The Persistence of Rootie, and Other Schtuff

My Christmas break, pt. 1, has begun! I took Friday and Monday in order to enjoy a 4-day weekend at my folks house in Padre w/some of my old Aggie buds. The past couple of weekends have been a bit hectic, and I haven't really had a chance to sleep in for a while. My dog isn't so up on this, and only knows that Mon-Fri she gets to go to my Grandma's house, which is basically the equivalent of visiting a luxury cruise ship. There are activities, new experiences every day, and the food! My grandma is now so accustomed to dropping food, that she no longer realizes she's doing it. Consequently, Mondays are like some hybrid of a buffet and an Easter egg hunt, as Rootie tears through Grandma's house finding treats around most every corner. So on Friday all Rootie knew was that she was missing her breakfast and her response to this was to stare me down. Uh-huh. No pawing, whining, or other shenanighans. This dog just sat quietly by my head and stared. Going out, getting fresh food & water, and giving her treats would not abate her will. Rootie learned that channeling Ghandi does not get you exactly what you want, though it does catch my attention, and I learned that a 5 pound creature can bore a hole into your soul with her tiny, shiny, black eyes.

My Christmas break, pt. 2:
This post is a bit disjointed, being that today is almost the last real day of the Christmas break, and I'll admit to feeling a bit guilty about the complete lack of….oomph to get much of anything done. I did have one hot date that bears mentioning. Very nice, very very cute, 26, musician, did I mention he was cute? Whew! Almond shaped, hazel eyes, and he was smart. Things were going very well until about 2 hrs into the date when he began to ask more personal questions about myself. That doesn't faze me at all b/c I'm an honest person and I don't mind talking about myself (you guys have put up w/my many bulletins, so you know this), but as time went on the questions took on a more salacious tone. For example, asking me when I last had a boyfriend is OK. Asking me when I last had "relations" with a man is OK. Asking me whether or not I own lingerie…uh…getting strange but I'm still OK. Sharing with me that you love the feel of lace against bare skin, and in the same breath asking whether or not I own heels taller than the ones I was currently wearing…NOT OK. I politely relayed that there are more interesting matters to discuss than my lingerie and heels, but apparently he did not feel the same way. 5 minutes later he decided to call it a night. Sighhh…

And of course the angel on one shoulder is congratulating me for proving to myself that although it is much more difficult to stay chaste when you know what you're missing out on, it's affirming to know that it wasn't all to do w/ me being chicken-shit during my youth; there were some morals tucked away in my reasoning and those are still in tact. (We won't mention fooling around w/that one guy from match.com last May b/c I failed that test miserably).

Then there is the devil on the other shoulder knowing full well that I own many lace underthings and there is no shame in two consenting adults enjoying a romp twixt the sheets, not to mention the fact that I could have really, really, REALLY enjoyed a bit of carnal attention. But I know myself, and the next day would have had me fraught with feelings of guilt, and if history from when I began having sex w/my ex (when he was my new boyfriend, oh so many years ago) tells me anything, I just saved myself from the following:
1. Racing over to my doctor for a complete STD work-up
2. Taking the morning after pill
3. Going to confession
I'm telling you, those nuns really did a bang up job at catechism…

Anyway, no grand plans for New Year's Eve. I'm going to a bar with my cousin tomorrow night, which means I'll probably be either too broke or hung-over to do anything on Sunday night. I figure that a quiet night with a bottle of Moet, my dog by my side, and surrounded by the quietude and solace of my home. Uh yeah…expect some drunken myspacing and/or calls from yours truly. WELCOME 2007! BRING IT ON!

Triumph for Alcobulimics Everywhere

Things I learned this weekend:

If you go to bed at 6am, but still get about 7 hours sleep, you've effectively given yourself jetlag, and your body absolutely knows this.

You can lead a closet hippie to water, but you can't make her fish.

Guys will patiently sit around listening to all sorts of random female conversation, but there are two subjects they will either bring up, or gladly speak extensively about, and these subjects are sex and farting.

Jana and Jiffy and Matt are the most awesome people in the world for driving 6 hours in the fog, and another six hours in the hot Texas sun just to celebrate a birthday with someone they knew years ago. They really don't know how loved they made me feel, and since I hadn't felt that in a very long time it meant the world to me, and always will. Guys, if I'm a match for any one of you, or your children, I've totally got an extra kidney for you right here.

Love,
Aimee
(Fighter Bitch, '98)

Pity Party For One (WITH UPDATE!)

You've Been Warned...

I'm not proud of this AT ALL, mostly because I strive to have a good time while drinking, and NOT doing things that will have lasting aftereffects on my entire life, which is precisely why I am not a drunk dialer. I'll admit that it's been easy for me to stay away from the phone while inebriated b/c I would much prefer to actually be w/someone than make a call. Being that I am, however, quite comfortable writing to people, my newly formed affinity for texting is causing me problems "after hours". I've already confessed that I had imbibed a bit too much the other day and texted a friend of mine, which was thankfully mended by the Cingular gods b/c the messages were never sent and I was able to erase them in time.

THIS time I found myself trying to text…uh…aw crap. My Ex. I KNOW, I'M AN IDIOT! Sighhhh…. I think that opening my box 'o X-mas decorations unleashed all these memories that I've been trying to keep at bay. I found our stockings, some of our ornaments, his little snowy village….he really liked Christmas. Moreso than I, and that first Christmas together was such a joy. I remembered teaching him how to wrap a gift and curl ribbon, because he so wanted to wrap up my gifts nicely. I remembered that look of excitement when he unwrapped his Homer slippers, and his giddily skipping around the living room in order to show them off. And mostly, just the overall fact that I had finally found someone to share that holiday with; I remember how thankful I was to snuggle on the couch, basking in the white glow of the lights we had both strung onto our tree. So when I opened what basically amounted to a time capsule of Christmas, circa '05, I guess that just kinda seeped into my subconscious.

And I'm not relaying this in order to evoke sympathy, or as some Christmas tale with a moral at the end, though you totally need to squeeze your own schmoopie extra tight during this time of year (squeeze 'em if you got 'em!). The reason I'm basically rendering myself naked is that this event is relevant to my actions this past Sunday evening, where your fair heroine was attending an office Christmas party. It wasn't my work Christmas party, so yes, I may have been getting a bit more "sippy sippy" than, say an average Sunday evening. Or St. Patrick's Day. Or Superbowl event. Or kegger. Sighhhh, I'm stalling… At approximately 3am I texted the following to my ex: "Shawney, I'll always love you."

Sure, it's true, however much I hate to admit it, but a 3am text while inebriated is certainly not the way in which mature adults work through their lingering issues on relationships. I guess the worst part is that it's moot, which begs the question: what are you really trying to do? I guess I still want to know that he cares, which is pretty stupid. We went out for almost 5 years- of course he cares. Maybe I want to know that he's sorry. That his life is nowhere near as good as it was when I was in it. Then what? Will I feel satisfied? I know we can't be friends, it is too easy/comfortable to slip back into that role of loving someone and being needed. But if that's truly the case, why isn't it just enough to help myself? This may sound nonsensical, but I need me too! Getting drunk every 4 days isn't exactly "helping" my life move forward.

So what happened? I awoke, raced to work, and remembered to check my phone to see…..nada. He hadn't responded. Just a tiny sting, like getting a shot. The pain was over right about the time I recognized that it hurt. The morning went on and the embarrassment grew. Not really one of indignation or feeling exposed, more like a realization that it's time to let go. Make no mistake, I do not want my old life back, but I will admit that the casualties of situation are hard for me to bear. To have shared so much with someone and to try to just get rid of all of that. It's like trying to separate a Venn diagram; where do you put the crap you share? Yes, present tense! We share so many memories, movies, restaurants, inside jokes. Some days I just can't help but feel like the underachieving loser from the movie Magnolia who so starkly states : "I have so much love to give, I just don't know where to put it." And of course, you shove it down. You shrug your shoulders. You know everything worked out for the best, and you just change the radio and move on.

All of these things are swirling around my head as I suddenly remembered the reprieve I had been given the past weekend as I snatched the phone from my purse and checked the status of my text, which read "Sending in progress". I blinked. Couldn't believe it! I hastily deleted it. I had sent one more text in the wee hours of that morning, which was to my cousin to relay that I had gotten home safely. This message too was labeled "In progress". I e-mailed my cousin to verify that she had not received the text I had sent, and SHE HADN'T! (There may be something to this "Cingular gods" thing after all!) So there I was, in my office, relieved, horribly hung over, panting from the adrenaline of that near miss. For the first time I'm feeling a loss of something by being single, but I'm not suffocating at the thought of being in a bad relationship. I told myself Christmas was going to be tough. Oh well. Guess I'll change this CD and get ready for tomorrow.

UPDATE: MY EX TEXTED ME THE FOLLOWING ON MY B-DAY, DEC.16:
Happy 26th Birthday. I hope ur well.
ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE, HUH? YES, HE STILL CARES. NOW I CAN GO ON WITH MY LIFE TRYING MY HARDEST TO PRETEND HE NO LONGER EXISTS. :-)

Survey

1. Someone knocks on your door at 2 a.m., who do you want it to be?
Good news almost NEVER comes at 2am. Uh, my long lost friend Monica from college.

2. Your boss tells you he/she will give you a $20 raise if you'll do your job naked, what would you say?
Hell to the no. (For twenty you only get to see a bare shoulder.) HA HA!

3. Put yourself in a nutshell:
I wouldn’t fit in a nutshell.

4. Ever seen a ghost?
Nope, but I do believe in them.

5. Happy with your body?
80% of the time I feel so blessed to have a strong, functioning body. The other 20% is usually caused by societal pressure. How can you look at someone like Giselle Bundchen and NOT hate your body?

6. A reason you would move to Iceland:
If I had a place to live, and a job to go to, hell yeah!

7. A place you've lived that you miss:
Tacoma…or maybe College Station circa 1997. I couldn’t live there now.

8. A job you would never do no matter how much you werepaid.
I could not wipe heinies. I’m weird about boo-boo.

9. A band you thought was cool when you were 13:
Beatles, Skid Row, and uhhh…REO speedwagon… (NOT A WORD!)

10. You have a nightmare, who's the first person you think to call?
No one. I’m pretty self sufficient in that respect; I’d write it in my journal.

11. Wanna have kids before you're 30?
Can’t now, but I didn’t back then either.

12. A memory from high school:
Mr. Fleming’s English class, listening to his love of Dickens and the month of October.

13. Ever had a crush on one of your friend's parents?
NOOO! And the time Mr. Cramblet tried to watch the playboy channel at 2am in my room when I slept over at my friend’s apt in Austin STILL creeps me out! Dirty old man…

14. Naughtiest thing you've done at home?
Did it on the balcony upstairs, which is a little private, but not really private. (Sorry roomie, but that was a loooooong time ago) :-)

15. Do you look more like your mom, or your dad?
Prob. my dad, but I got my red hair from my mom. I act a LOT like my Dad, which is tough b/c he can be an a-hole. Ahem, I mean, WE can be a-holes.

16. Something you've always wanted to learn how to do:
Drive a race car.

17. Still friends with your exes?
No, that could be dangerous. That’s how I held onto a failing relationship for so long.

18. Where you'd like to be in 10 years:
Working as a speech therapist, and makin’ dat muney.

19. Something you learned about yourself this year:
I can do it! I can deprive myself of something that I truly miss for the betterment of my future. (Took long enough…)

20. What do you want for your birthday?
To have a great time with friends. Oh, and some cold hard cash from my fam. wouldn’t hurt. :-)

21. NAME THREE OR MORE THINGS YOU DID TODAY?
Went to my grandma’s, warmed up the tamales we made this weekend for my coworkers, listened to a friend who just lost her pet, made mental note to squeeze my li’l one extra tight tonight, rued the day hangovers were invented…y’know, the usual.

22. LAST ITEM YOU BOUGHT YOURSELF:
All by myself? Uh, I guess the beer that we all drank last night.

23. DO U HAVE AN ORNAMENT HANGING FROM UR REARVIEW MIRROR?
Nope.

24.WHAT DO YOU HAVE FOR BREAKFAST?
Coffee

25. NAME A CELEBRITY YOU LOVE:
Jason Bateman. Ha ha! It’s true! I have the hots for Jason Bateman, I don’t care who knows!! J Whaddya mean, “Who is Jason Bateman?” Why, here he is now:

SWOON!


26. WHAT'S THE EFFA???
Isn’t that what Speedy Gonzalez says right before he takes off running? “Andale, andale, effa, effa!” (I don’t work at being a dork, it comes naturally)

27. HOW MANY HOURS OF SLEEP DO YOU GET A NIGHT?
I try to get at least 7.

28. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TIED UP?
Nooooo, but I may have tied a few knots myself. ;-)

29. WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU WERE DOING RIGHT NOW?
Putting up my Christmas decorations. I took them all out, but never got a chance to put them up.

30. WHOS THE FIRST PERSON IN UR PHONE BOOK ON UR CELL?
Aesop

31. LAST TIME YOU WITNESSED A FIGHT?
JUST LAST WEEKEND!!! At a bar! A pretty nice bar, but I guess some ruffian was being a cur, and chingasos were thrown.

32. WHAT WAS THE LAST ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE YOU DRANK?
Bud light. Tooooo many bud lights.

33. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HAIR PULLED?
It’s happened once, it was done softly, and it was definitely hot.

34. NAME TWO PLACES YOU WOULD LIKE TO TRAVEL TO:
IRELAND and Japan

35. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO ICE SKATE?
I have before, but methinks I would really suck at it now.

36. NAME SOMETHING THAT YOU LIKE TO DO THATS OUT OF THE ORDINARY?
Answer these very egocentric and long questionnaires and, apparently, placing a sweater on my dog when it’s cold outside is not normal.

37. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF BRAD PITT?
Very pretty. Cad. Loved him in 12 Monkeys, Snatch, and Fight Club.

38. Name a friend you have the most in common with?
Well, technically she’s not a “friend”, she’s my cousin, but we tend to see the world in a very similar way. (Most of the time)

39. Last person you talked with on the phone?
Co-worker

40. DO YOU OWN ANYTHING WITH A SKULL ON IT?
Not anymore….sniffle….

41. HAVE YOU TRAVELED TO EUROPE?
Yes, and I’m goin’ again in June.

42. LAST MOVIE YOU Seen?
Little Miss Sunshine.

43. WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU HAD YOUR FIRST KISS?
At a party at Damon Miller’s house, in the closet, 7 minutes in heaven. (We were in the 8th grade and didn’t know how to fill all 7 minutes, so we made it 2 minutes in heaven) True story.

44. LAST BOARD GAME YOU PLAYED?
Trivial Pursuit

45. What will you be doing now?
I will be checking for spelling errors, then post this. Later, I will pick up my dog, go home, take a shower and hop straight into my soft, much missed bed. Asleep by 7:05 is my goal.

Actual E-mail Sent By Yours Truly, Friday, December 8th

My cell just rang and suddenly the song I have programmed as my ringtone came on the radio! How cool is that!?

Texting at The Club

Stuck in traffic this morning when I finally decided to bite the bullet and view what I had texted a friend of mine around 1:30am on Sunday morning. All I really knew when I awoke on Sunday is that I had texted someone while I was drunk, and that he had at some pointed ceased to respond. Both of these facts made me very uneasy. This morning I discovered that not only had it been mostly nonsense "I'm fmei, whir to drime!", and a couple of emphatic "You're much hotter!" messages (repeatedly sent, for some reason…) but the BEST news is that they were classified as "Sending in progress", which I am really hoping means that my hastily deleting them will eradicate them from the face of the earth forever and in perpetuity.

That was the first triumph of the morning. The second one came shortly thereafter when I began to read a few texts my cousin and I had shared at the club. Why yes, I did text while sitting at a table in a dance club. (Were you not able to read my previous admissions that my game sucks?) But these were my favorites*:

The cute guy in the suit CANNOT dance!

When I come back, see if the guy in front of us is scoping me

Which guy, in front of ME, me?

No, might be 2 short

WHO IS IT?

*These are from both my outbox and inbox, so as to protect the innocent. (And the guilty.)

I was laughing so hard this morning that my eye make-up began to run; it was great! We've decided that we'll have to work on our hand signals. We've already got one for "I'm not feeling this, let's lose this/these guy(s)". I'd relay the motion here, but I took a blood oath, I mean, a bloody mary oath, and I take that very seriously. Once we get it all worked out we'll pen a book, which I'm sure you'll either be able to find in the "Love/Relationships" section, or next to the books about semaphore. J

Then I had to go to a mandatory EEO (Equal Opportunity Employment) training where I learned that approximately 20% of the e-mails I send and receive are more than likely being tracked (b/c I already knew they were offensive-no one had to tell me that), that nonchalantly asking if/when one of my coworkers is retiring could result in a lawsuit, and lastly that people should not place sayings/Bible verses at the bottom of their e-mails, lest it offend external and/or internal customers. Yeah, I kinda wish I could've been stuck in traffic for a bit longer this A.M.

Hot Weekend...Or Not

Not a stellar weekend, but it was interesting enough. I hung out w/my cousin and we went to a singles bar in San Antonio. Note, I've never used the term "singles bar" before, but unlike other bars I've visited, you could just tell that this was a place single people go to in order to get the hook up. Not that it was a bad thing, I mean it didn't feel like a meat market or anything. Actually, I felt pretty comfortable there, not too old and not too young, but I have come to the not so startling conclusion that I have NO GAME! (Yeah, it seems like a very "No shit, Sherlock" kind of thing, but I've always considered myself a late bloomer.) I've just never been someone who goes to bars to get the hook-up, but I need to stop thinking in those terms and be open to meeting new guys. I was just used to going to bars when I had a boyfriend, which was so very easy. You just forget about eye contact all together, get your beer and have a great time! But going to a bar in order to throw your mack down and reel in some interesting men is something I have ZERO experience with. Well, at least I'm sure to provide entertainment for your guys in the meantime.

Another oddity I faced this weekend is my phone phobia. What is that, you ask? Well…..has anyone seen "My Life as a Dog"? It's an older foreign film, and a pretty good flick in general, (says I) but there's this part that I can kind of relate to. This kid has a fear of spilling his milk, and the anxiety level that he achieves in response to that fear is so great that it actually causes him to shake to the point of short circuiting, and basically throwing the milk out of his glass before it reaches his lips. (Uh…just to clarify: this whole movie is not about a boy and his fear of spilling milk, it really is a good movie). It's actually a very funny scene, but I think it's a literal embodiment of how our own fears/worries manifest themselves and shape our lives. -Sermon over, back to my neurotic ways- so there are times when I need to call someone, say on their b-day or something, and for some INSANE reason, I just can't bring myself to do it. I'll tell myself that they're busy (on the toilet, watching The Dog Whisperer, having sex), or that I'm not in a chipper enough mood to sustain a decent conversation. I was supposed to call my friend Jana, and all these funky random things kept getting in the way, which further convinced me that calling Jana would be a disaster of epic proportions.

Now, this is not all the time; don't tag an "A-HA!" moment on me (you know who you are!), as in "THIS is why she doesn't check her messages and return calls!" No, that is literally b/c I'm the master of my time and if I checked all my messages on a regular basis I would officially become the gopher of my extended family. As it is I am merely the unofficial gopher (single, childless women out there know what I mean), so I can still hang on to a small portion of my own time, but not checking my messages has become key. And as a sidebar, contrary to popular belief I do NOT screen my calls. If I'm home, or otherwise available to chat on my cell, AND I hear the phone ring (this is a biggie w/my cell), I will pick it up. This phobia only applies to those situations where it's an expectation that I call someone, and it could be anyone. One year, back in college, I literally didn't call my Dad on his b-day even though I thought about him all day long. I just couldn't bring myself to make that call; the expectations I placed on myself were just too high. STRANGE, yes, but I suspect that to some degree it happens to us all. What? YOU never got those digits for that hottie and had to psyche yourself up to pick up the phone? Well, it's kinda like that, only much more stupid and weird. I know…go-go-gadget therapy. :-( But to end on a good note, at least I know what NOT to talk about when I'm out there throwing out my luv vibe at the Club.

Layers of Rrroja

LAYER ONE: ON THE OUTSIDE
Name: Rrroja
Birthday: No thank you.
Current Location: My office in Texas
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Auburn
Righty or Lefty: Right (except when I bowl or throw darts)
Zodiac Sign: Sagitario

LAYER TWO:
Your fears: Not living up to my potential
Your perfect pizza: Conan’s Savage (jalapeños instead of onions)
Your current love: Rootie

LAYER THREE: YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW
Your thoughts first waking up: “Great, now you’ve only got 15 minutes to get ready! WHY do you do this to yourself?!”
Your best physical feature: Keratin (I’ve got nice hair and nails.)
Your bedtime: B/w 10:30-11:00
Your most missed memory: Snuggling

LAYER FOUR YOUR PICK:
Pepsi or Coke: Coke
McDonald's or Burger King: BK Coffee RULES
Single or group dates: single
Adidas or Nike: Nike
Lipton Tea or Nestea: Hate Nestea!
Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?
Smoke: Sometimes when I’m drinking
Take a shower: YES! (Baths don’t get the job done)
Think you've been in love: Yes
Believe in yourself: Yes
Like someone right now: I like lots of people. Am I “in like”? Nope.
Tell your friends you love them: No, but I feel that I show them.

LAYER SIX: IN THE PAST MONTH
Drank alcohol: Yes
Gone to the mall? Nope
Been on stage: If presentations count, then yes.
Eaten Sushi: Just yesterday
Been dumped: Nope
Gone ice skating: No
Dyed your hair: No
Got asked out: Yes

LAYER SEVEN: HAVE YOU EVER:
Played a stripping game: No
Changed who you were with to fit in: Nope
Danced with a drag queen: No, but that would probably be fun.

LAYER EIGHT: GETTING OLD:
Age you're hoping to be married: Before I die.
Age you hope you die? 120
Age you want to have kids: See “Age you’re hoping to be married:”
Name 2 things you want to do: Visit Ireland, and find someone to share the rest of my life with.

LAYER NINE: IN A GIRL/GUY:
Best eye color: Doesn’t matter
Best hair color: Doesn’t matter
Clothing style: Clean
Serious or funny: seriously funny

LAYER TEN: WHAT WERE YOU DOING?
1 min. ago : answering webmail
1 hour ago: Talking to a parent about student loans.
1 day ago: Cleaning my house.
2 years ago: Unhappy in a dead-end relationship

LAYER ELEVEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE:
I love: my family
I don't: want to make the same mistakes.
I feel: like a dumbass for drunk-texting a male friend last Saturday night.
I hate: using the word “hate”. It’s a very strong word, but I’ll go w/: stepping in dog doo.
I miss: Shawney Bear (The friend I had in my ex)
I need: to pay taxes and die. Other than that, I’m open for suggestions.
I want: to be financially secure enough to own my home, and have time/money to travel.
I would like to go: back in time so that I A) Would’ve flirted w/that cute guy who got in the fight. B) NOT texted my friend after consuming 4+ pints of Guinness and two Jaegerbomb shots. Ugh…

repost as: "11 layers of (your name here)

There Are Too Many Kids in This Tub

Anyone who knows me even just a little, knew this was coming: My roommate was a pain in the ass this weekend. It's difficult for me to bring the hammer down because I know that she's not being inconsiderate or malicious, she's just young. We'll start with Saturday. She's asked me out on many occasions, and I've always declined, but this time I couldn't say no. It's in the way that she asks me that is a bit maddening. She asks "What are you doing tonight?" and since I can't lie for shit (and have an even harder time coming up with lies than remembering to stick to them) I always blurt out "Nothing", and then look like a big a-hole when I have to make up some random excuse. But this time I really couldn't come up with anything, and I haven't been to a Tejano bar in years, so I thought it would be fun.

It wasn't awful or anything, but her cousin inadvertently "cockblocked" me all night by sitting down next to me. I also learned that I'm too old school when it comes to dancing. Back in my day (aww crap…) when girls want to dance together to a pop song (not couple dancing), they get in a circle, or at the very least stay about 3+ inches away from one another. But nowadays, it's customary for girls to form lines so that they can grind up against each other. Not only do I have a problem with pantomiming sex while standing in public in general, but doing that with another female is just on a whole other level of "Nahhh, but thanks anyway."

I realize that dancing is a bit of a mating ritual, when guys and girls can show off their plumage and basically say "Yeah baby, this is how I can work it", so it's not like I'm a dancing prude. Not trying to brag, but I can shake my shit, HOWEVER, I don't feel the need to actually act out moves which are sexual in nature with people in a public place. I think there is something to be said for leaving room for one's imagination to take over at some point; you don't have to see exactly where my hand would be on your ass if I were to ride you like a bucking bronco, y'know? That's the bigger issue, but it's also the fact that I suspect these girl shows are only for the benefit of guys, and that's stupid. If I need to act out lewd acts on another female in order to get a guy's attention, I would just prefer he stay at home in front of his computer to see the real deal, 'cause that's just not my area of expertise.

Soooo, I had an OK time, and that's not where the problem began. The main problem is the blurring of space. I am a space nut; I like knowing where your area ends and mine begins. When she first came to live with me, I explained that the upstairs, including the kitchen, was my part of the house and she could lay claim to the downstairs. With the exception of the washer/dryer and my stairmaster, that has remained true. I can proudly state that I have never been in my roommate's room while she was not there because I really consider that to be her part of the house. The other day we were talking and she told me how much she likes to cook. I told her that if there's some special occasion she wants to cook for, then she could use the kitchen. I didn't realize this was basically like inviting a vampire into your home.

Saturday she tells me I'm invited to a BBQ for her friend's b-day. Later than night I learn that the BBQ will be held at my house. Not a problem… Sunday around 4pm, when I'm sitting in my living room watching the Back to the Future movies back to back, she and her cousin come upstairs to begin cooking for the BBQ. Huh?! Was it my fault that I didn't assume an invitation to a BBQ meant she'd be in my kitchen all afternoon? Is it wrong that I feel my home is my sanctuary, and if I want to lay around in my living room in only underwear and watch 7+ hours of Michael J. Fox that I should be allowed to do so without having to dress, tidy, and make idle chatter?

At first I thought it would only be for an hour or so, and I just went to my room to lounge on my decadent, luxuriously spacious new bed. 2 hours later I go in for a bowl of cereal and they are eating at my table. Yeah, I should have said something then, but her friends were there and I didn't want to be a total dick and ruin their get-together. But tonight I'll have to let her know about my space issues. So what if she threw away the dead waterbug that I'd been too scared to touch therefore had relegated to the corner of the kitchen for the past week? I lost my Sunday afternoon! Anyone who works full time knows how sacred those hours are. Right? Tell me I'm not just being a jerk to a sweet girl who's nice enough to invite her old lady roommate out with her friends, and throw another friend a BBQ for his birthday.

Aggies Won! WHOOOOOOP!!!

My new bed kicked my ASS! It took me about 35 minutes but I finally got the top mattress up the stairs, which is not a straight shot; there are 4 curves to go through. Damn that pillow top all to hell! Then the frame was a huge pain in the ass to put together. I have no less than 3 bruises, and I walloped the "funny bone" on the inside of my right ankle. Well, it was either putting my bed together or watching "While You Were Sleeping" for the 5th time. In the end I think I would've cried less if I had just watched the stupid movie.

Actually, I really like challenges like that. It's kind of like hiking up a mountain; it pretty much sucks while you're in the thick of it, but you get such a sense of accomplishment from completing the task that it's typically a positive experience. Unless of course an 8-yr-old Tobi Berkovicci pukes on the van ride to your dropoff site, and while you're washing her socks in the sink of a rest stop, a small chunk flies into your mouth. That happened to one of my co-counselors on a hike in VT. So, yeah…I guess you could say that it's all relative. (Becca Stein, wherever you are, that one was for you.)

Thanksgiving was good. There were some empty patches, what with some relatives going to the "other" side of the family to celebrate, but all in all it was fun. My cousin David and I are planning a trip to Spain in July, I got to roughhouse with my nephews, and I entreated my cousin Anthony to lob a piece of pumpkin pie at a tree stump in our backyard, which made a most satisfying "SPLAT!" sound. (He wasn't going to eat it anyway, and he's got really good aim!)
Last night I got to hang out with some good old friends from my hometown, and tonight I'm headed to a Tejano bar w/my roommate. Let's all hope that I get home safe and unmarried.

My Id is Scaring Me, and More Deep Thoughts

So I'm about 5 or so weeks from my BAV anniversary. I don't actually subscribe to the notion that someone can be a virgin more than one time in their lives, but I know of no other succinct jargon that so politely conveys to others that I haven't gotten any in a long, long, loooooong time. So Saturday morning I awoke from a rather disturbing dream which involved yours truly cavorting (and fully enjoying the cavort) with one Rob Zombie. In an auto mechanics garage. (Fodder for Penthouse Forum...que verguenza!) Even though I'd met his "wife" in an earlier part of the dream, I still made out with him. Actually I've never met the woman I dreamt was his wife, and it wasn't Sheri Moon Zombie, the buxom blonde who was in both his horror flicks; Rob's wife in my dream was a dumpy brunette 'cause I can compete with that. (I know it's a dream, but I guess Rob Zombie wanting to make out w/me instead of a hot, busty, beautiful blonde is too unbelievable, even in my dreams.)

He was having someone custom-make a special ...uh...something for him, and much like in real life, my car kept having one thing after another needing repairs. Each time I went to the garage (which is a place I don't believe I've ever actually been to, nor were the mechanics familiar to me at all), there was Rob Zombie, checking on the progress of his project. On the fourth occasion, I asked the mechanic if it was tough having such a demanding customer in his shop every day, and he replied that Mr. Zombie was actually very patient, and only came in about twice a month or so; it was just a coincidence that each time my car broke, he too was in the shop.

I'm no longer clear on how the frolic began, but I remember that his kisses were pretty gross (cold and too wet) but the gratification happening below the belt made me realize that yicky kisses were a fair trade. Again, no one got nekkid, this was PG-13 (actually it was PG, but the adulterous aspect makes it PG-13 in my eyes) but waking up and realizing just how strapped I am for carnal attention was humbling and disturbing. (Distumbling?) Especially in light of the fact that I am not particularly attracted to Rob Zombie. Like his art, enjoy his music, and would love to pick his brain b/c of his extensive knowledge about the horror genre, but wanting to "run" my fingers through his 20 -yr-old dreads....not so much.

I got a new bed this weekend. I've upgraded from a queen to a king. A bit ironic since I've just relayed that my current bed is more than empty enough, and now I've got even more space to fill, but I digress. I was trying out different mattresses in the store, and I was being a bit silly (hey, I was excited to get a new bed!) and jumping atop all the different mattresses. Weeellll, I accidentally knocked over a statue-thingy (y'know how they try to create a faux bedroom in the hopes that they can also unload some of their bric-a-brac in addition to their furniture) but no one saw me do it, and I just picked it up and left it on the nightstand. I quickly walked away, but as I left the store I realized that THAT mattress was certainly the most comfortable; I just didn't want to go back to the scene of my crime. I still can't figure out if I'm just too Catholic for my own good, or if there truly is a lesson in there somewhere.

It's Just a Hand in the Bush...(in the bush...in the bush...in the bush)

Life has been swirling around me at a rather frantic pace lately. I've had some memorable experiences as of late, notably the coincidental "run in" w/my ex at a 4-way stop in a parking lot. I didn't get a good look, but I did give the non-committal wave of recognition. C'mon, he's the only man whose ever gotten a gyno-view of me…he at least deserved the faint wave. It's been nearly a year but it still caused sweltering reveries, especially being so close to the holidays and all.

I'm trying to pick up a part-timer w/the feds so that I can free myself of the debt I have amassed (w/help from my ex). Now, there are those who would say that I'm being awfully good natured about the fact that I am seeking employment for about 25-30 hrs per week, in addition to my normal 40+ hrs (not counting the travel time to both positions), in order to repay things such as dinner & drinks my ex and I shared in Vegas, professional football tickets for my ex and his friend, and my personal favorite, the $700 I had to pay for that last cell phone bill. Yee-up, I had to subsidize the courting of my ex's ho. But I can't do anything about those things, and I truly believe that people make their own problems. I let those things happen and now, I'm most definitely paying for them.

Instead of getting too bitter, I choose to see this new job as an opportunity because I'd also like to use that position as a springboard for attending school full-time in the fall. I would definitely have to quit my "real" job, but a part-time position w/the IRS is a great job for a student. Much better than slinging chick-fil-a, and gaining 20 pounds, as was the case the first time I went to college.

Speaking of college, I am but a week shy of mailing out invites for my college buds to join me in N. Padre next month. I am so looking forward to just letting my hair down and catching up with others, and with myself. I think that at this point in my life it'll do me some good to do a bit of reverting so that I can take the next path. Kinda like going back to the spot where you kinda had your shit together, and proceeding from there, taking care not to walk in your past mistakes, of course.

But other parts of this mortal coil are going a'ighht. My cousin and I have made a commitment to Christmas this year. We ARE going to catch the Christmas spirit, even if it fucking KILLS US! Ha ha! Ok, I guess Jesus would prefer I go about that more meekly, but he made me, so he knows I mean no harm.* I dunno about anything too showy, like the Transiberian Orchestra (hey, if I'm going to be THAT confused by barely intelligible English spoken in a thick European accent, it had better be Cirque Du Soleil), but we're going to try to catch a few Christmas concerts here and there. If anyone has any ideas/suggestions, I'm game.

On tap for the rest of the month? I get fingerprinted by the feds on Saturday, and may go to a car show afterwards (don't even ask), OH, and my roomie and I may go to a Tejano bar in a small town near Seguin. I like to dance, but it's tough for me b/c I have a hard time following, and only feel most comfortable when I lead (no one who knows this about me could be even remotely surprised by this), but I'm determined to try.

Of course, I'll be cooking up a storm w/my Dad for Thanksgiving next week, and my oldest buddy Les. and her fiancée are coming down from Colorado to share a meal w/about 10 fellow Seguinie Weinies who have stayed in touch over the years. It will be bittersweet though; whenever I'd get down about not having a prospective life partner (that would be a "husband" to ya'll conservatives), I'd look at Les, a tall blonde w/her masters and now doctorate, and think "Geez, if Les isn't married, then I'm still OK." So now I've got to come up with some other bogus rationale to assuage my fears of becoming the stinky old creepy lady that lives down the block, and tries to be friendly but just comes off as psychotic. (I'm taking suggestions, by the way)


*Katie, if you're reading this and cringing at the Jesus part, you now know how I feel when I hear you spouting your feminist spiel at a bar, then seeing you whining to your boyfriend to please open your bottle of Dos Equis and squeeze in your lime. :-) And I love you anyway.

I Love the Smell of Homemade Napalm in the Afternoon

So I inadvertently made a bomb this weekend. Hear me out! While I have watched an episode or two of "Mr. Wizard's World" in my day, I do not recall the whole you-can-make-a-bomb-out-of-household-charcoal episode. I believe that somehow, somewhere, a science teacher has failed me.

So it's a beautiful, balmy Saturday and I have nothing but a sunny weekend (+ 1 extra hour) ahead of me, and at my disposal. It's times like these when a woman's thoughts turn to grilling. (Yes, I'm quite a catch, I know…) So I go into my shed and find that the charcoal bag has ripped. Admittedly I had not grilled since my ex was still in the picture, so I was more surprised to find that I had adequate supplies to fire up the grill to begin with, and the problem seemed to be solved easily enough: I found an innocent looking blue plastic bucket filled with what appeared to be pebbles for an aquarium, and some kind of fertilizer (yes, Sherlock Holmes would have the case solved right before that beginning parenthesis). I place the contents of the bucket into a bin and dumped the charcoal into the bucket. Perhaps I should refer to the bucket as the "casing" from here on out.

Gods of both wind and fire were called upon, animal flesh was satisfactorily burned on the grill, hunger was satiated, and about 3 hours later our fair heroine was upstairs enjoying a deserved rest in bed. Sometime during that blissful hour of quietude, I heard a noise that roused me from sleep. My razor sharp mind leapt from unconsciousness to surmise that the cats were f'in around by the pool, and had once again upturned a shelf, pool supplies, or some other large object that bored cats get into. My not-as-razor-sharp body merely lifted it's head, eyed my dog sleeping peacefully next to me, and turned for a more comfortable sleeping position myself.

I was asked to take my grandmother to church that evening, so I woke up to my alarm (at 4:30 pm), quickly freshened up, and walked out to my car. This is what I saw:

There was rubble on my car, and the distinct smell of burnt rubber permeating the air. My head was still a little foggy from having just awoken, so you'll have to forgive my initial thoughts: Who threw a bomb at my house? Is my carport falling apart? And my personal favorite: Did an asteroid or errant meteor hit my driveway? Suddenly all the skills I have ever acquired from reading the entire Encyclopedia Brown books leapt to the forefront of my mind as I quickly scanned the area for any clues. Toob for fun in the sun? There where I left it…. Lighter fluid from grilling? That was still there, upright, and in tact…. Bucket of charcoal…..huh? I coulda swore I placed it right where that hole in the concrete is! Mystery solved.

Well dear readers, let this be a lesson for you. I still don't know how the hell I bombed my driveway, but for my part I will try my very best to keep this unknowingly reluctant MacGyver dormant and in check.

Welcomed Stasis

I just made the best omelet that anyone has ever made or eaten in the entire history of the world. YUM! While the past 6 weeks or so have been crammed full of one exciting event after another, things are starting to slow down. I was in Brownsville last week, and this week I took a 4-day weekend, so I've been puttering around my house and trying my hardest not to spend any more money than I have to. It's harder than you think…. I'm not a shopper, I'm a buyer. When I need/want something, I go out and get it. The problem lies within my head (as opposed to others whose problems start in their spleen or uvula) because when I'm home I start thinking of the ways I could spruce things up a bit. I've been to Walmart no less than 4 times in the past 2 days, which is definitely a record for me. The upside of all of this is that I'm cleaning out my closet and making a concerted effort to shred the hell outta my mail. I don't know why I get paranoid about things like offers for more life insurance but somehow I can NOT just relegate them to the trash. Into my "special" hefty bag o'junkmail it goes; my road of good intentions is paved in crapmail headed for the shredder. (Uh, to be shredded at some point in time before I die) .

Wurstfest HOH!!!! The tickets came in the mail the other day, so I'm pretty excited about it. Not that there's a whole lot to do except listening to German oompa music while drinking copious amounts of beer, eating way too much carnie-type food, and people-watching, but I almost always look forward to hanging out with friends and boozing it up, and I'm ready to have a good time. That and you'd be amazed at how joyous, and strangely satisfying it is to do the Chicken Dance with hundreds of your newest friends. Yes, I believe the beer has something to do with it, but you cannot discount the ambience entirely. The power of lederhosen compels you!

I'm also tentatively planning a get-together for some old Aggie buds o'mine, which is an exciting prospect. It would be a "redo" of sorts, as last year I spent my thirtieth b-day (which fell on a Friday-prime party real estate) at my folk's house ordering in Chinese food and flipping through channels. I hope to make up for that utterly depressing evening this year. Or perhaps I am going through a withdrawal of sorts now that my life no longer consists of cramming in one event after another, but I'm also enjoying the downtime.

I've decided to make a final push for being comfortable in some cute December outfits, and that means exercising, no eating out, and no drinking booze, expect the aforementioned Wurstfest and possible December soiree (thanks for the word, Katie, and sorry but I just couldn't use "hootenanny"). In any case, slowing down is allowing me to focus on myself; as a single woman with no responsibilities, except a well-behaved poodle, I so rarely get a chance to do that. Ha ha! (To the mothers who read this, please spare me your hate mail.) J *Yawn!* I think I'll give myself a pedicure, watch some tivo'ed Peewee's Playhouse, and munch on some raw veggies. Life is tough, y'know?

Public Bathroom Lament #112

If you've just GOT to "blast a dookie" at work, please, for the love of all that is holy, do NOT squat in the very first stall closest to the entrance, for the unsupecting woman with a full bladder will have no other choice but to wade through the poo cloud of your voided bowels. Perhaps the innocent woman was only popping in to wash her hands before lunch, and as a result of your selfishness has now lost her will to ingest foodstuffs. What did she do to warrant such an egregious assault to her olfactory system? You are selfishly polluting airspace that is physically impossible to avoid, thereby creating a totalitarian regime of boo-boo, and that's just not nice, not to mention quite unAmerican.

Please, follow the words of a great American: "Take care of yourself, and each other."

I'm a Hottie! (To Children & Losers)

So last month was my concert month, and this month the cosmos are offering up "Love, American Style". I've had two dates in the past two weeks. Both have been in the realm of Hell-to-the-No, but I'm trying to take these as moments I can learn from, and move forward. I suppose I should not give out details in order to protect the innocent....and yet I am compelled to share the burden.

The first "date" was fine, only it was not presented to me in the context of an actual date, because if it had been understood as such there was no way I would have agreed. This guy is so very young that if I had grown up under a different set of circumstances, I could have birthed him myself. (And I'd probably have homemade tattoos, write bad checks, and I would definitely not have all of my original teeth still in my head.) Still and all, it was cute, a flattering gesture, and at least it serves as a good story. These "Cliff's Notes" don't quite do it justice, but it'll do. (Sorry, but one would have to buy me a beer to hear the whole thing.)

The second date was someone my age, a little older -32 to be precise- and he is employed by the same employer as myself. Uhh..well, that may be a bit misleading as this gentleman actually works in a very different capacity than I do, though he too provides a service to the school- service being the opperative word in that sentence. In any event, this gentleman does not own his own a car (strike one), so I had to pick him up. He then proceeded to call me no fewer than 5 (FIVE!) times within the next 3 hours to relay his whereabouts and reconfirm our plans (strike two), and lastly he wore black, tight cut-offs to the restaurant, and a faded t-shirt w/holes in it. (You're outta here, buddy!) I would like to say that it all turned around after those moments, but I would be lying. I was, however, able to wittle down that date to a clean 40 minutes. He was back in his shabby apt, sitting in front of his curiously-stained computer desk before he knew it.

And someday when I look back on all of this and laugh my ass off (probably while at the Wurstfest, with a pitcher of Paulaner in one hand, and some bratwurst in the other), I'll be able to say that I have "played the field"...at the Special Olympics. :-(

In Other News

The dogs are finally gone. When I arrived home on Friday there were no dogs in sight, and they have not returned, and it really is nice to not have those dogs around. I spent about an hour and half cleaning my front yard and pool area. The pool alone is going to cost me upwards of $100 to get back to "pre-stray" condition. They tore up every floating device, there's mud on the bottom, and they also introduced mustard algae into the pool. Clearing up mustard algae is time consuming and expensive, but the alternative is swimming in powdery gunk, so to the pool store I must go.

I doubt that the dogcatcher picked them up b/c I had finally gotten in touch with her and uh….unpleasantries were exchanged. I do not know how they ascertain a citizen is responsible for stray dogs that are not picked up in a timely fashion, but I have received a total of 9 tickets for various animal ordinances, which my Dad was gracious enough to offer his assistance with. Then last night I finally checked my mail (I stopped checking it because the big dogs would jump all over me and dirty whatever I happened to be wearing), and found three envelopes from municipal court, each of which contained about 9-12 summons to pay tickets no later than the 28th of September or a WARRANT WILL BE ISSUED FOR MY ARREST. That's how they said it too-all in caps. By my count I've managed to amass about $2,300 in fines, and that's only because I didn't open the third envelope. So, then there's that. I believe I may officially be on the lam in the near future. Start watching "Cops" and see if I make any cameo appearances.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

Or how I unintentionally became (according to my dad) a concert suck. For some strange reason, the powers that be have decided that my life isn't quite up to par with, say, the life of a pimp-ass rock star, therefore a few occasions to mix it up and have some fun have plopped themselves into my lap. Who am I to get in the way of destiny? Thursday I was told that a friend of a friend had two extra tickets to Sunday's ACL festival, wherein the Flaming Lips and Tom Petty were to perform, and I was asked if I could join in on the fun. So a sitter was arranged for my perrito, and the overnighter to Austin was planned. Friday I received a call from a former work-study student who really wanted to see The Shins in Austin at Stubbs, but didn't necessarily want to go alone. The question was posed: if tickets were bought, would I attend, and that question was answered with a resounding "YES". Lastly, about a month ago my cousin had a similar predicament, and though Chris Brown and Neyo are not in the top….oh, 50 concerts I'd want to see, I'm still pretty excited to go because I really love the energy of live entertainment.

The Shins show was really fun. Not only did we meet up with another friend from work, but we were able to stand on this rock on the side of the stage throughout the entire show, which was cool b/c I could see about 4 feet above everyone. I'm glad it wasn't too melancholy; the Shins really rocked the house, and I enjoyed the company.

Saturday I waited around for my new roomie to get her stuff in. She's a senior at the local university, is very involved in softball, and seems like she's a nice girl. After she got her stuff in, her mom and dad took me and a couple of her friends to eat Chinese food, and we all got along very well. That night I went to hang out w/my Dad because I hadn't seen him all week. We ended up eating some fish he had caught at the coast and had smoked. Then we trekked to New Braunfels to watch the late showing of Little Miss Sunshine, which is a very good movie and NOT a chick flick.

Sunday morning I woke up early, packed, made a breakfast casserole, and drove to Austin to meet up with Katie and Katie's friend Davey (the guy who gave us the tickets). ACL rocked. Most of the time the lines weren't heinously long, and besides getting rained on, sunburned, and sore calves (pretty much in that order) I am definitely better for the experience. It would have been cool to see a lot more bands, but when you're serious about getting a good spot to view a band you really want to see, you have to sacrifice and just camp out early until your pick comes on. This is when Katie graciously accommodated me and missed her opportunity to see Ben Harper in order to fulfill my deep desire to see The Flaming Lips, and that's not just wordplay. I soon found out just how excited I was to see them, as I clasped my hands to my chest, jumped up and down with my hands in the air, sang along, and must now ashamedly admit that apparently I'm a "Woo Girl". You know….those dumb bitches who stick their arms straight up and say "whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" ad nauseum. But I couldn't help it! I was just so excited when I saw Wayne (WAYNE!) and the fake blood, all the confetti, the huge balloon, and the aliens with the santas! How could you not lose your effin' mind at the sight of all that?!?!?!?!

And the road goes on forever and the party never ends! Tonight I'm off to see another friend play an early set at the Triple Crown, Thursday I go to the Chris Brown/Neyo concert in San Antonio, and Friday my cousin Michele and I leave for N. Padre for our weekend in the sun. This is the trip where we are NOT going to get in trouble thereby becoming even more fodder for Thanksgiving conversation, right Michele? :-) While I'm not wholly sure when this fantastic streak of fun will end, I do know that going to bed before 2am is on the immediate agenda. How does Paris Hilton do it? (ha ha!)

Mustard Boob

Dammit! I was eating lunch and I got a huge dollop of mustard right on my top. SUCK! I was just joking to one of the student workers that I felt like a 10 year old by eating hotdogs for lunch (throwing turkey wieners & buns into a ziplock bag is even easier than making a sandwich), and now I look like a stupid 10-yr-old with a huge mustard stain on my shirt.

Allright, so I'm at a crossroad with a "friend" I've known for about 2 years now. She's an ok person, but we never really have a great time together, and she's slutty and not a giving person in general. I could buy (and have bought) her beer all night, but unless I say "Hey, you owe me beer", she would never reciprocate, and I'm just not the kind of person to ever say "Hey, you owe me beer". For the sake of anonymity, let's call her Mooch. I just usually end up getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop when I'm out with Mooch. Plus, she just doesn't "get" my personality. Not to brag, but I'm a fun gal!! Let the beer flow, let the music play, and let the merriment begin! She's more of a let the liquor pour and let me see how many guys I can lure away from their girlfriend type of person. I HATE that!

So anyway, I managed to avoid her calls and messages for the past month or so. Hey, breaking up is hard to do, but this time I was going cold turkey. NO MAS! But then there's my longtime friend, we'll call her Pooch, who is the whole reason I know Mooch to begin with. Pooch is allright. I've known her since high school, and while she's not too much different from Mooch, we've got history there, so I'm not too bothered by it all. So Pooch calls because she just won four tickets to see Kevin Fowler in SA on Friday, and wanted to know if I'd like the join her, another friend, and Mooch. But she tricked me! She nonchalantly called inquiring after my Friday night plans. After I admitted I had no plans, then BAM!, she laid it on me. I can't lie for squat, so here I am. I so badly want to call Pooch and make up some excuse (of course I'd never admit that it's b/c of my disdain for Mooch that I don't want to hang out), but I don't have one! Any ideas?

In other news, the Labor Day weekend was fun. I went out with a former work-study student (I can't help it if I get along with 21 year olds!), then I joined my cousin in SA for a movie. I told her I was going to see Little Miss Sunshine. Apparently, since I had gotten to pick the last movie, it was decided that I couldn't pick the next one (??) and I was informed of this new rule upon arriving to SA. I was also told that she wanted to see Step Off. We compromised and got drunk at a dance club instead. Everybody won!

Bunch 'O Nothin'

I'm not a doggy blogger, I swear, but these furry ponies are just taking up more and more of my time! I came home Friday to see that 3 leash-law tickets had been tucked in my back door (not that back door) by the dog catcher. Dammit, they're not my dogs! As I walk upstairs I then noticed a note taped to the front door, which was from my neighbor across the street who is complaining that they have been tearing up her newspapers. "Yeah lady, I know they have been b/c I have to pick up your shredded newspaper off my lawn every day, oh and did I mention that THEY'RE NOT MY DOGS!" The next morning I went to her house to explain this to her, but she wouldn't open the door (I heard her in there!), so I too had to tape a note to her door. (As an aside, I hate passive aggressive note writing.) Anyway, I left her my number and she called to tell me that she was calling the pound. Whew! Good thing too, I just ran out of dog food (for those dogs, which are NOT MINE!) I'm hoping that aiding and abetting are not a form of ownership, but intuition tells me I should just keep that information on the d.l. when I attempt dispel my culpability for the tickets.

I feel kind of bad about this change of heart but apparently they are retrievers (the dog catcher so named them, and I figure he'd know), so I'm hoping they'll get adopted. Plus, they woke me up at 4am on Saturday, along w/the rest of the neighborhood. When I finally gave up and went outside to quiet them, they actually freakin' listened to me and stopped barking. Hmmm, wonder why the neighbors think that theyre mine.. Geez, I'm already the only Hispanic on the block, now I have to be the obnoxiously insensitive dog lady?! AND I don't hand out candy on Halloween?! I'm sure the neighborhood association meetings (which I don't attend) are now all about me. But my own dog is really suffering because of these interlopers. She can't use the bathroom in her own yard. This weekend I had to stop by my grandma's house just so she could do her business. And they've now taken to leaving me gifts on the side of the yard. I've found one cow hoof, an animal head, and some sort of joint bone so far. Each day I go outside to find what new sweet nothing my psycho canine "boyfriends" have brought me.

Onto the weekend: Friday was very low key. I cleaned up my house that evening in anticipation of sleeping in very late Saturday; I had been wanting to shake off this hazy under-the-weather feeling that has been following me around during late registration. That didn't happen thanks to my furry friends, so I was up and about by 6am, had already done my shopping by 9am, and was on my way to decorating my first bulletin board for the Sunday school kick-off. By the time I got home around 1:30 I decided that I wanted to do something, so I enlisted the help of one cousin, and by 5:45 I was on my way to SA to see Beerfest at the Alamo Drafthouse. Although I do believe the fact that I was drinking beer enhanced the experience, I give the movie a solid A rating.

The next day I went to my first ever dim sum restaurant. Little tip: if you are trying foods you have never tried before, and these new textures and tastes will serve as an epicurean adventure, do NOT drink copious amounts of alcohol the night before. This will make everything look like dog barf wrapped in terry cloth. I cannot even remember the last time I threw up, but I can tell you the last time I really really wanted to yak, and that was on Sunday. Of course, 4 hours later I was really craving some of that spongy dog barf stuff. I'm hoping my cousin's boyfriend, who is Chinese, will give me another shot and take us to a dim sum place soon.

Lastly, I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon with the folks. The paper was read, mom relayed her adventures in Harlingen, Dad and I made some green goddess dressing from scratch, and we all had a nice salad for dinner. Just like the Cosbys. Awwww.... Oh, and I got called out on my sprained ankle, which is doing well (not that anyone asked!), because the swelling went down and my Dad noticed that the "cankle" went away and my ankle is back to normal, so I should be able to resume my Stairmaster duties shortly. Pttthhhh.

PotLUCK?! I Should Say NOT!

I signed up to make my signature baked potato soup, which is an awesome way to ingest ten thousand calories in one sitting (one spoonful at a time), but since I commute to work and I want it to be nice and fresh, I've got to wake up at 5:30am to start cooking. Waking up that early isn't too bad, but your body will not be fooled by your minds logic. Your legs KNOW they shouldn't be upright at that hour (secretly I feel that this is also why mysterious whiskey dents often appear on my person after a particularly late and raucous night o' fun), and so they rebel in ways you cannot predict. More on that later.

At 6:57am, the soup is ready and has been transferred to the massive crock pot with little-to-no mess involved. As they say "this ain't my first rodeo", so I have taken extra care to do all the cooking in my pjs, and not even getting dressed until all foodstuffs had been contained in their proper traveling receptacles. Ahhh, but the stairs. My house has two floors, and one of the interesting things about my house is that the kitchen is upstairs. I like this because I usually feel like a princess in a tower, safely perched atop my castle and court. Oh yeah, and when I'm relaxing on the upstairs balcony, I don't have to pack a picnic or dig out a cooler, for the fridge is but feet away from the chillspot. That's definitely a plus. The downfalls had been twofold: lugging up groceries, lugging down laundry. I have just discovered the newest danger I have chosen to inflict on myself: transporting scalding hot soup downstairs at 7am in heels. (I believe we all know where this is going, but you can humor me.)

Dog, lunch, and coffee are all in my car. I can't chance juggling too many things down the stairs because baked potato soup, as the name would imply, is a heavy dish, and since its an office favorite I've made a boatload of it. As I go upstairs to get the soup I instinctively scan for any obstructions. Pile of mail on left side of bottom stair. Boot on right side of 3rd stair from the bottom. My mind quickly assesses that I should probably move the boot, however the snarky, self depreciative voice that lives in my head says the following as I launch up the stairs "DOOD, you just saw the stupid boot, just don't freakin' step on it. DUH!" This voice was nowhere to be heard from as my brain says step in the middle of the stair, my leg says, "F-YOU!", and I am tripping on the aforementioned boot, spraining my ankle, dumping piping hot soup all over the carpet, floor, my arm, my work clothes, the molding, AND trying to salvage one and half hours of early morning cooking.

Rootie is usually the only living thing to witness 98% of my utter incompetence and boobery as I try to make my way through the world, but I'm glad she missed this one. Having a baked potato soup-drenched poodle would have been the most unwelcome icing on the crap-cake I had baked that morning. And for the lesson: gotta be thankful when you can, folks.

(And as an aside, big dogs rock when you have a massive food mess on the floor and you're too busy trying to change clothes to mess with it. I'd put them against Swiffer anyday! [And so now you know the true reason I am championing for these strays.])

And So It Has Begun....

...my metamorphosis into the crazy dog lady. I still bathe regularly, and I have yet to invest in knee high panty hose and $4 tennis shoes from Dollar General, but I can feel that along with my current surge of dog pathos, shambling around town while speaking softly to myself is immanent.

The animal control flunkies left a card on my door yesterday because my gentle giants are freakin' TERRORIZING THE NEIGHBORHOOD. I know this to be true because during the short hours when I am home I see them chasing the cats up trees (this usually makes me laugh), loudly barking at nothing in particular, chasing each other through various front yards around the suburb, knocking down outdoor grills as they wrestle and lumber around. Of course they're into the trash; I've had to clean my yard 4 times, and the scary part is that the trash they bring into my yard is not mine. I need only to peer down the street to see the path of destruction left in their wake. It's actually a beautiful sight to see because they are having the time of their lives, but so not cool if youve got to clean up after them.

But they really are good dogs! When I make a kissy noise in the air, they all come to me, and when I tell them no, they stop doing whatever is they were doing and look at me dolefully. They would make awesome pets and if I had a big yard, I'd keep them in a second. This brings me to today. My hometown dogcatchers are notorious for being pricks. I know that if I call them and claim the dogs, I'll get a ticket because theyre roaming free, and if I say they arent mine then theyll be caught, locked up, and I'd be expected to pay for them if I wanted them back.

I've gone to some no-kill shelter websites, but so far its only yielded wild thoughts of adopting the dogs that they already have there, or becoming a foster home for a dog, which is the WORST idea ever. I've got a dog, (marginally- she weighs 5 and a half pounds), and I'm lucky enough to have a set-up that allows me to leave her with someone all day, and take care of her when I work late and/or go out of town. I doubt that offer would be extended if I doubled the recipe.

Hmmm, if they're smart enough to evade capture, I wonder if I could harbor them? Y'know like Anne Frank or Harriet Tubman? I just cannot bring myself to turn them in to the canine five-oh. I'm hoping my inaction will buy them a few more days of freedom, a few more belly rubs from someone who cares about them, and just one more opportunity to petrify those cats. "Get em!" Heh heh heh.

MEIN Kampf!

My Dad was right: big dogs = big messes. Yes, the dogs are cute, yes, I love having them to run/play with, yes it's cool to feel like I have a real dog, and yet the destruction they have wrought on my deck/swimming pool is of insurance-worthy proportions. The fact that my own dog cannot go outside to use the bathroom because the big dogs bound forward in curiosity, making Rootie clench up and head for the hills, a.k.a. my arms so that I can clutch her to my bosom in protection against the giants. (I dont usually refer to them as "the hills" but that was a nice, though unintentional pun). And when I pet the male, his red rocket launches and it just makes me feel all uneasy in general. Theres a huge difference between a small dog showing his lipstick, and a large dog unsheathing his er...um... popsicle. Blechhh!

So now what!? I would feel awful calling the pound, and I already tried the no-kill shelter and they're all full. I'm trying to see this in a positive way, but the only thing I've come up with is that at least they've chased off all of the stray cats I had been feeding before they came along. I don't like cats, and they kept pooping under my deck, making hot, sunny, perfect tanning days too aromatic to enjoy, but yes I fed them too! It's like cute n' fuzzy is my kryptonite! (Does not typically apply to the human species).

In non-canine news, the trip to N. Padre w/my cousin is set. The fact that were going back to Padre at all is a small miracle, especially since we got into so much trouble the last time we visited the beach. But we're confident that this time we can handle it! Staying someplace that is right by the water, thereby negating the need to get into a car in order to enjoy the sunshine, is definitely a plus. Also, we've gotten the spring break partying out of our system so this will be a great opportunity to just relax and enjoy the solitude of the waterfront. Well, and to break that solitude with mindless chick babble. RAWK!

Lastly, in accordance with my usual Monday fare, a short recap of my dinky weekend. Friday was da bomb. After a hard, late day of work, my new drinking buddy Katie and I went out to scope some watering holes, share some pizza, and talk about conservatives, the magic of trees, and memorable concert experiences. It was tre' fun, and in the words of Ice Cube:

Drunk as hell, but no throwin' up
Halfway home and my pager (phone*) still blowin' up
Today I didn't even have to use my A.K.
I got to say it was a good day

Saturday was busy; I cleaned most of my house, saving my room ("clothes- laid-on-the-bed central") for last. I had pleasant company over to watch some TV, and went to be shortly thereafter. Sunday I took my first step into volunteering for the church, got bullied into a project by Sister Pat (she's a wonderful, giving woman, but she don't mess around.), washed mi coche, cleaned my room, and had my widdle sleepy head atop my pillow by 11:00. The only problem was trying to get comfy; its tough trying to sleep with your halo. :-)

*Thanks Katie, I didn't die on the way home and I had a great time too!

'Cause I'm Smart Like That

I was on my computer yesterday after work (b/c I only spent 8 hrs in front of a computer at work, so I had some catching up to do), and I heard leaves rustling in my front yard. As I look out the window I see a dog. Hummm. Not a dog I've seen before, but OK. Then I see another dog. I get a better view and there are THREE dogs, sniffing around in my front yard, and these are not small dogs, I'm talking 20 pounders! (Ive got a small poodle, so this is relative). I go outside to shoo them off (b/c no one drops biggies on my lawn 'cept MY dog!), when I notice that they all run off into a corner by the fence, behind my car. Uh, guys, there's just a fence there, so where are you going? I walk around and notice that they are all less than a year old (just went through their first puppy-sprout), and I can see their rib cages. !!!!! So I coax one over and he lets me pet him. Very sweet dog. Then I....I....YES! I FED THEM! ALL OF THEM! And gave them water, and love, and pats, and scratches on their ears (well, the one that was most friendly). And since no good deed goes unpunished, its about 1am and I'm still listening to them bark in my driveway. Sighhhh...

Shomer Shabbos

I'm thinking about teaching CYM again (Catholic Youth Ministry). I used to go to church every Sunday, before I met my ex, and it's nice to get back into the life I had. I like the peace of mind that attending mass affords me during the week. I liken it to exercising each day, because when you've been "good" for a while and a coworker brings in treats, you feel that you can partake of at least half a serving, b/c you've being good. Saving up that church karma to spend at a later date just makes me feel better about my world in general. Yes, I realize that trying to make an analogy using a "karma bank" to explain any portion of Catholicism is breaking the commandment of worshiping no gods before Him, thereby committing a sin. Good think I went to church this Sunday; I'm all in the clear!! (See how well that works for me?)

Sometimes the whole ex thing seems like a shady dream-Dip Van Winkle here- and it's exciting to get my life back. Very scary that I got so far off the beaten path, but nice to find myself again. The past weekend is a perfect example. I helped my dad clear a fallen tree off his property on Saturday during the day, my uncle came over and I heard lots of boyhood stories, which I thoroughly enjoy. Later that evening I had a nice dinner with my parents, my brother, his wife, and my nephews (rotini w/Bolognese sauce, and a robust but mellow cabernet). On Sunday I went to church, went back to my folks' house to play w/my nephews (I am Aunt Ami-dala, though I usually turn into a warrior princess who defeats Darth Jacob, amidst shouts of protest, of course), helped my mom make breakfast, and later on I took my 16-yr-old cousin out for dinner b/c she's currently dealing with normal teenage/mom problems, so we got to hang out and talk a bit. Nice. I mean, really really nice. The kind of nice I've been missing for the past 5 years, and feel very foolish for doing so. 'Tis but a blip, one I cannot strip, as my past is in it's grip, so this sorrow I shall nip.

On the job news, I did get the job I interviewed for but my letter of resignation was met with an offer of time to go back to school, and a possible opportunity for promotion within the next year. I'd have to earn it, but I like to learn new things, and lately I have felt very stagnant within my profession. (Ha ha! What an arrogant ass! "..within my profession" But you know what I mean) I really enjoy the people that I work with, and I've probably been blaming the comfort of my job with my lack of ambition to get off my duff and enroll in courses. Working full time and going to school is never going to be easy, but it's certainly within my range of ability. I'm just too spoiled, and I had this fantasy of going back to school full-time; a bit of Peter Pan Syndrome on my part. I've realized the house, most notably the mortgage, makes the notion an impossibility, so it's time to grow up and git 'er done. Uh, starting next spring. For real, though, school starts next Wednesday, and all of the admissions deadlines are long gone. Sigh... But in the meantime, CYM will help me better structure my time. Definitely a step in the right direction.

Arby's and Cloning

Eating lunch upstairs at the 5th floor snackbar is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get, but rest assured you will feel like shit after consumption. It’s a bit like high school except you’re more socially responsible and aware, which makes for some painful moments and awkward conversations. Not only due to the crappy yet pricey food offered, but also who you sit with. Sometimes it's who catches you up there which makes you feel like you HAVE to sit w/them. Eeeeesh...

So today I found myself at the Arby’s. Oh yes, I did. I turned up my nose at the Subway across the street, and trucked into the Arby’s drive-thru. In my defense I will say that they make very good turkey & swiss sandwiches on honey wheat bread. No really, the truly do. And I would like to say that I partook of one…ha ha! Of course I did, and it was a mighty tasty sandwich too! The part that threw me off was that you can’t order chips! It’s curly fries or nuthin! That packs a WHOLE mess of fat and caloried onto your conscience decision NOT to eat crappy for lunch and have a somewhat healthy sandwhich. What are those corporate bozos thinking? Cater to "meat and potatoes" kind of folks or don't, but don't get me there for your sandwich only to leave me hanging with my options of curly fries or a fried cherry turnover (sensing a theme here?)

As my mind wanders from the fact that my lunch so so incongruent, I began to think: Would you clone your most beloved pet? For me there would be no other reason than I cannot imagine my life without her. That may sound really little-girl-stoopid, but she developed Addison’s Disease about 10 months ago, and though the research I’ve done states they can live a relatively normal life with therapy, it just makes me wonder. I feel guilty for thinking this, but I’m hoping that by the time she’s ready to pass I’ll have either an S.O. or a kid (she’s only 4, so I’ve got about 7 years on it), so it won’t hurt so much. Awful, I know…. But that dog is just so freakin’ important to me! Last night I woke up (I wake up a lot at night, but then I usually just fall back asleep), and instinctively started to pet my dog and rub her little tummy. I LOVE THAT! What if I couldn’t do that anymore?

When she was sick, and before she was diagnosed, I was a basket case. She wouldn’t eat or drink, her little nose was so dry, and I was hand feeding her little ice chips and water bottle caps full of water. Just one little teaspoon of water at a time, and I would feel so grateful when she’d drink it. I felt like a mom b/c I just kept starling myself awake and watching her little chest rise and fall, just to make sure she was still with me. After she got her first treatment, and she went to her little food bowl and started munching away on her food, I started to cry. (Uh, nobody actually knows about that, so please do not remind me if you see me) It took like a week for me to stop getting all wet –eyed when she’d eat or drink anything. Even now when her little nose is dry I’ll get a bit neurotic and give her some people food, just to make sure that she’s willing to eat it. But could I clone her, or is that disrespectful of the sanctity of life? I don’t think I’d want to be cloned...

Now I'm back at work and I've made up my mind on the matter: I need to stick to more time w/Rootie and less time at Arby's.

Putting the "Wheeeee!" In Weekend!

Wherein our heroine gets "Tore up from the floor up". Family Values Tour was an experience, to say the least. From what I remember of the show, Korn was a great. Oh, and you should never step to some 300 lb. meskin who looks like hitting a chick would be a novelty and not a verboten edict, even if he is being an unreasonable prick.

Saturday, when I was licking my wounds and ruing the day wine was ever invented, I was invited to a wedding in Seguin. I almost didn't go, but not to be outdone by my cousin, who had also drained the wine skin with me on Friday (though maybe not as thoroughly as I had), I decided I'd give it a shot. SHOTS! Did we ever! I had never had Jaeger Bomb shots, and since my cousin and I were splitting them, they didn't turn into a problem for me. I will say that the shots of Patron my cousin drank took her night in a whole new direction. When you're dancing to Y.M.C.A. in front of your family and putting your salsa hips in that jam, you know you've had too much to drink, yes? HA HA! But I can't crow too loudly because she has seen some of my finer Patron-induced calamitous moments, which were not going into now (or ever).

I have definitely hit my quota for calories sipped this month. It's always about that love-hate relationship I think all women (who like beer) have to deal with. Enjoying each golden, fizzy, ice-cold swallow, and damn those barley calories all to hell. Sigh... But I would like to trek to either Austin or SA to the Drafthouse to watch "Beerfest" when it comes out. Yeah, I could probably just watch it at a regular theatre, but I know me and as soon as I see those frothy, sweaty steins, I know I'm going to start to feel absolutely parched. And since it doesn't come out for another 3 weeks or so, I won't have to feel like some drunk-ass loser who parties too much. It's weird though...when I don't go out and do something fun for a while I end up feeling old, but when I do go out I feel kinda bad, like I should have outgrown this or something. I dunno why... I will say that you have not LIVED until youre watching Slingblade at 3:30 in the morning while waiting for water to boil so that you can cook some Kraft pasta primavera from a box, which you don't recall purchasing in the first place. Thank God I didn't go for that grilled cheese, as I found out the morning after that the bread was moldy. Whew! Some fermented products are OK, but you get too much of that working against your system, and I suspect there would be trouble.

Lastly, I shall run down this weekend's flicks in the order watched: "Evil Dead", "Sky High", "Lost in La Mancha", and "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle". Hey, there's not much else to do when you're all beery and lethargic from the night before! I was pleasantly surprised to find that I rather enjoyed "Harold and Kumar", although I couldn't watch the whole battleshits scene; that was just too much for me to handle, but there were quite a few scenes that had me laughing out loud. I had an eventful weekend but not so eventful that I feel as though I didn't rest up for the week ahead of me. Mmmmm, perfect weekend

Entertain ME!

All my favorite blogs are stale, as in they have not been updated, and I'm bored off my gourd at work, which can be a very dangerous situation. Last time this happened I ended up creating a program that still haunts me to this day. Stupid staff development projects... Yeah, I've got tons of real work to get through, but today I am the 'C' student who is doing just enough to get by. Allright, that'll probably be me tomorrow too. YES, I am a perennial 'C' student, but I can turn into an "honors nerd" at the drop of a hat, so reck-a-nize fools!

-Lamenting about boredom-check
-Egocentric self assessment-check
-Trash talking-check
-No discernable point or reason for writing this crap down-check

This blog entry is coming along swimmingly! OK, I do have something to bitch about, but its bathroom talk. I'll preface this rant with the following information: I lived in a dorm for 4 years, and my bathroom consisted of 4 stalls that was shared by no fewer than 30 other women, and I have spent three summers in the woods where there were no flushing toilets, so I am not a crapper prima donna in the least, however.

What is up w/these crazy bitches?!

I work in an office on a floor with 3 other offices. We all share one ladies room, which has about 9 stalls. I do not understand how, when entering a bathroom and seeing one occupied stall, and 8 other unoccupied stalls, you would zero in on a stall RIGHT NEXT to the stall with someone already in there! Do you need someone to hold your hand through this? Geez! I realize that as an American I am used to a certain amount of buffering space. I'm not used to being pressed up against strangers, like in Japan or India, or bustling through busy, narrow streets like in England or New York, but my credo is: If there is extra space available, get offa my cloud, man! Or in this case, WOman!
Should I kick out my feet from under the stall to give some menacing presence, like some kind of blowfish trying to ward off predators/competitors? That may not work, these nutty ladies might thing its some kind of welcoming flag or an opportunity to play "Rockettes". And it really sucks when someone plops down right next to you- literally. That has actually happened to me! I mean, it's bothersome when someone sits right next to you in spite of the fact that many other stalls are open, but when they start pinching a loaf or passing gas, its just like WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?! This isn't The Waltons! Were not some snuggly family where we can just share those kind of moments!

I know, "$hit" happens, and I'm sure youre asking what I do when such needs arise. To that I shall remind:

WTF!

Remember that part in PeeWee's Big Adventure when he gets his little daily fortune and says something like "Do not leave the house today"? I TOTALLY could have used that shit this morning! First, I wake up and feel like I've just stepped into a crime scene; crimson sheets are not a good look. You'd think that since I've been dealing with my period since the age of 12 that these kinds of things would have stopped being an issue. Yeah, you would think.... So I go to the bathroom all bleary-eyed and grossed out and promptly bang my elbow on the toilet paper dispenser. Good morning, Sunshine! I get into the shower, which is not factored into my normal morning chores, so I do start to run a little late, and while reenacting shots from the shower scene in the movie Psycho, I slip and almost lose my shit all together. I didn't "fall down, go boom", but I'd say that in the past 500 or so showers, I have slipped approximately ONE TIME, and that time was this morning.

I get ready, make coffee and realize that while I loaded up the dishwasher and stuck the soap tablet in last night, I neglected to TURN THE KNOB that makes the dishwasher actually clean dishes. I attempt to fish out a dirty coffee mug so that I can wash it, but discover the spaghetti sauce from the surrounding dishes has somehow coated the cup, and with the kind of morning I'm having I decide not to risk washing it by hand. After all, I am wearing white today. So I had to use a clean coffee mug that doesn't have a top to it. I used the 'spensive, sticky cellophane stuff to "seal" the top of the cup b/c I'm just resourceful like that.

Down the stairs I tromp, dog in tow, lunch and coffee in hand. I feed the cats outside, as I do every morning, but this morning the cat decided she wanted to COME INSIDE?!?!?!? The outdoor cat who has not been inside my home for more than 3 minutes in the past 3 years that I've lived there? I freak out and try to shut the door in front of her, half afraid I'm going to shut the door on her, and in the process I spill coffee on my white blouse. Yea Friday morning!
I drive to work, no major problems, get out of my car in the parking lot, lock the doors and swing it not quite shut. DAMMIT! I dig out my keys again, unlock the door, swing it really hard (take that, car!) which does shut the door, but also shakes the car enough to dump my cup of coffee, that I place on the roof of my car every morning while I'm getting out and situated, all over the windshield and hood of my car. With tiny splashes connecting again with my white blouse, of course. OH GOD, CAN I JUST GO BACK HOME AND GET BACK INTO BED NOW?! Oh yeah, I've got Freddy Krueger Bed back home to deal with, so I guess there's nothing left to do but go inside.

And so I do. I calmly sit at my desk, log into my computer, and proceed to collect my thoughts enough to WILL myself into positive headspace. Hey, I never wanted to be some coffee addict anyway, and who couldn't use more water in their diet, right? Half an hour later, I have to pee (from the water). As I am walking to the bathroom I see a nice young man standing away from the crowded lobby and close to the women's bathroom. I smile at him, nod, and my ankle winks,causing me to FALL DOWN on my hands and knees! I was lucid enough to not cry out "MOTHER OF FUCKING GOD!", but I do manage to say "Oh my goodness!" like an eighty-year-old lady named Hester. Of course, the gentleman asks if I'm OK, I laugh it off and assure him that he can laugh too. But I didn't tell any of those other tools in the crowded lobby that they could laugh!

SERENITY FUCKING NOW!!!! Sigh.... I will sit right here. I will not ingest a single solid or liquid for the rest of the day. I will not use the bathroom. I will not get up from this seat and continue to endanger myself any further. I will find the fucker who made that voodoo doll and make him/her pay. Oh yes, they will pay dearly. I will make it a point to find my sanity some other day because right now crazy is all that is keeping me here at work today.

Ready For My Close-Up

So today was my first interview (of the many I expect to follow), and it went remarkably smoothly. It's actually pretty cool to know that I've matured to the point where I don't get all flustered or intimidated by people who are in a position to hire me. I'm not so sure about accepting the job, if offered, but I'm glad that I did the interview as it was a good opportunity to "sharpen my claws", as it were. I hate to say this b/c I know it sounds pompous, but I felt overqualified for the position I was interviewing for. I mean, it wasn't like the people in the room were not up to my "caliber", but I just felt that while what they do is time consuming, it isn't as cerebral. More like placating and accommodating, and I would not say that those are my strongest traits. Again, it was good to know how much I've grown into my skin, and trusting my capabilities.

Might have a bite on the roommate front, which I definitely have mixed feelings about. On the one hand I'm checking out my bills and thinking "Damn, I could use some help here", and on the other hand I'm chilling in my sports bra and panties after having exercising with the TV blasting over the din the Stairmaster makes, eating cereal and feeling just happy in general to be in my own house, on my own couch, half naked and not using a coaster. Life is good. So yeah, I guess life was too good and the powers that be have decided to send in the clowns. Not really, I cannot complain. I've made my own problems, and I'm actually glad that my life has taken this tack; I like what I do but I'm nowhere near my earning potential, and while I do love my spacious house, I have plenty of space to....to....(gulp) share. Sigh... Anyway, it's a woman from work who was actually just hired as an accountant in our office. Her fiancee had to move to Colorado for a year, for reasons I'm still not entirely clear on, but she's having to commute from Austin and she feels like she's spending too much time on the road, and not saving enough money up for her pending nuptials.

It would be nice to have someone to commute with, especially w/gas prices, but I was thinking a student from the university in town would be an ideal roommate b/c she could hang out here while I'm at work. If it felt more like two ships passing in the night, then I feel it wouldn't be so bad having a roommate because we could give each other space. But having the exact same schedule as the person you live with? Yeah, that really makes me nervous. She's coming over to check the place out tomorrow, so I guess we'll see. Oh, and she has a small dog. I had this crazy thought that if our pets didn't get along, I'd give the whole idea the kibosh. Illogical yes, but at the end of the day, if things don't go well with having her move in, or not having her move in, it sure would be nice to have my dog to blame it on. :-)