Happy Holidays!

Today was a good day. Busy busy busy till office lunch at AP Stumps at 11:45 where we were served by the most exquisitely flamboyant of homos (think, flock of seagulls hair and excessive oohing and ahhing over my gold plated dove necklace). The bossies ordered us three bottles of wine, resulting in a glorious tipsy glow for all, and the filet medallions were magnificent. Then they told us we didn't have to come in tomorrow and gave me a huge cash bonus. Yeah...I'll take that.

Now I could put this in my savings or spend like my life depends on it over the next two weeks.

Anyway, I wont' have internet access for the next couple weeks while I'm out of the office, so I hope everyone has a lovely holiday season. I plan on peppering mine with alternating bouts of blackout drunkenness and sleep.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

coral lipstick. check. wife beater. check. now where the hell are my press-on nails???

Putting together a costume to dress like a trashy crackwhore from the trailers is a lot harder than it sounds. Looking through my closet, I was surprised to discover that I actually had NOTHING that would suffice to wear. That is equal parts upsetting/relieving. I now have to buy things, and buying things is hard work.

I went to Longs last night and was very displeased to discover that gone are the days where Lee proudly displayed their mulitpacks of press on nails in every hue under the sun. I went hoping for gold and was lucky to find one almost hidden pack of maroon. This will not do. Yeah, I could just buy and paint the french manicure ones they have on display by the hundreds, but now it has become a private battle to find the last standing pack of gold or otherwise offensive press on nails at a retail store. Watch out, Rite Aid, I'm coming for you tonight.

a bit touched

I woke up at 6:30 this morning from a dream where a man was slowly and quite painfully slicing off the tips of each and every one of my fingers. I was sitting at the kitchen table and I have no idea why he was doing it, but I watched as the knife cut through each one like a stick of butter. I instinctively curled my hands up into a ball when I woke up and I felt that weird dream-pain where you know it probably wouldn't really feel anything like it does but it's uncomfortable just the same. Then I started thinking about how there's no way the knife would have gone through my fingers like that since they aren't made of dough and have bones that would most likely stop the blade. So it was an unrealistic, but still alarming dream. It's at times like that I wish I didn't sleep alone most nights. Piglet is no protection from torture-minded intruders who want to sever my fingertips.

Work has been incredibly busy this week. But it did make me happy for a moment today to be able to control who in the company's association would be lucky enough to get a Holiday Greeting card this year. I enjoy pretending that the happiness of small office/warehouse/R&D tenants rests in my hands and mine alone. Congratulations, Silicon Optex, you made the cut! Yes, of course you may kiss my hand. Just be careful of the finger stumps.

last great american whale

So I just finished reading this book called The Average American Male. And I know, I am not male. But when I was at the library, I was intrigued enough to put it in my stack, and it was red, so you know, at least it will match my apartment for as long as I forget to take it back.

And let me just say... lame. I don't mean lame as in I take offense at its in your face macho attitude. I get that. I mean lame as in this book is way more of what the average american male wishes he was rather than the sad truth of what he is. Which makes it even sadder. The entire book consisted of the main characters stupid relationship with this twit of a girlfriend whose sole plan in life is to get married and get fat. Throughout this relationship he is miserable, until he meets a younger hotter girl he begins to have amazing sex with but ultimately and inescapably turns into the same kind of girl he broke up with before. I don't know if that is supposed to be a commentary on the fate of all society, but again, lame. The main character in the book is supposed to be the average male: horny, carefree, and stuck because all women want to tie him down. The first two, ok. I agree that most guys are like that. But to make all the female characters in the book hell bent on securing themselves a male to provide for them and take them off the market...I mean come on. I just don't think that works today. All the women I know are independent and do pretty damn well without a man to make them housewives. If anything, the women I know are more afraid of marriage than the men, and would much rather be free to do whatever they want than have to report to a complaining guy at home. I think this book could just as easily be called the average american female by changing all cocks to vaginas, all whiny girlfriends to crying whiny boyfriends, and we'd have the same damn story.

Moral: grow a pair, average american male. Your women have outgrown you and you haven't even realized it yet.

and now I’ve seen everything

Really, Togos? Really, you're gonna have a full bar in the back?

I went today for lunch on the recommendation of the guys at work and walked in the back way, only to find myself in a seedy darkened bar getting leered at by 6 or 7 barflies who didn't seem put off by my two sizes too big pants and last night's makeup. Classy. For a split second I was panicked and contemplated running out the door the way I came in but then I remembered that I am a seasoned pro and have been in one or two bars in my day. I walked around the bar and into the light of day where my Mexican friends were bustling about behind the togos counter, ready to prepare me my delicous sandwich any way I wanted it.

Ah yes, now we're cooking with gas.

uberbored

When you begin checking out the gossip blogs because all your daily staple websites have been looked at by 9AM, you know the situation is serious.

Data I have collected this morning:

Number of slices, scrapes, and or deformities on hands alone: 6
Number of cuticles torn on hinge putting away fresh paper from office depot an hour ago: 1
Number of christmas gifts/paint CDs I have ordered for boss today: 2
Times I have gone to the bathroom to escape work: 2
Times I have refreshed yahoo mail to see if online order had come in to print: 5
Towels I forgot for spinning tonight: 1
Number of emails I am avoiding dealing with: 56
Lines I have chatted with Laura on gmail: 351
Packages that have come in via Fedex, UPS, and Office Depot: 6
Checks I have written on company account: 1
Times I wished I was still in bed: somewhere around 1,000.

picture blog number 2,096

Because I know how much everyone enjoys photos that they aren’t in and/or know none of the people involved, here is another photoblog of a memorable occasion according to me. Dave was kind enough to host a Thanksgiving party at his new place this Saturday, and if the level of drunkenness of all attendees was any indication, it was a roaring success.


The pretty babies




Right before we began to feast.







Dave making a moving toast.







This is what I consumed.




Followed by this:





The wine cozy I made to disguise the fact that the bottle I brought was $8.




Which also worked to disguise the fact that Janelle was only $8.





Me and the baby.







Plus one.




Janessa says, “Turkey makes me tingly!”




Why Dave had these napkins is beyond me. But they did demonstrate our undying love of this country in a convenient 5x5” form.




Oskar and Charlee are thankful for each other.







As the wine flowed freely, the flash began to go off every 5 seconds.








One of the rare occasions Janessa allowed herself to be photographed in Brian’s vicinity.




We spent so long trying to get the perfect picture with the port that we actually wore the battery out taking the following pictures, thus making it impossible to document the actual photo-worthy events of the rest of the evening, such as when Dave met the neighbors.











And no night would be complete without one of these.

let’s eat till our hearts explode!

There is one thing I pride myself on doing well. Well, two things. Three if you count that thing with the hula hoop and ping pong balls. But for the purposes of this blog, the thing I pride myself in above all others is my ability to pack in the vittles. And I mean pack. I can outeat a 400 pound man who was just told they restocked the cocktail shrimp at the buffet. When eating, I have the capability to completely disregard the multiple warning signs my brain sends my stomach receptors, flimsily trying to tell me to stop, please, for the love of God, stop before something gives. I'll go to the emergency room just to prove a point.

For this reason, the coming holiday season is going to kick some serious ass.

I already have two desserts in my refrigerator.

beowulf: superlame

I was just reading about the new beowulf movie and the only thing that keeps coming to mind is: "REALLY??" Seriously, Robert Zemeckis? I mean, Back to the Future is great and all, but you should have learned from that stupid Polar Express and hung up your cinematic hat. It's kind of sad that so much money was spent on the process of animating the actors to look believable when they are so (mostly) realistic looking without having hundreds of sensors pasted on their bodies to computer generate movie characters. I will, of course, never see this movie because the ten dollars for that will be better spent on booze or crickets for Shelly, but I am going to go ahead and give it two thumbs down anyway, just for pissing me off in the entertainment section of the San Jose Mercury News this morning. Shame on you if you choose to see it this weekend over the Bee Movie.

fancypants nights, shelly dreams

Two things to mention straight off the bat: the first: I have taken to drinking red wine with my dinner as of late, the second: Netflix is changing my life.

Last night I invited Laura to dine with me at chez unfinished apartment and, unable to resist the promise of nachos, she graciously accepted my invitation. Because I was expecting guests, I pulled out all the stops and not only purchased a fine Mexican blend of grated cheese, but also chopped olives, Rosarita refried beans, garlic lovers salsa, and chicken filets for our daily meat intake. I chopped the chicken into tiny chip-sized pieces and fried them up in butter (side note: chopping chicken up into too tiny portions makes them a little tough. I don't recommend it) and arranged the chips in a pleasing manner with liberal handfuls of cheese on top. They were glorious. But I feel the meal was really pulled together with the red wine we sipped in between shoveling chips into our greedy faces. You would think wine and nachos might not be a good combination, but you would be wrong.

The movie selection for the night was called Opal Dream and although I thought it was a foreign film from my foggy memory of putting into my netflix queue, I was happy to discover that I didn't have to read at all while watching, because the movie was set in Australia. It was strange, to say the least, and not a movie I would ordinarily have enjoyed but the wine helped more than a little. It was about a girl with imaginary friends who gets sick when she "loses" them and then her brother pays for their funeral with a huge opal he finds in his dad's claim. There was some other stuff, but that's the gist of it. Laura and I were shaky on the enjoyment level until we decided it was dessert time and then proceeded to split FOUR small dessert cakes because picking just one each was too difficult. The mocha triangle cake was best, followed by the chocolate mousse cake round, followed (distantly) by the black forest cake, and then the apricot tart came in at a sorrowful last place because it was almost impossible to chew/cut. But I am glad we successfully completed the dessert challenge, because I feel we are the better for it.

In other news, I may be going to Disneyland for Thanksgiving. Not having to cook + the happiest place on earth = how can you go wrong??

baby’s first rolling pin

28 years have passed and I have thus far had no need to purchase a cylinder of wood with which to roll things flat. I guess I never made a homemade pizza, tortilla, or crust up to this point. But last night, I entered a new era of my life, and luckily, my local Safeway was able to help me out in that regard. Granted, I had to pretend to evaluate my rolling pin options for far too long in order to wait for the guy talking to his 6 month old shopping cart baby as if she was ten to move out of the f-ing way, but in the end I snatched up the all wood Good Cook rolling pin and pranced out of the baking aisle, high on success. Janessa was making me a roast for dinner and I was to provide the pear tart. I had made the tart once before at Laura's, and it was so delicious and not too difficult for a baking novice like myself, so I figured why not? Cut to two hours later with me cursing at the kitchenaid which had managed to lump my pastry ball into and between the crevices of the spatula stirring thing, flour all over my face and standing in my underpants in the kitchen. Not pretty, but the tart got made. And it was glorious.

piglet viewing in 5...4...3...2...NOW

This week has been weird. This is the second day that has dragged mercilessly, and yet the week as a whole seemed to have flown by. I am trying my hardest to wait till 1 to go to the gym so that when I come back I only have an hour left before I can justify fleeing from work. And then it's piglet time! Laura and I are going hiking after work at Rancho San Antonio and although I have absolutely no reason to expect for there to be piglets, I have been buoyed throughout the day by the thought of their little pink hides waiting for me at the farm. And if there aren't any, I'm making bacon for dinner.

This is the first weekend that I have absolutely nothing planned. It's nice, but also kind of sad. I am going to need to find something to occupy large chunks of my time with, and fast.

what the hell

I just tried to upload my pictures on my memory stick from Maria's wedding. For some reason, they copied from my computer as two files each, one truncated one and one that looks kind of like it's supposed to be a jpg but isn't. If this is the way they are on my computer at home, I am going to be very pissed. Because those bitches are erased from my camera already. Oh I am angry.

In other news, I was in my robe when we had that earthquake yesterday. It made me think about what I would do if the apartments came crashing down and I was all alone, pretty much naked when it happened. Boy would that have been embarrassing.

I'm going to see Tiger Army tonight! Yippee!

like a chicken with its head cut off

I thought once I finished school I would have all this extra time to relax and cultivate my budding potbelly, but it turns out that my dreams of lounging on my couch and sipping wine coolers will have to wait. This past week has flown by, and I think I have spent a total of 5 or 6 hours a day at home, and those reserved just for sleeping. Maria is getting married tomorrow, and in addition to the general prep I needed to do for being a bridesmaid, I also am still scrambling to get a costume together for the reception. For like the past three years, I have been trying to coerce/persuade someone else to go with me as this:



But, to no avail. This year, Janessa FINALLY agreed to do it and with my new skills in design, I promised to make the dresses myself (only less innocent, more uberslut). About two months ago, I bought matching pink and blue wigs. And then did nothing else until this week. Unfortunately, Sunday, Janessa tried on her wig. After ten minutes of squealing, tugging, yanking, and crying, we discovered that her massive head will not accomodate a wig, even with the adorable wig cap to encase the hair and ease wig application. Fuck. As you can tell by the picture, the cornerstone of these costumes is the hair. I figured I would proceed as planned and start making the dresses, and worry about shoving Janessa's head into some hair when the time came. My friend Autumn had helped me make the pattern for the dress the week before, so I didn't think I would have all that much left to do, but when I made the sample I discovered that it was ten inches too big around the empire line. Woops.

Long story short, I got a call from Janessa the next day that boiled down to "can't find a wig to fit my head, going as a bat". I made the executive decision to bravely continue my quest to be a twin star (read: had already spent WAY too much money/time on this concept) and finally finished my dress to fit me Wednesday night. I bought the shoes last night and still need to sew on some buttons, but otherwise we are good to go. The only problem is I don't know if I want to be just one of the little twin stars. I photoshopped Janessa's head onto a picture of the other twin star and wrote R.I.P under it so maybe people will get it, but I am beginning to have doubts. I have butterfly wings as a backup, but I have been that damn butterfly like three years now.

So I have two choices. I can be the pseudo-innocent pink little twin star in a homemade dress, wings and beige flats. Or, I could be a semi-slutty blue butterfly in rhinestones, huge false eyelashes, and stilettos. Irony, or true to form? Only time will tell.

good news, bad news, rain, and a dead squirrel

Yesterday, to my shock and happiness, I learned that the Psychology teacher I took my challenge test with last week found the mercy in her heart to let me pass with a C, thus allowing me to skip out on that final gen ed requirement and also save about $1,600. This made me giddy with excitement, not only because I know for certain that I did not deserve that C, but because this means I will for once and for all be done with that school, and finally get my little degree thingie that shows I busted my ass raw for the last year and a half. Hooray.

(I am understating the excitement I felt when I learned I wouldn't have to deal with getting refund general ed units anymore at this school. I mean I was really pleased).

To counteract this happy news, because god knows I need the balance in my life, I have spent the last three days exchanging phone calls with the post office about the fact that they have decided to ignore my mail forwarding and just return everything to the senders. If you have never had to deal with the local post office before, then you are lucky, because these bastards just couldn't care less about whether you are receiving your credit card offers in a timely manner. The other day I talked to a woman who basically told me that while she would TAKE a message, she probably wouldn't deliver it. Snatch. And then I got an angry call this morning from a guy who was mad that I called the 1-800 number to complain that they weren't fixing things at the local office. I hope he got in trouble. After all the back and forth, the long and short of it is that I am SOL and if I really want this resolved, I need to get a copy of the front of the returned mail so they can see who signed for it and where. The only nice thing about all this is that I have an excuse for why I haven't paid my medical bill from July yet.

More good news: it's getting easier to sweat through a full hour of spinning without feeling like I'm going to vomit up my lunch. Last night Laura and I managed not to break our butts, and although I had a coughing fit after it was all over and my face looked like a tomato, another week is behind us. As a special treat, Janessa cooked up a delicious feast of TWO kinds of enchiladas, tacos, refried beans, and spanish rice. I made a spritzle and managed to get fairly tossed after two glasses of it. So much for the workout.

can I apply for handicapped parking?

A couple months back when I was moving, I smashed my thumb really nicely in the hinge of the front door of my apartment. It bled. I cried silently. It stopped bleeding, and I forgot about it.

For some reason, that nail has decided to become deformed. I just noticed it last week: a thin nail shell has started growing over the original nail bed. This is troubling. I looked up the meaning of this online and to my dismay discovered that this new pathetic nail is my damaged nail's attempt to cover itself, and that it most likely is going to fall off altogether. Eee! I panic easily, and this time was no exception. Luckily, my uncle claims to have had this happen to him several times and he said to just file away the new weakly nail covering and keep trimming it until it grows out. Of course, nails grow excrutiatingly slowly and I have intense OCD and can't stop picking at it. I have tried covering it with a bandaid to avoid the problem but I can feel its desire to be picked through the flexible latex rubber layer and it's only a matter of time before I cave and rip it off to begin furiously peeling and scraping. I don't know if it's all the filing, but the real nail underneath has started to become misshapen. Dear lord save me from myself.

mistakes were made

I took the Psychology challenge test last night. After frantically attempting to learn Psych on the internet for three hours. While coughing up my lungs. On my teacher's computer. During a lame-o "deep" psychological intro film. In a darkened classroom. I'll be brief.

I totally failed.

While the teacher was skimming my test after I was done, I heard comments like "oh dear" and "hmmm" and "did you make this up?" and even, to my deep shame, a few chuckles. It's always nice to hear that someone thinks you're creative. But when this adjective is accompanied by a somewhat patronizing back pat, when you have just spent an hour and a half attempting to sound convincingly intelligent, it is a bit crushing to the ego. Which, from my cramming yesterday, I learned lies in the subconscious. But I scored 80% or above on all of the chapter quizzes on allpsych.com! And I managed to learn 8 chapters of material in a few hours!! Does this count for nothing? Apparently, since I did not know that Carl Jung came up with the theory of meaningful coincidence when a patient was describing a dream about a scarab and a beetle flew into the room. I expected some general multiple choice, maybe a couple short paragraph answers. But what I got was 20 open-ended questions on really specific theories or events in the history of Psychology. So yeah, I made things up. Cross my fingers that my "creativity" got me a C or better.

i’m sickly

and at work. Poor me. I don't know who got me sick and I don't want to point any fingers, but all I will say is that Janessa is at least a day ahead in this sickness than I am. So. There's that.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Columbus Day. I know I did. I coughed and snotted my way across town as I ran the errands I should have run this weekend but didn't because I spent hours in traffic in SF trying to look at the blue angels thousands of feet above me in between eucalyptus leaves. But I did get to see and touch a ferret.

Now I need to study for a Psychology challenge test so I can get $2,000 back from school. I've never taken psych but considering the quality of general ed at Brooks, I'm pretty sure I can pass it with my limited knowledge of Pavlov and the superego and the kama sutra. There's gotta be a site on the internet that will teach me everything I need to know by tomorrow night. Right? Sure.

I have a headache THIS big...

I've had a low-level headache for about a week now. I think it's because of the increased workouts and decreased sleep, but I haven't really field tested this theory. I only know the two year-expired advil in the office isn't doing a thing to take it away, so I might have to switch to alternate methods before the day is out. Do you think I would look as stupid as this woman vigorously rubbing a stick of menthol on my head? I just need to find my white eyeshadow to highlight my delicious brow bones.

longest photoblog EVER

I know you have all been on the edge of your seats waiting for this, so without further ado, I present you: Vegas 2007. I deleted the incriminating photos. And there were many.



DAY ONE




Janelle and I kickstarting the party at Norman Mineta Airport. Yes, we are drunk. And yes, my toothpaste and jam were taken from me at the baggage check.




Taken from the balcony of the first room we had at the majestic Imperial Palace. There were bloodstains on the pavement 9 floors down, and macaws on everything from the bedspread to the wall trim. Thankfully, not 5 minutes into check-in, our toilet overflowed and we were sent to the much plushier 7th floor.




Is the fuzziness of this picture due to the fact that we were taking it with drunken, unsteady hands? Could be. I don’t remember taking it but it was at the Outback for our first Vegas meal. By the end of dinner I was drinking Long Island Iced Teas. This was a mistake.




As was this. Janelle started ransacking the unwanted potato skins on my plate and this illustrates the regret she felt after her barbaric acts.




I don’t remember why Janelle was posing like this, but the main point is I caught it on camera.




At Casino Royale after dinner. Drinks flowed freely, as you can tell.




The biting trend continued all weekend. I love this picture because it looks like we are all in a different place as far as levels of drunkenness.




Dogs bite.




I can’t not laugh every time I see Maria in this picture.




And the biting continues…




I think this was the picture that spawned Brian and I to notice how calm Janelle looks in every shot, despite the mayhem that goes on in the rest of the frame. I don’t know why this is, since Andy was feeding Tokyo drinks like they were going out of style.




But then I saw this in my camera and that theory goes to shit.




I like Janessa’s candid happiness/drunkenness.




Huggies for all!




Me and baby.




Babies!




Josh was attacked at some point in the night.




and it goes on like this…




Don’t remember taking this!




I like this picture of Janess and Laura because you can tell either a) they’re having fun or b) they’re tossed. Or a combo of both.




Back to more Josh love.




Ryan and Josh enjoying the evening.




Maria getting in on the action.




Me and baby.




Brian is the drunken cherry on top.




I don’t understand the correlation between alcoholic beverages consumed and inability to keep mouth closed, but I like it.




Little known fact: Josh’s face tastes like chocolate.




Somehow, amid all the chaos, Carol and Laura managed to win some money.




Somehow we managed to stumble to Tao (which after searching Google I discovered/remembered was at the Venetian) after Casino Royale. Here’s what we had to talk to in order to rest our weary feet.




This isn’t what it looks like. Ok, so maybe it is.




Me and Janelle at Tao.




Asked some guy to take these.




Was probably a mistake.



DAY TWO




We foolishly decided to try the famed Imperial Palace buffet the next morning. Here’s Janessa hiding from the camera.




And here’s Brian not hiding. He is expressing what we all felt in our stomachs moments after finishing lunch.




I decided I was going to try to capture Janelle with a mouthful of something to document every meal. That ambitious goal was abandoned immediately after this picture.




Extreme tiger pics! He lives at the Mirage.



















Janessa was able to showcase her love for Lenny Briscoe forever in digital perfection.




In Maria’s room before the bachelorette party.




I was late to board the biting train.




Me and Allison.













Brian and Dave met us at the Geisha bar to show off what they had done during boy’s day off. We’re so proud.




Now we see where Maria gets her cuteness. How many mothers and aunts can really party with the best of them?




Right before we left the Double Down.




How we got to sit at Pure. Whoring ourselves for seating is what we do best!


DAY THREE




Janelle says, “Hurray for Day Three and no pregnancies!”




Shortly before being shooed away from the front gates of the restaurant where Janelle was playing in the decoration bucket.







We spent an hour at least looking at ourselves in the mirror over Brian and Janessa’s bed. Here’s a mess-up.




and another mistake…




and finally we got a picture where none of us was all fuzzy due to overexposure. If you didn’t realize how vain we all were, well, here’s your proof.




Janessa and Brian about to get dirrrrty in the luv tub.




Here we are later that night at the Shadow Bar. We sat for an hour staring at women behind an illuminated wall. Who knew nipples could get so hard?










Still at the Shadow Bar. We went to Pure later, but going with a guy sucks out all the free sitting.


DAY FOUR – AKA I WANT TO GO HOME













And now as a special surprise, this is what I was treated to on the second day of our trip when I went into the bathroom to release the buffet. I laughed so hard I almost had an accident.


Janelle and I used to hide Ciana at the old apartment. It was always a highly anticipated event, but after kind of getting tired of it as we often do after months of doing a thing, I forgot all about her. Until Vegas. What a trip it was.

THE END