If that isn't a picture of pure bliss, then I don't know what is.

Plus, here’s what I did instead of working.



Do you see the dark circles of freckles forming in blotchy spheres around my eyes due to mild contact with the sun and only SPF 50? Do you also see how I stuck to Dress Thursday even while I was away? Is anyone out there still participating in the revolution? I mean, some girls manage to wear cute skirts every day. I aspire to their wardrobes.

Nothing Like Waiting 'Til the Last Minute

I had a sub and a beer for lunch. And then I fell asleep in the shade of a butterfly bush. I was so not meant to work.

The Funasaurus flies in tonight, there is a bit of strawberry pie left, and there’s a slight breeze. Life couldn’t be better. Did I mention the rustling of the trees that sounds like a river coming from a long way off? Ah, summertime.

I have also been juggling mini crises at work in between bouts of eating and napping, so I feel vaguely like my life is not totally devoid of meaning to other people.

Tomorrow we head to D.C., I’m really hoping it doesn’t rain and cancel out the fireworks. I’m staying with my cousin and his family, which includes two little girls, ages two and four. I meant to bring them a little gift, but I am out of ideas. I did books last time. Any suggestions? I’m totally clueless as to what two and four-year-old girls want.

Keeping Up with Tradition

Some things DO stay the same. Like my grandmother’s house. The teacups have worn holes in the cupboards, they’ve been re-laid in the exact same way for so long. The rain smells the same, nothing can beat a summer rain on the east coast, all Earthy and warm. And moist. Upside: I no longer need lotion and chapstick. Downside: I think I’m growing mold in my armpits.

The cleaning lady is the same one who came every week when I was a kid. She’s been working for my grandmother for more years than I’ve been alive. Of course, she’s technically retired now, being SEVENTY and all, but you try telling my grandmother that you will be disrupting her routine. You’d still be working for her, too.

Not that the cleaning lady has slowed down at all. She still hugs me tightly, and then I go upstairs to find ALL MY CRAP fondled and rearranged, even though I was perfectly content with the way I had left it, and she threw out my bag that I had my shampoo and stuff in, and NOW how am I going to get it home without it exploding all over my suitcase? It’s not like plastic bags are a dime a dozen.

Oh, wait.

But still, it annoys me as much as it did when I was five and found my very carefully crafted pile of twigs all messed up and sitting in a Tupperware. HOW DARE SHE.

Grandmom and I had a leisurely dinner, complete with candles, and we discussed her wedding. And my wedding. And confused the two, but it was o.k. because we were both tipsy from the cheap wine I had added to the meal.

Meanwhile I met up with an old friend last night. I was just going to go meet her for a quick post-dinner snack, since I had work to do. Naturally, we stayed out four and a half hours just talking at the TGIFridays, until we closed the place down. Then spent another hour in my car. I came home around midnight, and decided not to try to re-enter my aunt’s house to get some more work done, what with them having set the alarm and all.

But my friend did tell me a funny story, that I absolutely must share. I was telling her that I was re-falling in love with Jane Eyre, and as a fellow 18/19th-century-British-lit.-lover, we exclaimed dramatic sighs and began comparing the Brontes and Austen and Elliot. And then she told me about how she had this lovely Austen-esque experience at my wedding, and it just made me melt with happiness. She was one of my bridesmaids, and her dress was very Austen-inspired. It was cool and overcast on my wedding day, much like springtime on an English moor (or so I imagine, never having actually seen an English moor, myself) and apparently she was one of the few people braving the temperature to take in all the greenery from the patio at our wedding. So in her Austen-esque dress, with her curls being pulled out of her bun in the cool wind, a tall, handsome man came up behind her and said something to the effect of, “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” with a perfect British accent. (El, it was SO your fiancé. Bear in mind, my friend is a happily married woman.) But in that moment she said it was all she could do to not whip around and be all, “MR. DARCY?!”

The End.