Archive for June, 2007

I’m sure there are bigger problems in the world; like famine

June 18, 2007 | Filed under: Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“Most of our faults are more pardonable than the means we use to conceal them.” ~François, Duc de La Rochefoucauld

I’m about to go out of my way to demonstrate just how absolutely pathetic, narcissistic and annoying I can be. Thus proving and giving the finger to “the man” who seem to think that I’m just a big fat narcissist with nothing better to do with my very, very disposable income save for drink expensive vodka and buy luxury handbags. And you know what? I do it proudly and fully aware that things will not always be this glamorous, but fucking a, breast cancer, leukemia and Alzheimer’s run in my family, so why not live it up while I can?

On Friday evening I lost my ID. Every person I’ve told – and this is a story that’s been told to every person in a five mile radius – has been shocked because they wouldn’t put it past me to lose my ID trying to buy some poor underage kid a handle of gin or trying to sneak into a bar or reckless driving. All of which save for the latter have actually happened but the last one could happen at any minute given the fact that I find people who can’t merge, to be the most disdainful lot of people to grace the planet.

What really happened is just stupid and boring and my license is now somewhere between the BWI Amtrak station and Union Station though both properties have not seen it. The real story is the way in which I sat on my bedroom floor in a crumpled heap on Friday night. Praying to God that there was someway it had to be in my bedroom. I literally turned whatever was left in my apartment upside down. Leaving no stone unturned as this was a tragic, tragic moment: I wouldn’t be able to drink that night and probably not until sometime on Monday when I had an actual ID proving that I’m not 15 or 16 years old.

[Side note: A few weeks ago, the caretaker of my mother’s house in Martha’s Vineyard saw me as I was leaving and then turned to her and said “I have a daughter about her age. What is she…15 or 16?”]

In the end, after calling Kassy while so very close to tears because going an entire weekend without a sip of fermented beverage is quite possibly the saddest thing in the world, next to war and deadly hurricanes of course; I ended up making the difficult decision of having my former boss’ driver bring me to BWI and back so that I could make it to Happy Hour before everyone was completely shit faced. OR bribing the bouncer with $120 in cash and I was dead serious.

I sat in a cab to Adam’s Morgan gripping my cash and preparing words in my head about being an actual legal adult who was an idiot and lost her license in a freak train accident. And being all weepy and such, I’m sure a bouncer would feel for me and my pain of having to take Southwest once every two weeks and how I CAN’T DRINK. THIS IS A PROBLEM. When I called El Madre to have her send down my passport and old license, she couldn’t understand the urgency in my voice or why I needed a form of identification during the weekend. Because “it’s not like you’re driving anywhere”.

There’s an inane absurdity to this situation, not just because I behaved as if it were an actual emergency, but also because how much more ridiculous can I possibly be? I’m just patting myself on the back quietly, while admiring my quick thinking and ingenuity to not completely freak the fuck out, but instead to call and search and look with complete earnest and then have another copy sent down. My previous reaction would have been a complete meltdown and threats to toss myself in front of a metro bus because life without an ID is just so fucking difficult. I’m now priding myself on my almost adult like behavior, because I truly believe that it’s the baby steps that make all the difference.

Let me share with you

June 15, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“Technology… is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other.” ~C.P. Snow

Being as sometimes food obsessed as I can be, I used to keep a pink notebook with me writing down what I ate each day. After I started the Dub-dub, I carried the pink notebook to make random notes because it was like $3.00 at Target and I wasn’t wasting good money on paper if I wasn’t going to get good use out of it. So now there are random notes in there meant for fodder. Though a particular line caught my eye the other day:

“Anal sex. Loud. Airport”

Seeing as how I’ve never actually caught anyone having sex of any sort in the airport, it took me awhile to remember that a woman sitting a few seats from me was speaking loudly on her cell phone. Loudly and repeating every word that the person on the other end was saying because I could hear that person AS WELL.

Though I have a difficult time setting my alarm, technology amazes me. Which is why I use a Mac because it only requires me to plug something in and then it’s there and then I’m listening to Elton John’s greatest hits for five hours straight. But people have developed an alarming proclivity to share or perhaps OVER SHARE because technology allows them to spread their business like wildfire. Like my virgin ears probably have no business hearing jokes (it turns out that it was a joke that the older woman was repeating back. So in case you were wondering, your grandma totally knows about anal sex. She probably knows what a rabbit is as well) about ‘anal sex’ especially in the airport. In Upstate NY. In a town full of Shakers and Catholics. But with a cell phone with bonus speaker phone/walkie talkie capabilities, I get to hear all about it for a solid 20 minutes. This, as I recall now, totally ruined the writing I was doing and my strategic way of putting ‘fuck’ in a sentence. That shit takes skill, yo.

Anyway, I tend to over share on the internet. I over shared the way I thoroughly enjoy vodka and the way it sometimes violently expels itself from my body and have never really minded how I have thoroughly documented these instances. In fact that has proved to be a nice way to look back on how I’ve spent birthdays past puking in my bathtub so maybe next time I’ll lay off the champagne. See? Lesson learned.

This weekend in DC I’ll try to be good and maybe share a little less or perhaps a lot about how much I enjoy Magic Hat and that’s why I continue to write so much about it. I’ll also share more about my Kate Spade sample sale purchases (don’t say I never do anything for you) and now I must go Twitter about how some bitch in the Southwest cattle call, elbowed me in my perfectly perky boobs. It was probably out of jealousy, because good lord, they look good.

Oops, there I go with the over sharing again. My bad.

Big Pimpin’

June 14, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Humdrum

“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” ~Elwyn Brooks White

Do y’all know what happens when you get a new job that requires travel not once but THRICE within the first month? It will kick your fat black ass to the middle of next week. And after that it might run your ass over with a Mack truck as you stumble over suitcase upon suitcase of unpacked clothing. Because suddenly you feel that your new found adult job means relentlessly shopping so there are new brassieres and blazers and dresses strewn about. While the job? IT KICKS YOUR ASS.

Instead there is the great big list. Or great big two things list of things that I do besides getting my ass kicked. And then another few things that are just there for shits and giggles.

1) The Arbitrarian
2) BlogHer
3) Kate Spade Sample Sale
4) Summer Love

Because sometimes I don’t want to be notified of “FREE PORN” every 12 seconds

June 13, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine

“I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.
Some come from ahead and some come from behind.
But I’ve bought a big bat. I’m all ready you see.
Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!”
~Dr. Seuss

Being one of those “I have such good intentions, but fuck me, the intentions are like my red carpet to hell” people, I’m always ‘really trying’ to do something.

Which explains why this morning when I intended to wake at 6 to use the elliptical, I literally rolled over and put my head at the foot of the bed, next to a random pillow and the ring that I’ve been looking for, for the past week and a half. When I politely asked my mother when she would be ready so that we could stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way to the office, she bellowed back something about ‘being ready when she’d be ready’.

I then kindly suggested possibly streamlining her morning routine, which involves sponges and serums and maybe a quick eyebrow pluck and spending five hours meticulously applying lotion. Because lord forbid, that spot on her inner arm is not adequately moisturized.

I’ve been dependent on her driving me to work because my car is apparently in body shop hell and will not be coming out anytime before my 30th birthday. And ‘it’s not her problem’.

Oh and then we went to work. TOGETHER.

I started The Arbitrarian at 9 in hopes of having it done before noon. But was derailed by some asshole whose blog came with bonus pop up ads. And doesn’t everyone want to start their day with Anna Nicole having lesbian sex with a brunette? If so, I can tell you exactly where to go.

Then I had to keep myself together while I compiled a laundry list of things to discuss with someone and the hour at which that person would be leaving until next week, slowly crept up. I had to shut my office door and listen to ‘Dirty Diana’ seven times while my bottom lip quivered.

It’s either Wednesday, thereby destined to be a shitty day or someone’s Klonopin isn’t doing it’s job. I’m going for the latter.

Join me for a meal?

June 11, 2007 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island

“In the Middle Ages, they had guillotines, stretch racks, whips and chains.  Nowadays, we have a much more effective torture device called the bathroom scale.”  ~Stephen Phillips

On Memorial Day, I decided to make the painful decision to put myself on Weight Watchers. There wasn’t a specific event, unless you count the tremendous way that I can imbibe three meals straight of fried clams and French fries and then a chimichanga to boot. I will interject here by questioning why no one ever mentioned to me that burritos could be fried? Why? Why keep such a delicious secret to yourselves?

Anyway, I returned home and said well this is it and just signed up for it. I’ve told approximately three people about it, including Jonna who was great support when I told her that I went to Friday’s and ate my entire entrée. Including breadsticks. My favorite response was from Amy – after I decided to not eat risotto in favor of more wine - who gently touched my arm and looked genuinely concerned when she asked “But why??” That makes me love her even more than I thought possible, because she is totally oblivious to the way the fat just jiggles around my belly.

Other than that, I doubt it’s all that noticeable the way I run away immediately after I’ve eaten to hover over the computer quickly adding up Points values to see if I’ve hit my magic number yet. And then I get on the elliptical for 52 minutes to gain some activity points value so that I can drown my sorrows in a perfect 5 oz pour of wine (2 Points!)

This evening my mother made low carb pasta, but then decided to throw in some butter – STRAIGHT UP BUTTER – and grated parmesan cheese. I then literally stared her down and grilled her as to exactly how much she put into the pasta. Down to the number of “oh just a toss” of parmesan she put into my pasta because those are my precious, precious points. And I am super anal when it comes to the difference between 1 tablespoon and 1 ½ tsps. Why is it so difficult to pay attention to just how much was put in? WHY?

Thus far 2.5 lbs lost. I’m sure I’ll be on a roll if I continue my regularly scheduled dinner time inquisition as to exactly how many pats of butter were put into the pot. And was it a regular sliced pat or just a thinly sliced one? I DEMAND TO KNOW.