Thursday, January 31, 2008

Completely Not Subtle Attempt at Procrastination

I am working from home today so that the phone company can come install another phone line, so that I can move home, permanently, soon. Huzzah!

However, this puts me in a bit of a conundrum. When I am at work, I work. When I am at home, I look around at the mountain of mail, the random cords, cat toys, tissues, and iPod accessories, dust bunnies, laundry, bills, and bits of paper and articles I have saved/cut out to put into a scrapbook, and think, “Perhaps I should attend to all that before I start in on these spreadsheets for work.”

And before I know it, it’s 10:15 and I have successfully updated my scrapbook and am covered in glue (I still get a kindergarten-esque amount of joy from peeling it off my skin) and sparkly-pen and have not really done very much work.


Working from home may be trickier (but more glitter-filled!) than I realized.

Meanwhile, we got more snow last night, so I used that as an excuse to not go to yoga and to order out for dinner, instead. Also, I am really sick of the snow, and since I don’t have a ski pass this season, I really see no need for it. What happened to Global Warming, man?

Friday, January 25, 2008

The Snack Gods Are Pissed


I know it is odd to post twice in one day, especially what with not having posted for a week, but this afternoon was just too good not to share.

Let’s see. Where to start.

It all started with my exceedingly poor meal-planning skeelz, when I grabbed an apple and an Uncrustable out of the fridge this morning, and assumed that would be enough to get me through the day.

More like 10:00 AM. After I went in at 9:30.


I have been very hungry, all day. And so around 3:30, I finally told myself, “Self, you should not have to go hungry just because you are an idiot. You have change in your wallet. Go buy yourself a snack out of the snack machine that you recently discovered in the basement of this building.”

(Me lurking in the basement of a random office building while I should have been running spreadsheets, recently, is an altogether different story. But, happy day! I discovered the snack machine. So it was a useful… alternate use of my time.)

So I poked around in the nether regions of my purse (dirty!) and found several quarters, two nickels, and a dime. I was prepared! I had exact change! I was craving sugar, and I could swing the finest refined stuff there was! So I took the only elevator that goes to the basement, and there, like a beacon of golden yumminess, were Grandma’s Oatmeal Raisin cookies in C3. So I dutifully poked the right number/letter combination, it said, “INSERT 60 CENTS” and I did. And then it said, “25 cents.” And I was confused, as to whether it thought I still needed 25 cents, or if it thought I had only put 25 cents in.

Soft, chewy cookies (plural! There are TWO in a package, oh holy day) are not often found in a dingy snack machine, so I decided it was worth the extra change and put in another quarter. And then another. And then my only dime. And it still read “25 cents” and nothing was happening. So I pushed the lever to return all the money I had put into the damn machine, for it was more than a bill (as in a dollar bill) at that point.

Nothing. So I put in a nickel. Because we’ve already established I’m an idiot. Nothing. So I tried to shake the machine a bit, because I really wanted those fucking cookies.

I may have even body slammed it.

I finally gave up, it was still glaring, “25 cents” and I gave it the finger and sadly went back upstairs, poorer and cookieless.

I almost made it an hour before I could not stand the indignity, and I decided I would treat myself to something chocolatey at Panera, the only decent snack-ish place within walking distance of my office.

I even know a sneaky back way which makes the whole trip much shorter.

Naturally, I ran into a mother fucking coyote.

In the fucking TECH CENTER.

We were, I believe, both surprised.

I backed away slowly, and the (rather large, somewhat-mange-y) animal looked away, I guess because I am not all that threatening looking. Or appetizing. Whatever. I decided not to question.

And then I took the longer but more traffic-y route to Panera. Where I asked for a chocolate chip bagel with butter. And I got it in a nice little, warm bag, and took it back (via the long route) to the office to discover that they did not actually butter my now stone-cold bagel, but just threw in a little pad with a plastic knife so that I might butter a tiny corner of one of the frozen halves, myself.

But I showed them. I ate the whole thing, anyway.

And then I logged on to Facebook to see if anything exciting was happening, and I clicked on the friends part, and it was about to say, “You have no friends online within the last 5 minutes” but it froze in the middle of loading the page, and fucking Facebook told me, “You have no friends….”

The end.

Or, I Could Start (!) Drinking, Instead

Gah! I know, I suck. But work has been expecting me to work, recently, and it is really getting in the way of my good times.

I keep telling myself I am worth more than all the spreadsheets in the kingdom (let’s call it what it is [and yet sadly it’s not MY kingdom, and sheesh, what’s the point?]) but the steady paycheck IS nice so I stick it out for another week.

Plus, the absent boss and work-from-home flexibility is pretty awesome. I think I’m just sad because The Funasaurus is away on business. He has been gone for almost 24 hours, OMG, and I am not sure what to do with myself because apparently I am just that codependent.

Well, except, I did watch a Divine Design marathon AND go to yoga last night. That was pretty awesome. For some reason The Funasaurus always vetoes Divine Design as a viewing option despite a) the on-going writers strike, which, hasn’t it been, like, a decade, now? and b) the very, very long queue of unwatched episodes on our DVR. Happily for you, baby, there are only two left. I watched and deleted all the rest. Sadly for me, this probably means I opened up a whole bunch of space to DVR random sports-related crap.

We got an invite to go to the National Western Stock Show tonight, and as much as I like seeing hicks being thrown about violently by recently-taser-ed animals as much as the next girl, I do not own a cowboy hat, nor belt buckles large enough to rival the shields at the Renaissance Fair. And also I don’t like dust. So, meh. I’ll pass. Pass the pinot and arugula salad, please.

Friday, January 18, 2008

My Life: In a Few, Incomplete Sentences

So one of the things that happens, when you put the on-going stream of gay unicorns and varietals of cabernet that are running through your freakish little mind into written format on the world wide web is that… people can read your thoughts. And sometimes it’s witty strangers and you’re like, hey, cool, she digs my incessant drivel. And sometimes it’s old friends that you haven’t heard from in ten (or more) years and you’re like, Hi. Now you finally know it’s true. I’m vaguely crazy. Aren’t you glad we reconnected on MySpace?

Sometimes they turn out to be people whose opinion you really cared about.



I’m feeling shy.

For the first time in, like, ten (or more) years.


But who am I to let a little shyness get in the way of my verbal diarrhea?

So to catch all you people up who knew me an a less-princess and more awkward-pre-teen-with-really-awful-bangs stage, here’s the low-down on what I’ve been up to.

I got out of California as fast as my dinky learner’s permit allowed and went to college in Colorado. I was the one holding a purple water gun in every single one of the graduation pictures, while all of my fellow graduates held up their diplomas. It made my mother proud.

After graduation, I took my very expensive English degree up to the mountains and sold my soul for a ski pass. And then I learned Spanish. And lived in a log cabin. And had a dog that could eat your dog for a snack. She also could retrieve rather large trees that she found floating in partially-frozen mountain lakes. She was pretty awesome. Unfortunately, me and my delicate immune system and lack of interest in hiking for hours on end in sub-zero temperatures did not… do it for her. So she went to live with the ex-boyfriend. Sigh. I thought we could be very happy in our cute little loft in Denver, but apparently there weren’t enough moose to chase in our 900-square-foot cement apartment.

Then I finally got The Funasaurus drunk enough on cheap beer (after having had a crush on him for, oh, SEVEN YEARS) that I made a move, confident that he was too inebriated to get too far. Then he made an honest-ish woman of me and we started dating and promptly shacked up for a couple of years.

Then I had the boss from hell and he got us both fired, and I handled that quite gracefully.

Fortunately, I’m not bitter at all.

Anywhos. Then The Funasaurus and I got married, and I found I really like wearing a princess dress and having a day all about ME. I want to do it again. Like, daily. I just don’t want to deal with all the planning, and whatnot.

Marriage suits me. We do a lot of sleeping in and watching movies together. We spend a lot of times with our cats, because we have bitchin' social lives. Sometimes I pick The Funasaurus’ nose and then put my finger in his mouth when I feel his attention is, perhaps, not as focused as it should be on whatever it is that I am blathering on about. He loves that. Fortunately for me, there’s a legally binding document, now, that says getting rid of me will be even more annoying than being fed your own boogers, so he’s stuck.

We eat a lot of sushi, and I drink a lot of wine, and sometimes pretend to go to yoga. Like last night. When I am pretty sure I caught the instructor LAUGHING AT ME. What happened to “it’s all about my personal journey,” huh? What if my journey in half pigeon looks more like I’m just sitting there? So what? Asshole. (Oh, and by the way, I WILL drink water when I’m thirsty, so suck it.)

Um. That’s about it. I still like pink. And presents. Feel free to send me presents anytime. Oh, also, I am still into cheese, and I got a great fortune and am basically biding my time in publishing until it comes true.


(How come, when I write that, it looks more like I’m telling you what program I used to write this entry than gangsta for “peace out?”)


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Hucked on Fonix Kid!

Really? No one thought to mention to me that I spelled "warfare" "warefare"???

Are you all laughing at me in cyberspace? Someone should start another blog called, "Princesses Cannot Fucking Spell." Becawz I wud laik tew subskraib tew it.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Psychological Warfare with a Seemingly-Stupid Cat

Yesterday I was exhausted all day long. And I had no reason to be so tired, since technically I got, like, nine hours of sleep. However, this morning as I rolled over and came face to face with ol’ googly eyes, himself (hi, Tatum!) I had a sudden recollection of what perhaps caused said exhaustion. Somewhere around 4:00 in the morning Tatum gets snuggly. (Or cold. I prefer to think of it as his own little twisted variation on “affection”) And he likes to crawl under the covers and nestle into my armpit. (Apparently his sense of smell, much like his brain, is underdeveloped.)

Normally I indulge this moment, despite its oddly consistent bad timing, because Tatum is not really affectionate, otherwise. Unless you are a faux mouse. In which case his love is obsessive and unyielding. And also violent. So anyways, there is often elbow crease/armpit kneading involved, which usually makes my arm look like hamburger meat, but I know it comes from a loving place so I tolerate it. (Now that I think about it… aren’t there hotlines for this?) And since I was gone for ten days, Tatum has been making up for his lack of cuddling time by going extra strong with the claws and the snuggling and whatnot. And when you are woken up at 4:00 AM and forced to endure what feels like a tattoo gun but does not yield any sort of aesthetically-pleasing result for half an hour on your inner bicep, your sleep cycle gets a little… fucked, man.

End story: I felt Tatum coming over to snuggle this morning, and I was like, “Ah-hah! I am so tired, I shall ignore his tiny mews and pokes and roll over and continue to sleep like a normal person!” And sure enough, Tatum came over and pawed at the sheet I was clinging to tighter than duct tape, and I felt the paws and mews get more frantic, going from, “Mew?” to “Rrrow!” to “You’re going to regret this, jackass,” and then he poked me in the eye with his talons.

So he got booted from the bedroom, and to punish me for my decision, he ignored me for the rest of the morning, following The Funasaurus around like a sweet, pet-able little shadow, and when The Funasaurus left for work, he sat by the door CRYING, sobbing, as though his hateful little eyeball-poking heart was breaking.

The bandage on my left eye socket has rendered me less than sympathetic.

Meanwhile I stopped at Starbucks on the way in to work for an overpriced, yummy, decaffeinated froo-froo drink, and am feeling more human, both in eyesight and awakeness. Now I need to get back to work before my boss decides to poke me in the other eyeball.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Time Keeps on Turning, and I am Dizzy

I know I’ve been gone a long time, and I resolve to do better in the future. (Ha! How’s that a nice set up for failure? My subconscious is already going, “Nay, I shan’t… and you can’t make me, plbthbthbth.”)

But I had a hectic week, eating my way through San Francisco’s most scrumptious food, and drinking even more. And not just alcohol! No, I deviated far enough from my daily mainline of cabernet to squeeze in some Thai iced tea, French limonade, and, of course, my new favoritest thing EVER. EVER.


Besides mochi. Which is my newest, favoritest thing ever. Chewy dough wrapped around ice cream. It took many tentative bites, but I suddenly fell deeply in love.

Anywhos. The last week has consisted not just of stuffing my face silly… there was another (tiny) percent of my time that was spent working (hard-ish) meeting up with old friends and my brother and sister-in-law, and sightseeing my ass off. The sad part about seeing people you really, really love is the fact that you realize they live very far away. And seeing them in person is infinitely more satisfying than keeping up with them on e-mail, MySpace, blogs, and FaceBook. (Because, yes, I just went and joined the latter. If you’ve been pestering me about it for awhile, well… I’m there, now. Because just about every cool person I know is on it, and I was terrified I was missing out on something. So far, it reminds me of a watered-down MySpace. YES, I said it. Prove me wrong.)

So I was set to fly home, yesterday, desperate to see The Funasaurus, so naturally my flight was delayed an hour for No Good Reason. I did make it home, and it turns out there’s a SUSHI restaurant in our neighborhood now (hence the mochi discovery) and OMG. We are going to have to default on our mortgage, because I do not see how we will be able to afford the roof over our head AND such a convenient sushi habit. And, well, we have priorities.

So far, I weigh significantly more in 2008 than I did in 2007. That’s about all that’s changed. Oh. That, and I’m driving an infinitely newer and hybrid-i-er car! WHEEEEEEE!

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Little Dab'll Do Ya. ... But I Took a Big Dab

Hello, I’m drunk. I have made up for any lack of alcohol consumption from last night by over-indulging tonight. Three glasses of wine. One large glass of Grand Marnier. Some more wine to wash it down with. I haven’t been this… unstable on my feet-ish in a long-ass time.

(Does “long-ass” require a hyphen? Shooting Star- HELP! I can’t find it in the Chicago Manual of Style….)

So anyway. I drank a lot tonight. I ran a lot of spreadsheets. I continue to believe Voss is a little slice of 8 fluid ounces of ecstasy in an overpriced glassy bottle.

My boss tricked me into drinking regular Grand Marnier because I thought it was Centennial shit, and who I am I to let 100 year old alchol go to waste? So I chugged it, only to realize it’s only, like, 10 years old, and fuck, my head hurts.

The transcendental music on the TV is tripping me out, and while I could change the channel to something more MTV-ish, I can’t find the remote, I think because my drunken foot kicked the damn remote under the bed (undirected by my head, mind you) and it hurts to get that inverted to search for it… so under the bed it shall stay, and I shall sit here hating the weird bubbles and la la la stemming from the tube.

My life is rough. Also, dinner cost $2,700. Who knew I could eat that many scallops and fois gras and sherry reduction blah blah? (Well, me and 10 other people.) Plus wine. Ooh, there was lots of wine. I don’t know how any of it tasted, since I was drunk, but I imagine it was good. My stomach feels like it’s going to blow apart in a B- horror flick way.

That’s about it for today. I have a $25 polish change scheduled for tomorrow at the fancy-pants hotel where I am staying. (Their poor taste in la la music is compensated for the bottles of Voss lying around hither and thither) Normally a polish change is, like, $5 for those of you who don’t know.

Whatever. I’m getting black nail polish put on by a professional, so suck it, Lauren from The Hills, who applies her own. ... I think. There’s a black and white ball tomorrow. I figure I can go trendy goth (oxymoron?) since I’m going to need some inner strength to get through the night before the alcohol kicks in. I think they might frown on Jamo shots at a black and white ball. But I don’t care. I’d like to see them catch me in my flowy, perhaps slightly-too-revealing-dress-for-work in their rented tuxedos. Wish I hadn’t over-eaten, for the third night in a row, for the back-less gown.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

2008 is off to a Good Start

I am sick.

There is no other explanation. I just left a party early. A party. A party with FREE ALCOHOL and lemon meringue tartlets.

WTF is wrong with me?

Well, there was a decadent hotel room complete with bubble bath waiting for me. And also an infinite number of spreadsheets, that I’d like to complete before 3:00 in the morning. (Obviously, taking a break to write on my blog whilst sipping Chardonnay is a great way to efficiently reach that goal.) My social skeelz are plummeting, but I care not, for if you were to sleep in this bed, oh, you would want to go to bed at granny-early, too.

In happier news, following up my last e-mail of joy and sunshine… The Funasaurus and I indulged a dream, and with some creative financing, we have procured ourselves this:


A Civic hybrid. It makes me happy to think about it. And bless his ever-trusting soul, The Funasaurus even lets me drive it. Immediately after we drove it off the lot, we proceeded to joy-ride around the greater Denver area for no reason at all, spewing our energy-efficient exhaust willy-nilly, and marveling at our Jetsons-like dashboard.

Sadly, I had to leave the dream behind, as we partied like rock stars into 2008 with our annual Funasaurus party, and then I woke up four hours later and went to the airport for my business trip to San Francisco.

And thus, here I sit, once again in the lap of luxury, running spreadsheets until my eyeballs bleed.

Fucking why I haven’t I ever had THIS before? Because it is my new favoritest thing EVER. A) It’s so pretty. B) It’s stupidly expensive. C) It tastes so yummy. (If water can be yummy.) So can you just imagine how my little heart leapt with cracked-out joy when I discovered it’s also from Norway?? Oh yes. Artesian H2O directly from Scandinavia, specifically the country I intend to reign over somewhat benevolently, someday. I am in heaven. And drinking many (recyclable? Eh, it’s iffy) bottles of beautiful water daily. Between glasses of Chardonnay.

Get yourself some. You will not be disappointed.

Thus I spake.