Stay Young, Go Dancing

That's not really the subject of this post, it's just the name of that Death Cab for Cutie song that has been circling my brain for the last 24 hours. I was going to title this post something powerful and In Your Face(!)--something like, "I'm Back, B*tches!" But I never really left. I just wasn't keeping the internets in the communication loop of my life.

But I digress.... You are all familiar with that show, "How I Met Your Mother," yes? Well something happened recently, and I feel in 17-or-so years I'll be cozy-ed up in front of a warm fire with my kids in our Up North Log Cabin during the December Holiday and say, "Hey kids, did I ever tell you about the time I almost lit myself on fire in front of your father?"

So this is what happened.....fade out....Bah Bah Bah Bah Bah Bah da Bah da Bah da da da dada dada dada daaa….

Setting the stage-Bad day at work, really Bad Day, and I'm totally stressed. Like crazy Harpy-hair stressed. I notice in the nearly empty parking lot that my office crush is still at the office, working late like me. Which he never does. I feel like the Universe is sending me a neon-flashing, wacky-inflatable-balloon-waving-guy, airplane-banner-in-the-sky opportunity--TALK TO THIS GUY ALREADY!!!!11!!!!1!! So I get my conversation opener ready and walk to his cube.

A little logistical info you might need--he sits in a different room, in a cube facing away from the entrance. The cube walls are low enough that you can see if somebody is sitting at a desk. I set the scene because this is what I was expecting, to be able to peek through the doorway and see if he was sitting at his desk. Then I could compose myself and ask if I could bum a smoke, and would he join me?

That was the plan. The imaginary plan I cooked up sitting at my desk. The reality was, when I peeked through the doorway to see if he was sitting at his desk-- he saw me. Because he was Sitting On His Desk. Now I'm thinking, 'Sh*t, he saw me, kinda committed now.' So I pull the rest of my body through the doorway and walk to his cube. What I couldn't see, and didn't process, was that he was sitting ON his desk because he was TALKING TO HIS SUPERVISOR. At this point my head essplodes, and I am dead.

Not really, but I might as well have been, because my autonomic nervous system stepped up and was in control of what happened next. My brilliant ultra-cool sultry 'can I bum a smoke?' morphed into "You're a smoker, right?" Yeah awesome, no? And then his supervisor starts chuckling. Not laughing, not even a snigger so much, but a creepy ‘hehehe.’ Yeah, guy, I know you know what’s going on right now, but you don’t have to add a creepy chuckle.

He says "Um...yeah," like in a 'hmm, am I going to get in trouble for being a smoker?' kind of way. So I follow up with, "I've had a really stressful day, and I quit, haven’t had a smoke in three months, but I really need a cig right now," accompanied by begging hands clasped motions. At which point he visibly relaxes, and pulls out a box of Reds with a smile on his face. Fight or Flight? Fight or Flight, b*tches?! It was Flight. Stumbling, barely functioning, going to die of embarrassment (even though I'm already essploded)--Flight.

But Wait—There’s More!

I run back to my desk, throw stuff in the drawers, scoop up the rest, and book it to my car, because I am so mortified. Arms loaded (notebook, travel mug, business cards, purse, gym bag, and newly acquired cig—just setting the scene here people), I finally fumble my car’s back door open to dump my sh*t, when I hear—“You need a light?”

And here’s the visual—I am a**-end out the back seat of my hatchback, flustered, with Harpy-hair. And did I mention its 99 degrees Fahrenheit outside?

Yeeaaaahhh

I drop most everything, and nearly hit my head on the door frame as I jerk to a standing position. Surprise! It’s thoughtful Office Crush. He has his lighter out and ready. Because he’s the kinda guy that holds doors open. He’s the kinda guy who even waits for you at said door if you pull up to the parking lot 60 seconds after he does. He’s the kinda guy who remembers stuff you tell him, because he actually listens to what you are saying. And he’s the kinda guy who when a dame asks for a cig, makes sure said dame has a way to light said cig. I guess you’d call that “Old-fashioned.”

And I guess you’d call me a “spaz,” ‘cause I’m all, “Uh, yeah, didn’t think that far ahead. Thanks.”

Now remember when I listed all of the items I carried out of the building? Remember how I mentioned I had business cards? Weeeellll, I happened to be clutching them in the same hand I was holding the cig. And neglected to drop them in my back seat when I was startled. And was still actually clutching them as I attempted to light my newly acquired cig.

Flick. Flick. “Wait…..I’m going to light myself on fire.”

Yup—said that out loud. At least he laughed. And not at me, more like I’d made a funny joke. Which made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Did I mention it was 99 degrees FAHRENHEIT?

That’s pretty much the end of the story, cause I either blackout from heat exhaustion or my head essploded. Again.

…Life is sweet, in the belly of the beast…

My Life Is A Country Song

The first three days of this week have been as near to disastrous as one can have in my fairly sheltered, I-got-Peeps-lookin-out-for-me world. Don't quite understand what I'm getting at? Here are a few examples.

Sunday I expected to actually have the house to myself for the evening, so that I could clean and unpack. But for the first time in a week my roommate was home the same time as I was. And I didn't get to unpack in solitude. And we actually had a conversation. And actually got to know each other a little better. Yeah, what a downer, right?

Then last night I wasn't planning on going to The Babe's house, as I had worked all day. But when I talked to him after work, he said he was tired too, and that maybe we should both just stay at our respective houses. And even though I didn't want to go to his house, even though I wanted to stay with my Kitties--him saying 'don't come over,' just turned me into this bratty little five year old and all I wanted to do was go to my friend's house and why couldn't I just come over? Most of the time, we stay up so late talking that we're both exhausted. And yes, I actually do mean talking. So, bummer, I actually got some sleep last night, woke up well-rested and was early for my meeting the next day.

Which brings us to this morning, wherein the ATM machine ate my card. Cause it was all gnarly and bent. So I got on my cell phone and called my credit union, told them my sob story about the mean ol' ATM, and they are working on fixing this monumental obstacle that is in the path of my life's journey. (Little too much?) Boo-hoo me, now I have to actually pay cash for things, and I might even save a bit on gas.

As my Sis says, there's rarely a shortage of drama in my life. Cause Sweet Baby Jesus knows, I can make even a trip to the cash machine a major event.

Fly Like Paper, Get High Like Planes

It was my 3-0 this past weekend. I went to a friend's boyfriend's party two days before my Big Day. I've only just begun to process the many events from that night.

A few conclusions I've drawn from this 24 hour time period:
>First and foremost--I Am Too Old For This S***.
>Ice luge shots equals herpes for everyone! Yay!
>Even though you may know everyone at the party, doesn't mean you should trust everyone at the party.
>The most sober person is the one who will injure themselves. Never fails.
>If you are craving tacos, you should get tacos. Potato chips are no substitute. Neither is more liquor.
>Nobody deserves to be called a Bitch on their birthday.

And probably the most important--If You Don't Feel Like Going To The Party, DON'T GO TO THE PARTY! Or the after party, for that matter....

One last thing, you might not even have noticed, but I no longer have adds on my blog. Cause AdSense sucks lemons, and feels my content is too harmful to advertisers.

So, I guess I really AM controversial! If Google didn't host my blog (for f-r-e-e), they would be Dead To Me. But alas, I'll have to settle for--They Can Suck It!

Aww, Look At The Pumpkin

This.......was me this weekend.

No more Manhattans. Ever.

What Doesn't Kill You....

Just might make you want to die.

Word of warning, when you buy new coffee creamer to replace bad coffee creamer, Throw Away The Old Coffee Creamer.

Or you will get sick. Like I got sick. Cause I'm an idiot. And I can't read an expiration date.

And Everything Was Right In The Universe

It's ALIVE!!!!!

Who knew Apple Support might actaully offer a fix that would work?

The Cheesecake Factory . . . Of Death!

Today, I'm bending the Rules Of Posting that I had set up for myself. I'm writing about food. Not only that, I'm writing about food I ate.

Earlier I had one of the tastiest meals I've eaten in a long time. Super delicious, creamy, and rich. And the cheesecake.... Oh, the Cheescake!

I haven't had a meal that rich in a very long time, and my body reminded me of that soon after I finished eating. Were talking way worse than just a carb coma. I think my GI tract stopped function for a short period of time.

So, the lesson for the day--Everythng in Moderation.

Except maybe the white chocolate macadamia nut cheesecake. Teehee.

Lone Wolf? Um, Not So Much...

For almost One Whole Month, I lived alone. It was not as much fun as I thought it would be. I thought it would be loads of giggles to walk around naked, watch whatever I wanted on TV, stay up late and sleep in without anything to wake me.

The reality is, I was too paranoid people would try to look in thru closed blinds to walk around naked. I didn't have cable to watch whatever I wanted, and was pretty bored with the movies I owned. And the absolute quiet started to wear on my nerves.

But all is now right in the Universe, because a few days ago my new roommate moved in! Now, I have a roommate with STYLE--crazy, hip, British style. And a whole new collection of DVDs. She has so much style, I feel like I need to update my wardrobe just to be able to live in my own home. Yay, shopping!

She's ok with my cats. Actually, it's a near perfect situation--she brushes them, makes sure they have food, and generally keeps them company during the day. And then shuts them out of her room so they have no choice but to snuggle up with me at night. I'm not sure how long this is going to last, because the new roommate has her sights set on getting a dog. I'm all for this, and actually looking forward to having a dog again. But I'm not sure how the cats will handle having competition for the Brit's affections.
Here are a few Reasons I Should Not Live Alone:
A roommate would not allow me to eat corndogs and chocolate martinis for dinner.
I have a hard time justifying leaving the house.
Left on my own, I have a hard time showering on a regular basis.
Strange house noises with a roommate = strange house noises; Strange house noises alone = monsters in the basement trying to get me.

I Would Have Peed My Pants (If I Had Been Wearing Any)

Let me just put this out there—I am afraid of the dark. Which, thinking about it is ironic, because I like the nightlife, baby. But fundamentally, it rubs me wrong. I need to know things, and you can’t know what’s in the dark. Because it’s, umm, dark. And scary.

Let me set the scene (que Humphrey Bogart noir voice-over):
-It’s 11:30pm Sunday night.
-I’ve been watching scary movies and knitting all day. (There are exactly two scenarios in which -I can watch scary movies—1. It’s a bright sun-shiny day and birdies are chirping, or 2. I have someone to watch them with me.)
-My roommate is in the process of moving out, ergo I am Home Alone.
-I have closed all the blinds (because ScaryDarkThings might be looking in) and turned on all the lights (so ScaryDarkThings can’t lurk in dark corners).
-I decide I’m finally ready for bed, and go to take a shower.

And this is when my entire block lost power.

I’m half-naked, in my bathroom, and the lights go out. Again, did I mention I’m afraid of the dark? And I had been watching scary movies all day. Alone.

I froze in attack position. It was like, instinctual or something. Then several thoughts hit me at once—
‘shit.’
‘clothes? Where are my clothes? I can’t look for a flashlight, in the dark, nekked!’ (by the way, I found my bra three days later on the kitchen counter. I seriously have no idea…)
‘maybe if I reach down and grab a kitty tail, they can lead me out of the bathroom, like Lassie or some shit’

I fumbled along the hallway (which by the way, I don’t remember that f***er being so long) to the kitchen hoping to find a lighter. Lucky for me, it was a full moon. But, out of my irrational fear of monsters, I had closed all the blinds (‘cause seriously, some dudes just found a Bigfoot carcass, that shit could be real and looking in my windows! http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/08/080818-bigfoot-dna.html ).

I managed to open the blinds, found a lighter wand, made my way to my bedroom and lit some candles. Yay, me!

An hour later, the power was back on and I had to leave the cave of protective blankies and turn off every light I had turned on ‘cause I am a big, fat, Chicken!

So, a few things I have learned—
I do not like living alone.
I would not make a good spy (insert appropriate sad smiley here).
Cats are not comforting in a crisis like this--they are super stealth, and have night vision.

But I’m not as big a chicken as I thought (the proof is the fact that I didn’t just drop into the fetal position on the bathroom floor!).

The Pressure Is Too Much For Me

So, my sister-in-law just went in to labor. Like, as I'm typing she's getting her epidural.

She went to the doc early this morning, and everybody thought it was (another) false alarm. But they sent her to the hospital and started monitoring her. I thought she'd be home by this afternoon, but I was wrong. My nephew and godson (that we've been calling Baby Pickle) is on his way, 18 days early.

When my Bro called with a status update and said this was it, I totally panicked! I'm all like, "Ok, where do I need to be? What do I need to do? Should I bring anything?" And my Bro, totally cool, 'cause he can deal with high pressure situations being a cop and all, laughed at me.

And I'm all like, "Dude this is serious! I'm the Godmother! Where do I need to be?!"

My Bro's reply-"I'll call you when it's closer. She's doing great, everything's fine."

And then I realized (and not for the first time) that I am NO GOOD at high-pressure situations. My Bro just got off a 12-hour shift, came home to a wife in labor, drove her to the doctor's, and he's totally calm. He's going to be a New Father, and I'm freakin about being the godmother. Now I know why they pick 2 godparents.