God Bless You, Buddy!

I Was Almost Waiting for the Bunny to Gag from the Ridiculousness of It All

There is nothing in the world more adorable than kittens. Except maybe baby deer. I am a sucker for those really oversized eyeballs. Thus, I give you something so sweet it will rot your teeth:

Who Have We Become?

I spent Saturday scrapbooking and playing cards with my mother because I’m apparently skipping my young adult life and jumping straight into middle age. Today I drowned the loss of my youth in cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory with a girlfriend, and felt oddly happy about the whole thing…there wasn’t even any wine.

Shit, supposedly I’m not even thirty for another month.

I am, quite seriously, contemplating a nose ring. I feel as though working from home would allow me the flexibility to experiment with this typically questionable workspace-appropriate form of self-mutilation. I’m thinking a little blue sparkle above my right nostril. Something a little more permanent than the aftermath of sniffing my blueberry scented glitter pen. (As unintentionally effective as that is.)

I am also feeling robbed of an hour of my weekend with this whole spring forward B.S. Why can’t they ever do it at, like, 4:00 on a Monday afternoon? Because then it would *POOF* magically be time for happy hour! That would be ideal. I shall put a letter to Mr. Obama on my to-do list, as I’m sure the nuances of daylight savings time comes a close second to our tailspinning economy on his list of priorities.

In other less-exciting (to me) news, The Funasaurus beat his post-apocalyptic game tonight, wherein he has spent the last many nights and weekends of 2009 attempting to liquefy half-naked people wielding small knives with his super-soaker-esque automatic weapons and heavy artillery. I did not…approve, although it seems to make him quite happy, and he’s still trying to convince me they were out to kill him. He told me he saved some children somewhere along the way, so I let him continue to play. The win was bittersweet, though, as somewhere in the excitement and remote-hurling the sound function was lost on his Playstation, and so the ending came in silence, and if there was a song of victory, he missed it. I would ask for a moment of silence for his loss, but I think The Funasaurus is OVER silence, and is looking for some action-packed soundtrack music, already.

Baby, this one’s for you.



You really should read my blog more often.

Eastern Philosophy

I spent Saturday meditating with my boss. We actually drove to Boulder for a little retreat thing-y. I feel as though it would have gone better had I not A) fallen asleep and B) thought to eat something before I went. A rumbling stomach in a room full of Very Serious and Very Silent Hippies is akin to a frat party in a graveyard. I was a little nervous Buddha himself was going to come back for another life just to sush me.

Happily, my boss is forgiving, I think the fact that she had a raging case of pinkeye led her to be slightly less judgmental overall, and the day was deemed a success. I sped home with all of my newfound nirvana to hit the bars to celebrate a friend’s birthday that night. Gotta ying that yang.

Global warming is upon us here in Colorado, and as I read the news about all of my beloved East Coast being blanketed in several feet of snow, I have opened up the windows to let some of this glorious 70+ degree sunshine right in. The house was getting a little stale. While this is devastating for our snowpack and mountains, I have decided to be very zen about the whole thing (maybe Buddha did make an appearance?) and embrace this t-shirt weather. It makes it easier knowing that I have been too busy throwing baby showers and channeling Buddha to ski recently. I think if I was up in Summit County I’d probably cry.

Royal Baking Lessons

Apparently if you leave shit in the oven too long, it not only cooks to be very well done, but it mutates into something brand new, entirely. I was…not expecting that, when I discovered the oven had been left on yesterday. Who’s hungry for overcooked rolls? Apparently I wasn’t, as I had forgotten all about my damn baking project, and only realized perhaps something’s wrong when an odd smell finally made me gag, whilst sitting in my office.

Crisis somewhat averted. The damage to the oven is still unknown, but it appears to be in normal working order, so that’s good.

Meanwhile I’ve taken to eating string cheese and microwaveable things. Fortunately, The Funasaurus is a good sport and just laughed at me, instead of divorcing me for nearly bringing the house down with toxic fumes.

We are strong, if somewhat ill. At least it was warm enough today to open some windows and get some fresh air in the house.

Tatum and Sugar seem to have not noticed, happily, and continue to be obsessed with a new toy I brought home from the pet store. It kind of looks like a raccoon tail at the end of a string. What’s funny is Sugar has gone all jungle cat on it, and pounces about frantically, and gleefully drags it all over the house, raccoon fur flying everywhere. Tatum, on the other hand, has gone metrosexual on us, and when he manages to extricate it from Sugar’s Fangs of Death, he just wraps his legs around it and washes it and washes it and washes it, until the colors are just so and the tireless grooming finally makes the raccoon rings line up neatly. I’m debating getting him a man bag the next time I’m at PetCo and/or Nordstroms.

I Had a Life This Weekend. That's Something.

How is it not still Friday afternoon? This was one of the fastest weekends of my life. I’m not quite sure where all the time went, and I’m pretty sure I was awake and sober (enough) for most of it. I went out for dinners, I went to game nights, I went to surprise parties, I hosted a baby shower (no chocolate was injured on my watch), and all-in-all, had a nice time. I just wish I could have sat down somewhere in there.

My cold is mostly gone, my back is feeling much better, I just now have some wretched, wretched cramps. So help me but if you try to tell me that PMS is a social construct I will cut you.

In happier news, I ate at an awesome restaurant on Friday. Fresh, affordable Indian food—super yummy. If you live anywhere near I-25 and Arapahoe, I highly suggest going to Bombay Bowl. They are basically an Indian version of Chipotle, and I haven’t been so excited about a new restaurant in a very long time. Go! Thank me later.

Mmm, Wine

As I headed into week three of my head cold, I decided that I could no longer use The Sniffles as an excuse to be a complete and utter lump, and finally made it over to run on the treadmill at my sister-in-law’s house. About seven minutes into my jog, I felt an odd sensation. My entire back was seizing up. I jumped off the treadmill (and here I use the term “jump” loosely, because what I did really more resembled “bailing in an exceedingly ungraceful way”) and limped home like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, were he more petite and muscle-less.

By the afternoon I had exhausted my supply of people to whine to in the middle of a weekday, so I sucked it up and went to the store for some extra-strength Alleve. Which I’ve been popping like candy ever since.

I have taken this as a very serious sign from the universe that I am not to jog ever again. I wish the sign wasn’t so painful and long-lasting.

Um. Mostly that’s it. This week has mostly been about whining and canoodling back rubs out of my husband. I took a break from the pills yesterday to go to a happy hour with a girlfriend, and found that enough Pinot Noir can hold its own against any sort of OTC painkiller. I was relaxed and happy and more flexible than ever last night!

Sadly, hangovers are kind of not really great at all for back pain. I found solace, again, in the Alleve this morning.

Also, this I decree: I think I am giving up on The Office. It’s a funny show, but I’m really fucking sick of them only bothering to air a new episode every third week. I don’t love it that much. I hear 30 Rock is better, anyway.

Cuteness Prevails

Further evidence that the handful of functioning synapses in Tatum’s brain don’t always connect: today Tatum fell twice and ran into at least one wall. Once fall was this morning, into the shower, while it was on. Tatum does not like it when we get in the shower, and makes his disapproval known by sitting on the bathtub edge in between the shower curtain and the liner and pawing at your shadow. And then licking the liner. As I don’t feel this is the most nutritionally sound decision he could be making, I often yell at him, which causes him to pause momentarily and then go back to pawing harder. Today he pawed so hard I felt him land on my feet, just as I was rinsing shampoo. He was gone before I could rinse the suds from my eyes.

After I screamed, I peeked around the curtain to find him looking very surprised and a little damp. It took him about ten seconds to recover before I felt him pawing at the shower curtain liner again.

This afternoon he fell off my desk while attempting to clean himself while balanced on my day planner. It was not a normal cat fall, where they somehow manage to land on all four feet and sulk away to wallow in their I-meant-to-do-that recovery. Tatum fell on his butt, taking a mess of papers and day planner with him, and then sat there looking surprised, again, for the second time today.

At least he’s cute.

Speaking of awesomely cute, I saw Coraline this weekend. I am a sucker for gothic-y, stop-animation movies anyway, (love me some Tim Burton) but this one was one of the best I’ve ever seen. I was nervous about getting vomit-y with the 3D glasses, not having the best equilibrium in the world, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I am excited at the advancement in 3D technology from the blue and red glasses days. The movie totally tapped in to some long-lost little girl fantasies, other worlds and all that. I loved it. And I love the animations. And I love a heroine who doesn’t need a romance to make a good story. (As much as I like romance, I’ve read enough Twilight recently to get my fill.)

I will also admit that I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic this weekend. It was…not great. The book was only o.k., and the movie was nowhere near as good as the book. It was choppy, the romance was not very well developed or understandable, and I don’t understand why they kept dressing Isla Fischer in dead bits of Muppets. Even she looks horrified. She knows she’s prettier than that. The clothes (dead bits of Muppet aside) were fun to look at though, and Jeebus but let’s put THIS GUY in more movies with lots of slow close-ups, hmm?

Why I Love the Internets

If you like to watch good commercials:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM

If you are a word nerd:
http://savethewords.org/
(There was a stiricide incident on a recent episode of the office. I just had no idea there was a name for it!)

Mostly I love this site for their usage of the words in a sentence.

Perantique: adj. very old or ancient
ex. Your momma is so perantqiue, she knew Burger King when he was just a Burger Price.

HA! So. Awesome.

If you are looking for more koalas and or news-ish stories, (although this one made me cry):
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25038852-2862,00.html

Um. That’s it. I thought I had more, but I am still weepy over the little thirsty koala. Also, I can't shake this cold, and am kind of digging day 12 of the Dayquil. It just gets better and better.

Stories That Would Be Better with Less Explanation

I got an email today that I really wish had not been a “reply to all” so much as “New Title"d because it would have been way awesomer out of context. It came to me from somebody I don’t know (Did I mention I joined the homeowner’s board for my little corner of the neighborhood? Because I did. Which vaguely translates to a watered-down version of high school student council for everyone who was so not cool enough to actually get voted into a nominal, gossipy position of almost-no-power-at-all 20 to 40 years ago.) and the entire email read:

Thank you Jeannette.
Thanks you! Mark.

It was a thankful email, full of names I don’t know. It just made me feel like the universe was encouraging the appreciation of random strangers. Hello, you, person! Thank you. Thank you Ginny, Alistair, and Edwina! (Apparently the strangers in my brain are all about eighty-nine.)

In truth, it was a thank-you note to a contractor sent from a person who’s also on the board, whom I have yet to meet, who forgot that his automatic email signature would provide a nice parallel structure to his message.

Totally not as awesome a story as the universe's sudden interest in gratitude.

I also feel like I was violated a bit by not one but TWO cats today. First, I went for a jog on my sister-in-law’s treadmill. Being worn out from almost ten full minutes of doing something that looked like a drunken power walker, I sat briefly to cool off. Her normally aloof cat came running over to stuff her nose into all my sweaty bits, including my crotch. After four years of running in crazed fear if I got within her twenty-foot comfort zone, I felt like this was maybe rushing our physical relationship just a tad.

Then, as I sat here typing, I felt the gentle kneading on my scalp that The Funasaurus knows to break out as foreplay because it feels so good it’s practically orgasmic. Except then my giddy little brain was like, “Um, Funasaurus = not at home.” So I glance at the back of my chair and come weirdly close to the uber-dialated, googly eyes of Tatum, going nuts in my ponytail with his paws. It felt so wrong. And I had to re-do my ponytail, so double loss right there.

This post took a weird turn. Come back next week.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeee

http://jezebel.com/5146381/happy-hump-day

That does it. I'm moving to Australia.

Don't Worry, I Read the Second Book This Afternoon

It was a busy weekend from going to jewelry parties (no thanks, I’m here for the free wine, quit with the sales pitch, already) to going to baby showers (anyone who thinks that it’s a good idea to waste a perfectly good candy bar in order to make it look like fecal matter in a diaper that will only end up in a landfill anyway does not share my affinity for candy bars… or my affinity for not discussing poop) to watching the Superbowl (yay for good friends, I did not even have to bust out book #2 of the Twilight series to keep myself entertained) to playing bridge with my parents (Jeebus, I’m old) to kissing The Funasaurus.

That last item may not seem monumental to you, but I typically do a lot of Funasaurus smooching, and I have cut myself off for the last WEEK because he came down with a bit of a sore throat and a cold and I had no desire to partake in that crap. Sunday we deemed him “fine enough” and got back to the kissing already. Monday I woke up with a sore throat. Happily, this germ has not been debilitating so much as annoying, so I’ve been chugging tea and eating soup for lunch. Wheee. My life is awesome.

Actually, it did get pretty awesome last night when I went out for Ethiopian. Good lord, but I love Ethiopian food. It was really well prepared, too. I wanted to go back tonight. But we’re refraining, and waiting until next week to go back. My friend who joined me for dinner was headed to trivia night at a bar afterwards, and I was invited. Because of the annoying cold-ish like thing I have festering in my throat, I decided to decline. Also because I suck at trivia and hate feeling like a moron who does not retain useless (nor useful, really) facts. Then I found out that one of the categories last night was The Muppets.

Opportunity came knocking, and I turned it down for tea. GAH.

My Husband Tolerates This Only Because He Knows I Know He Loves American Idol

Today, instead of exercising, I went out for a sushi lunch. Then I had a cheesesteak for dinner. Then, because we were out of our typical cachés of refined sugar, The Funasaurus and I dropped everything and went to the grocery store at 9:00 to buy cookie mix. One stick of butter and one egg and one oven preheated to 350 degrees later, we had a heaping pile of gooey chocolate chip cookies.

And I blame winter for my current state of icky-feeling.

I am impressed with the number of people who’ve commented on the Twilight series, both in and out of my comments section. Diane, you’re totally in the minority. Everyone else who hasn’t read it, I suggest you bury your inner feminist and literary critic deep, deep in some flannel pajamas and channel your inner angsty teenage girl and just enjoy the story. That’s why we read fiction, right? For the delicious feeling of imperfection perfected? Blood-sucking angel-of-the-night aside, the romance is impossible. It would be creepy and possessive and shallow in real life, but enveloped in an over-romanticized small town in the thicket of the Pacific Northwest rainforest in 14 point font, it’s just lovely. Think of it as bon-bons for your brain. There is no substance to it, and you might feel ridiculous for ingesting it, but dear God it feels so good going down.

Um. That’s it. Mostly it’s cookies and young adult fiction and body image issues around here these days. Pretty much I’m back in high school without the PE uniform. At least that’s something.

Monday Night Is a Dark, Dark Time

1) I did. I’m not even sorry. I read Twilight this weekend. It was awesome. I squashed any feminist inklings I had deep into my pink slippers and singed them shut with chamomile tea and have ever since been fantasizing about unhealthy, passionate attachments to very pale and strong Funasauri with sharp teeth.

2) Sugar has been uncharacteristically playful and talk-y today. And I realized that sometimes I like it a lot when she is a little more feisty and less-lounge-y princess-y. I like it when she does something with her life, when she doesn’t let these four very small walls bear down on her and turn her into a slug and instead reaches out and creates action of her very own, turning her slightly crazy-eyed and purr-y.

I would like to be crazy-eyed and purr-y.

I became obsessed with the idea, and finally, after much grumping about work, I decided to put a plan into action. I would do something. I was off on an adventure. I managed to take about four steps outside this evening before The Universe was like, “You don’t want an adventure, you big pansy,” and I was unable to breathe because it was, like, four whole fucking degrees outside and this princess got chilly. The tea is being re-heated as I type.

I told myself I would wait until next weekend to read New Moon, but this is already turning out to be an extraordinarily long week. I may not make it.

Geriatric-like Hope

I went skiing with my parents this weekend. Skiing with your parents has multiple benefits. Hot chocolate, and often lunch, are free. Your ego is stroked. My, your technique looks lovely, dear. After nearly 30 years, that shit doesn’t get old. You’re not so tired at the end of the day because really, you took a couple of easy slopes at a mellow pace with a couple of 60-somethings and then called it a day around noon because their knees were hurting.

Except for the fact that I am so out of shape that I was actually very tired. And my knees hurt for the first time. When did I get so old?

I found out a friend’s sister qualified for the Boston marathon today. I qualified for discounted rates on car insurance, I think.

On a different topic, I was surprised at the interest generated from the internets in seeing my debut as an unkempt grocery store rep, so I promise that if I ever manage to find said video, I will be sure to post it for your viewing pleasure. Don’t hold your breath. I am not sure King Soopers posts much to YouTube.

Also and P.S. Congratulations Mr. Obama. I’m very happy for you. And very glad I got to watch the inauguration from the warmth of my house (well, to be technical, my neighbor’s house, seeing as how my frickin’ cable [hate you so much, Comcast] went out at a particular key moment) and was not standing outside in the blistering cold trying to catch a glimpse of a Jumbotron somewhere. Though I probably would have tried to if I lived anywhere near D.C.

I Could Have Showered

The other day I realized that I had not been to the grocery store in about two weeks, and was kind of over the whole living off of tuna fish and stale tortillas-thing. So I decided to take a quick break from work and make a dash for, at the very least, some cereal. I actually contemplated throwing on some makeup, but figured there was likely no one worth a few strokes of mascara at King Soopers at 2:00 in the afternoon on a weekday.

(Fore*shadow*ing. See definition of:)

I made my way through the aisles pretty quickly, and was gazing at an end display of paper towels when I noticed a woman who had bothered to make the effort to appear decent before she went out that day, sort of standing behind me, pointedly. I tried to subtly squeeze my cart over, giving her room to pass. She did not pass. I glanced over my shoulder and immediately made eye contact with her. Probably because she was staring at me.

“How are you today?” she asked through a perfectly lipsticked mouth.

“Fine, how about you?” I mean, what else do you say to that, even if it is odd that a woman in heels in a grocery store, lacking a grocery cart, is making idle conversation with you in front of the paper towels?

“Good! We’re filming a commercial,” she replied cheerily, nodding at a large camera, professional lighting, and multiple artistic-y people dressed in black scurrying around near the vitamins right in front of me, which I had somehow missed up until that point. Apparently, paper towels can be quite riveting.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your way!” I made a mad dash into the closest aisle, horrified that I had just parked my grocery cart, complete with new mop handle, in the middle of a King Soopers commercial.

The lady with perfect lipstick followed me in her high heels saying, “Actually, I want you to be in it.”

The attention whore in me had about half a second of joy at finally being “discovered” before my brain kicked in and was like, “Dude, NO makeup. Also, perhaps, maybe you could have brushed your hair this morning?”

“Oh, that’s o.k.,” I told her, walking away quickly. There is no way I would let anyone take my picture looking that crappy. I also am not fond of how I tend to look on video, ever. It’s never quite what I see in my mind’s eye.

“I’ll give you a $25 gift card,” the woman said.

I turned around and wheeled my cart up to the camera, ready for my close-up. As they lectured me on what to say “We’re looking for more than yes/no answers, here,” I took a cue from Scarlett O’Hara and pinched my cheeks and bit my lip to try and bring a little color to my winterized, ashen face.

With the cameras rolling, they asked me what I liked about King Soopers. I froze. It was not, really, a shocking question. What did I think they were going to ask in a commercial about King Soopers? But my mind went blank. I stared blankly, proving that one does not need to have much more than an IQ of 4 to be a shopper at said grocery store. “uh.” “erm.” I glanced at my cart. The mop handle did nothing for me. The organic peanut butter, on the other hand….

“Organic!” I peeped. The cameraman, the interviewer, the lady who had recruited me, and everyone else who was watching all looked at each other like, “Wow, that totally does not make any sense. At all. Way to pick ‘em, lipstick lady.”

“Organic stuff. King Soopers has a nice selection of organic…(produce? Meat? Seafood? Yogurt? Cereal?) stuff.” Was all I could think of to repeat. “Also, it’s close to my house. I’d really just shop at any place that’s close to my house.”

Apparently, that was not the answer they were looking for. They kept prying, so I went back to my first phrase and just repeated “organic stuff” a couple more times. Look at me go! I am so organic! I’m practically a hippie, as far as they are concerned. Too bad I forgot my canvas totes and would be taking my wholesome pesticide-free-range food home in plastic bags.

“How about in these economic times? Have you had to make any changes to your spending habits? Has King Soopers been able to accommodate those?” asked the interviewer guy, gently leading the moron to the type of answers he was expecting.

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Also, your prices are good. Um. So, like, when I lost my job (ed. note: this was almost two years ago and had nothing to do with the current economic crisis, but I decided not to bore them with those details) we had to cut back and I was able to find cheaper alternatives in the store. The generic stuff is just as good. Also I like your organic stuff.”

I watched the interviewer guy try not to roll his eyes.

“Also, you’re cheaper than Safeway,” I threw out, in a horrifyingly desperate attempt to appease lipstick lady so that she would still give me my gift card.

It was brutal, but they did finally give me my gift card. Then they took my picture. I bit my lip one more time to try and bring some color in, and I think I managed to make it bleed. That should be a fantastic photo for their campaign.

Look for a bleeding princess on your local television, eschewing normal grooming habits for going out in public, or listen for her on your local radio station, promoting the proximity of King Soopers to her house and stuff.

Do Your Thang

So I may not write much anymore, and I don't have much to show for my time. Mostly I've been sleeping. Sleeping insane amounts of hours. I am pretty sure I'm turning into a koala. Sleep, and also, the Cupid Shuffle.



I've become obsessed with this weak, modern version of the Electric Slide! I got the song in my head out of NOWHERE, and it won't go away. I downloaded it to my iPod, I've Cupid Shuffled across my (oops) work papers in my bitty office, I've been singing Down down do your thang to The Funasaurus as he wakes up in the morning; nothing is helping.

Though I have found a tutorial by Cupid himself, wherein he teaches his latest dance craze to you via hand-held recorder in what appears to be a Burger King, focusing on his upper torso and not so much his feet. I get it, Cupid: left, right, kick. I am rhythmically challenged, not fucking stupid.



Sometimes I wonder if I am, perhaps, understimulated on a day-to-day basis.

Bringing It On Home

The plague has descended upon my conference, and while many of my colleagues rally through, partying until the wee hours of the morning, supplemented by heavy doses of Sudafed and Dayquil, I and my weaker counterparts resist the peer pressure and are turning in around midnight to be able to drag ourselves, and what's left of our immune systems, out of bed in time for breakfast at 7:00 in the morning.

Happily, I get to go home tomorrow. Unhappily, I have to strategically drug my sinuses into submission in time so that my head doesn’t explode on the plane.

Tonight there’s a formal cocktail hour, sit-down dinner for 1,000 of my nearest and dearest coworkers, and a dance. I am hoping to make it through dinner. I am also taking a cue from grandmothers everywhere and donning sneakers to walk over to the other hotel, whilst dressed in my cocktail dress. Klassy. My sense of balance is just swimming in too much snot to attempt anything more than standing (preferably while leaning on something) in heels.

Hi, I’m now old and crotchety. Nice to meet you. I’ll write again when I’m feeling less whine-y.

Have a magical, snot-free day until then.

I Think I Can

Internets, I have some news. I am going to have a new job! Same company, new title, new division. It’s a promotion in that I’ll finally be doing what I want to be doing. There is no financial promotion, though. At least I’m finally back on a career track, of sorts. I am super duper excited, and while I have known about this pending possibility for months, I wasn’t sure the economy gods wouldn’t jinx me if I announced it too early. But I start on Monday, and it looks like things are underway. Yay!

So last night I ditched my current boss for dinner (technically, he didn’t invite me, but I assume he would have had I made poor-pitiful-dinner-less sounds around him, as I am apt to do at these things) in favor of going to dinner with my new boss who issued an invitation with exactly NO prompting from me! I feel good about this, already. My new group is full of smart, sassy women, and I am totally intimidated and totally in love. I kind of feel like I’m in a new relationship with a cool, older person who hasn’t realized just how dorky and awkward I can be. I’m trying very, very hard not to make an ass of myself. It didn’t help when I started the evening off by calling the VP the wrong name. Also, when I proclaimed loudly that I LOVED maracas as we heard a rattling sound in the middle of dinner at a Cuban restaurant. And then a busboy walked behind me lugging a crateful of clanking glasses. Please don’t dump me.

My throat is still sore, but the sun is shining and I got at least six hours of sleep last night, in between the resort finally deciding to take down the Christmas decorations and vacuuming the hallways around 12:30 last night, so all’s not lost. So far, 2009 is off to a pretty good, if sleepy, start.

It's a Small, Drunken World After All

New Year’s Eve went well. We hosted our traditional party and I got trashed, just like I said I wouldn’t do, then I woke up and flew to Florida for work. On the way there, I tried sleeping on my tray table on the plane. Unfortunately, the lady in front of me also tried sleeping, except she did it the normal way, by putting her seat back. Her seat back collided with my sleeping head. Her seat back won. (I'm not even sure it knew there was a battle.) If my head had not been aching before, it certainly was after said collision. I have a lump.

My coworkers were completely unsympathetic to me and my lump, having drunk more and slept less, so they greeted me with a yummy cocktail including a floating, glowing ice cube. They are much more hard-core than I am. And I do not turn down floating glowing ice cubes. After working, we drank our way through EPCOT, (managed to find and pound alcoholic beverages in five countries before they closed the park) and then continued on to a dueling piano bar where we drank drinks of unnatural colors.

Then yesterday we worked and managed to squeeze in a trip to Magic Kingdom. Odd, after a week of drinking too much I started feeling a little ill. But that did not deter me from getting on Splash Mountain. In January. At night. Wearing a t-shirt. As a kid, I disliked roller coasters. I was scared of them, and refused to even try. Last night, I looked at them and was like, “Could be fun.” I was unaffected. And so I went on roller coasters for the first time in my life. I had a blast. Space Mountain may be the coolest thing ever, and it only took me twenty-nine-ish years to figure that out.

Today I was all-out sick. But the show must go on, so I worked and partied and schmoozed, and drank Sprite and told people it was a gin & tonic. And popped throat lozenges between the chicken skewers and tri-colored tortellini. Then snuck back to my hotel room while my coworkers debated between Disney karaoke and a dance club with no DJ. I feel I am not missing out on too much this evening.