Where the streets have no name

Off to Northern Ireland till the New Year, for my friend's wedding and all other manner of irresponsibility. I've been training my stomach to handle a high ratio of Guinness to food. Guinness actually being liquid bread, I think I stand a fighting chance. Will write with updates if/when possible.

Happy five-or-six-hours-earlier-than-you New Year, everybody!

Don't fear the reaper

I imagine that a plague has hit the state of Ohio, rendering all civilization destroyed. That's really the only reason I can see for why no one has been blogging or commenting or breathing in my direction lately. I can't even get spammers to hit my page.

For those who are alive, I settled the great gift debate earlier this week. The end result was a birthday gift of tickets to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (yeah, I didn't think it was my sort of thing, either, but it turned out to be pretty enjoyable!) and a custom designed t-shirt for Christmas.

I've been receiving several (intentional) hints as to what to expect as my Christmas gift. I was shown the corner of a white paper bag, presumably from the store at which it was purchased. He produced bright pink tissue paper, which I'm told was pushed on him by the sales girl at this "girly type" store. And his good friend (a girl) claims that it's "the best gift ever" and that she, in fact, wants my gift if I don't.

Having not been to a mall in months, I am completely lost. Ideas?

I see trees of green, red roses too...

So far my trip to D.C. has produced many interesting life milestones. I've been verbally beaten into submission, walked 1.5 miles in the snow, and almost was lost in a bad part of the city (an area into which two little yuppie girls should not venture alone).

Yesterday, though, I was hit on by a homeless man. He was a nice-looking, younger man, relatively clean-shaven and personable, picking up a half-gallon of milk and a sandwich at the Dupont Circle CVS. He waved feverishly at me from down the drink aisle, grinning as I turned to look behind me at whoever the object of his attention might be. The aisle, of course, was empty. I smiled, to which he bowed in return, saying, "Ah, thank you! A smile is worth a thousand words."

As we left the store, we saw him sitting outside among three or four knapsacks and trash bags, enjoying his milk and sandwich. He complimented me on my hat (it IS a cute hat), and we bid him a good evening as we continued on to our hotel.

Later on, I reflected upon what undoubtedly was my most pleasant ever experience with a homeless person. He didn't ask me for money, he didn't tell me I should've divorced Bill Clinton, and he didn't spit on my shoes. In fact, I would've liked to talk with him, to hear some of his story. And that brief encounter led me to formulate my campaign strategy for public office: Zoloft for the homeless.

"...and I think to myself, 'What a wonderful world.'"

Hot for teacher

Well it's snowing in D.C., and I'm about to leave for my second day of GWU Residency Week. The project we're presenting is the equivalent of a group masters thesis, and our evaluating professor is absolutely horrifying. He's about 350 pounds, barely speaks English, and I think he eats babies. Yesterday after my presentation, I had people...and by "people", I mean 20 of the 24 students in the class...come up to me and shake my hand for maintaining my composure through his rude and completely unintelligable questioning. Hopefully we all come out of this alive...and passing!

Santa baby

Starting a new relationship around the holidays is a high-pressure situation. Adequately gauging your new flame's approach to give-giving takes considerable time and thought, and normally is enough to send this girl into a pre-holiday tailspin.

I usually try not to spend too much, because that makes a girl seem too invested and overbearing - and I am so not that girl. Conversely, an inexpensive gift rarely seems thoughtful enough to be worth the trouble. Plus I love giving gifts now that I'm financially independent, it's one of the best ways I can think of to spend my earnings.

If this were 6 months from now, I would love to give him tickets to a Mavs game, since he used to both play and coach basketball. The good seats get pretty pricey, but that's the beauty of a gift of sports tickets: it's potentially as much a gift to him as it is to me! Far be it from me, though, to dictate how a gift is used, so I would of course have to be prepared for him to take someone else. It's too early in the game for such a financial gamble.

To make matters worse, this year, I may be stuck with the double-whammy -- the pre-Christmas birthday. I'm familiar with the pre-holiday birthday lament, those poor souls born around Easter or Father's Day or what have you, and I would never, ever commit the dual-purpose gift offense. Under normal circumstances I would need to come up with not one, but two, gifts to cover this one.

It would be a SWEET excuse for floor seats versus the Lakers, though.

Of course there's the very real possibility that he doesn't want to exchange gifts at all, and I'm fine with that -- as are my bank account and my sanity. In fact, I almost prefer it. I think I'll just go with that and hope for the best! And come up with another excuse to watch basketball.

Momma said knock you out

On Sunday morning we were watching the 1971 Ali/Blin heavyweight fight, and the announcer mentioned that they were broadasting from "the most famous sports venue in the world." The building appeared still to be in one piece, so I quickly discerned that it was not the Colliseum. Madison Square Garden? Must be. Then the byline came on at the bottom of the screen: Zurich, Switzerland. The three of us were puzzled.

A completely whacked out high school English teacher of mine once asserted that there's nothing in life that you can't look up, including your name. Always one for shortcuts, I took this theory and ran with it, earning esteem among my friends as the most efficient Internet searcher ever. With my mad Google skills, I ran a search that eventually turned up the name of this supposedly world-renowned venue.

Hallenstadion Arena. Anybody? (Bueller?)

Under pressure

So I haven't been posting a lot, mostly because I'm buried in school work. Oh, the life. Here's some free-form thinking for your reading enjoyment.

The other day we had my coworker's going away luncheon. Now the guy was only working here for a whopping 9 months before he quit, so hardly anyone in our fifty-person group really knew him. However, a grand total of 25 people showed up for lunch. He and his napoleonic complex were, of course, thrilled. Most openly admitted that they were just there for the food.

I love when professors really go above and beyond to give their students guidance. Last week my group was told that our final paper was topically correct, but "crude". When we inquired how we might remedy this grave error, we were told, "Make it less crude." Aren't language barriers fun? By the grace of God we will all graduate in three weeks.

Lisa got eliminated from America's Next Top Model on Wednesday, and much of the free world rejoiced. Me? I can't help but love her, the whole peeing-in-a-diaper-in-front-of-20-some-odd-people thing aside. Her portfolio is fantastic, and whoever said models were 100% classy anyway? Kate? Naomi? Janice? I'm talking to you.

Well since I'm in the office on my off-Friday, I may as well start doing some "real, actual work." Back in a few days when I'm a little more coherent!

Love is a battlefield

On Tuesday I received an e-mail from an ex-boyfriend, asking for money for a concert ticket from back in September -- to be exact, the weekend before we broke up. Now in discussing this incident, we'll disregard the fact that this guy took me out on a total of 2 dates in 1.5 years. We used to split the meals, I paid for one, he'd get the next, which is perfectly agreeable to me in most cases, except every once in a while you've got to treat a girl.

We'll also disregard that last year he dropped a couple thou on new wheels and tires for his second car, or that he called me last weekend to ask what brand of $200 jeans he'd contemplated buying two months prior.

Perhaps I should refrain from noting that, at said concert, he completely (and noteably, as others commented on this at length) ignored me in favor of speaking with some client of his about whom he'd talked incessently over dinner early in the week: "T, this girl is just so awesome. Really, she's the kind of girl you see and you think, wow, that girl must be a model. But she also speaks fluent Korean, and is a black-belt in Tae-Kwan-Do." Fan-effing-tastic, isn't she? I'd do her.

And yeah...we'll also not mention the fact that he broke up with me the very weekend that I drove out to Dallas to help him install $3000 hardwood flooring in his brand new condo.

But it probably IS worth noting that he saw me and the new guy I'm dating canoodling in a local, late-night taco establishment last weekend. Coincidence? Perhaps...but at least I'm on to bigger and better things.

Congratulations, Ben, you are officially a "Dallas guy."

...

And yes, I'm aware that putting up with the above-mentioned and other of his idiotic "romancing" not once (for 1.5 years when I first moved here), but twice (for another month this summer), makes me an absolute moron. Consider that lesson painfully learned.

She blinded me with science

One of my biggest office pet-peeves is peoples' inane tendency to drag their fingers along the cube walls as they walk by. It really hearkens back the days of 3rd grade, and those kids who used to absent-mindedly touch everything around them as they wandered through the halls.

You know that kid, the one with the thick eye-glasses and nasally voice. He'd pick his nose and then smear his finger along the wall, not even aware that such behavior would inevitably lose him a seat at the cool kids' lunch table.

I guess it can be inferred that 30-something years of being eschewed by most everyone makes the computer an attractive companion, because everyone here is that kid. Or is it the other way around: a scientfically curious mind precludes any consideration for the subtelties of human interaction? Nature versus nurture, I guess...at any rate, stop touching my shit!

Watch out boys, she'll chew you up

I met a guy at the bar this weekend who is 6'9". Six-nine? That's like, a whole foot taller than I am, and I'm considered a tall girl. I wish I remembered more about him, but the manner in which I had to tilt my head ALL the way back to talk to him started to make me kind of dizzy.

My friend noticed us exchanging numbers and shouted out, "Wow, y'all's kids would be freakishly tall!" And you know, mentioning kids is always a sure-fire way to get a guy to call back. I'm guessing the 12-inch height differential formed a pretty decent sound barrier, because we're having dinner sometime this week.

The existence of such guys out there really assuages my fear of winding up as some middle-aged, crazy cat lady. Simply put, I refuse to date any men who are shorter than myself. Now before you get all "equal rights for dwarves" on me, let me assure you that I've given it a fair shot. Twice. Through this brief, empirical study I can tell you that it really messes with a girl's self-esteem to be with a guy so fragile that you might break him at any time.

Now the guys I dated -- the shorties -- seemed to enjoy dating a girl taller than them. In fact, each used to encourage me to wear high heels at all times, and I'm afraid that delves a little further into the "mommy issues" area of things than I'm comfortable with.

Guys, what do you think: "Two legs bad, two very looooong legs good"?

Yes, I'm gonna be a star

I'm free!!! My hellbeast Tribute is off to greener pastures, and I haven't stopped smiling since my purchase of the below. New house, new car -- aaaaaand, I'm spent. Anyone know any good Ramen recipes?

Beep-beep, yeah

Okay, remember a few months ago when I mentioned that my Tribute was the spawn of Satan?

So on Monday, I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car. I said to myself, "Self, this can't possibly be a good thing." Fortunately I was in close proximity to the dealership where I used to take it for warranty work, so I pulled into the drive and had someone look at it.

As I suspected, my radiator was leaking, and in such a manner that it needed to be replaced ASAP. I remembered that the radiator had to be replaced from an accident I was in back in August of 2004; a look at my service history at the dealer told us that the radiator was replaced AGAIN in November of 2004. And now, here it is, October 2005, and I've just had installed my 3rd radiator in a 2002 vehicle.

I am so buying a new car.

Just push play

If you're living under a rock and somehow haven't seen "The Office" yet, STOP EVERYTHING and go set up your VCR/TiVo/TiFaux right now.

Yes, I know it's never going to be the same as the British version, but it's hilarious in its own right. I sort of admire the fact that it doesn't try to be a carbon-copy of its ancestor and has branched out with its own unique story lines and character sketches. Even the snobbiest of BBCA advocates will admit, this show is great TV.

This is "Office Space" on steriods. It is also 100% taken from my real life. I work with an "Angela", the Bible-beater whose favorite color is probably grey. Where I come from, though, our "Angela" is male, married but completely asexual, and irritatingly good at everything he does. Maybe that's what happens when you've got God on second-string?

We've got a "Ryan, the temp". Well, had. I actually dated him for about 1.5 years, till he moved onward and upward, surpassing the aspirations of mere mortals such as ourselves. I'm sure he looks back on his days here thinking, wow...what a complete waste of my time.

What we have that "The Office" doesn't:
- an otherwise brilliant guy whose daily ritual includes loudly clipping his fingernails at 8am,
- a weasely buyer who thinks the best points are substantiated by shouting, and
- an over-sexed, wholly unattractive admin who unabashedly flirts with (married) supervision.
We also have an assortment of geeks, she-males, and a number of other people who, together, form the benchmark of social ineptitude.

I think my favorite office story has to be the one about "Alvin," from around my first month or two here. My lead's wife had been hospitalized suddenly because she was experiencing internal bleeding. Some days later, our lead came back to work, and our cube, which I shared with him and another teammate, was inundated with folks asking about her progress. Alvin stopped in, and was noticably confused as my lead described what was really wrong with his wife - some kind of ruptured organ, as I recall. A puzzled expression on his face, Alvin said, "Oh, see, when you said internal bleeding, I was thinking something else." My lead said, "Well, we were very fortunate that it was able to be caught early enough." Alvin continued: "Yeah, I mean, when you said internal bleeding, I thought you meant bleeding...from the vagina."

I can't make this stuff up, people.

I'm gonna getcha, I'll getcha

On Friday at the mall I was nearly attacked. Not in any real, physically-threatening way, but hunted and stalked like prey by two women at one of those "Here, try this expensive hand cream" booths. I wonder what it is about those booth attendents that a) English is almost never their first (or second) language, and b) they have no qualms about haranguing you to the point where you run screaming toward the mall exit.

Maybe it's because I've never been the "sales" type. Making people buy things they don't need just doesn't do it for me. That said, I'll admit that it was always fun trying to sell clearance socks to everyone that approached the register at J.Crew. (And I ask you, who can't use woolen hiking socks in the summer climes of Destin, FL?) But those people were approaching me, their friendly, knowledgable cashier, and it was really more like a game than anything.

These hand-cream women, though, are ruthless! The first time I walked by, creamer #1 approached me with a pleading, "Ma'am? Ma'am?" that I cut short by fishing my phone out of the bag and pretending to answer. Like a vampire to garlic, she shrunk away; it was like a mall version of King's Quest (but the later, well-animated ones).

On my way back, 5 minutes later, I pulled the phone out again, holding it to my ear. I breathed a sigh of relief, noticing that creamer #1 was already applying peach-scented lotion to the hands of a poor soul who visibly did not want to be bothered. Creamer #2 was lurking around the corner, but I confidently continued my walk. "Ma'am? MA'AM? she yelled out, walking right up into my face.

What nerve this woman had, addressing me while I was pretending to ignore her!! I held up a cautionary, poorly hydrated hand and continued to walk.

In what other industry, if not the mall-kiosk business, is it suitable for people to walk up to you and harass you to buy their products? Even prostitutes and strippers aren't that pushy.

Some like it hot

Props to Tom for some fantastic ACL Music Festival tips. We had an amazing time this weekend, it was just what the doctor ordered. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway -- I'm pretty sure the doctor didn't order triple-digit weather and 20mph winds that turned Zilker Park into a giant dust-bowl.

Friday -- Keane was absolutely fantastic and a great way to start things off. Caught the end of Blues Traveler on the way to the Black Crowes, worming our way through the crowd in oppressive 90-degree evening temperatures. After "She Talks to Angels" we made our way behind the sound booth to listen in not so dense a crowd. This simple act made the show 8 times more enjoyable, as it did not involve being surrounded by the armpit smells of 8 or 9 prepubescent boys.

Saturday -- Caught the tail end of Aqualung while walking in, then a bit of Buddy Guy. Death Cab for Cutie was good, but standing in line for shaved ice proved far better, overall. That particular venture toward hydration was prompted by the collapse of two young girls with heat stroke directly to our right. Dude, it's 101 degrees -- try eating or drinking something. Without purging.

Listened to the Walkmen while awaiting Jet; during a lull, a Huey flew over the venue and their lead singer shouted, "Look! It's Oasis!" Laughter ensued. Jet was amazing, definitely a highlight, although I'd always assumed they were British? Hmm. While waiting for Oasis, I realized that I was sweating mud. So much for Hurricane Rita.

Oasis took the stage, and zzzzzzzzz...we left after two songs. Liam really needs to, I don't know, enunciate. I'm told that after we left, he made Noel re-start a song because, "Man, you're doing it all wrong." As fun as it would've been to watch those two fight first-hand, I just couldn't take them anyzzzzzzzz....

Sunday -- After rocking 6th Street all night, we made our way back to the park. Dejected when we realized Rachael Yamagata had just finished, we made our way to Rilo Kiley's stage for some fun folksy weirdness. It was 108 degrees when Jason Mraz took the mike, and at risk of sounding like a rabid fangirl, I'll stick my neck out and say that his was the most exciting performance I saw all weekend. That guy is crazy talented, and he scored major points for his duet with Rachael Yamagata.

By the time the sun set, the dust clouds were obscuring both vision and breathing. We made the executive decision not to stick around for Coldplay and risk permanent damage to our lungs. If you think I'm exaggerating the level of dust out there, e-mail me and I will explain, in graphic detail, the horrible places where I found dirt last night in the shower.

Health issues aside, it was a great weekend -- many thanks to the fine people of Austin for organizing another stellar show!

You make the rockin' world go round

My friend is on this insane "Seven Day Slim-Down Diet" that involves eating nothing but egg whites, baby rice, chicken breasts, and spinach, every day for seven days. 6 egg whites in the morning, with a cup of baby rice? Get out of here, that's not breakfast. What it IS, though, is an antidote to a healthy appetite. I'd sooner eat my hand than that tripe. She's done it before, and it really does work, but...why?

I'm going to start a radical new diet plan that will take the world by storm -- it's called the "Don't be a Fat-Ass Diet". Basically it involves not eating stuff that's bad for you, like Oreos and ice cream and beer, and getting up off the couch every once in a while, for a reason other than to get more Oreos, ice cream, and beer.

Call me crazy, but I think it just might work.

Rocket Man

There's such a random assortment of people in the airport early on a Thursday morning. About 50% of these actually work at the airport. Thirty percent are businessfolks, in their snazzy suits and ties, peering over their noses at my shorts and sneakers - yes, Mr. Metrosexual, I realize I'm in fashion-forward Dallas right now, but in about 5 hours I'll be in New Orleans, and let's face it, there's not really anyone to impress there right now. Then you've got the early-bird contingent (5%), folks who are awake at this hour by choice, and by hormone therapy. And the remaining 15% are kids like me, who stared at the Priceline screen last Friday saying, "Well, how bad can it be?"

"Okay, ma'am, we've got you down for a 4:30 wake-up call."

Nowhere man

For all who were wondering -- and thank you, by the way -- my grandparents' house was largely spared by the hurricane. And by "spared" I mean that it's still standing, which is certainly more than most could ask right now.

My mom, dad, and grandpa traveled out to Slidell 5 times from Pensacola this weekend to survey the damages and begin repairs. They rented some equipment and generators and started to work tearing out carpets and ripping up drywall in all 12 of the downstairs rooms. The surge of the storm brought in 3 feet of water, which eventually settled at 1 foot, according to the water marks and mold on the furniture and walls. My mom opened the drawer under the oven, only to find that giant clumps of seaweed -- Mapquest Slidell, LA, and you'll understand how bizarre that really is.

All the furniture from the first floor will have to be replaced, the drywall redone from floor to ceiling. But hearing about this, the worst part was the slow and painful mental inventory I began to take of all the family history that was certainly lost. Sketches and letters from my great grandfather the vaudevillian, family Bibles, pictures of my mom and her brothers growing up in New Jersey and Puerto Rico, wedding photos, year books. All had floated off the bottom shelves of bookcases and were now strewn around in bathrooms and kitchens.

And yet, they were lucky. I have friends whose families' homes were nothing but foundations and shingles when they returned. Their possessions are probably being pumped into Lake Ponchartrain as we speak.

I hope that we, as a nation, can learn from this disaster; that we can stop pointing fingers and looking for scapegoats (I'm talking to you, Kanye), and support one another.

I've always considered New Orleans my second home. It's the one constant in my life, the city I could count on -- and it's devastating to see it now, a shell of is former self. But New Orleanians are nothing if not resiliant, full of life and hope and love. They will overcome this. Keep watching....

Soy un perdador

Today our facilities lady posted a "Welcome" sign on the vacant cube across from me, and said, "Oooh, Tara, you get a new guy sitting across from you! His name is Shawn." I feigned as much enthusiasm as I could until she rounded the corner. I mean, really. Long ago I stopped being excited to meet new people here, never mind casting any thought toward romantic involvement. Not that I would ever date someone I work with (wink!), but anyway I'm not really looking right now. Least of all, here.

As you may know, I work at an engineering firm outside of Fort Worth as a software engineer. This is the trifecta of social ineptitude; the triple-threat. Engineering firms employ mostly men, and roughly 97% of these men a) are over 35 years old, and b) have no personality. Add to that the fact that we're in a small town in Texas, and you get an army of drones espousing antiquated gender mores. They are truly the WASPiest of the WASPs.

Software engineers are a subset of this breed; as engineers go, they are at the far end of the normalcy spectrum, somewhere around Micheal Jackson and that lady on the corner smoking Kools and mumbling about her son, Jimmy Carter, who lives on the moon.

One of my compatriots has a poster of a horse taped up on the wall next to his cube. Well, poster isn't exactly the appropriate term. It's really more of a giant store display for something called "Knicker-Makers". Careful that you don't get too close; a proximity sensor in the display elicits an enthusiastic "neeeeeeeigh" when you enter a 5-foot radius. I'm not altogether sure, but I think he does it so he can safely look at "explicit content" on the 'net without being snuck up on. And by explicit content, I of course mean Amish porn.

Another hasn't quite figured out that women, too, are carbon-based life forms. His MO: the stand-there-and-stare-with-a-blank-expression-while-making-awkward-statements method. "Hi, Tara." Pause. Blink blink. "I heard you were from Slidell." Blink. "I have some family there, too." Head tilt.

I have to get out of here, or I'm going to become a hermit.

These are the eyes of disarray

Well, I spoke too soon it seems. A levee repair failed in New Orleans yesterday, and the city is anticipated to get 12 more feet of water today. This news coverage makes me nauseous; every story I see reminds me of someone else I need to call and check up on. Roughly half of the people I knew in school are from the areas most affected, and many live there currently. My ex-boyfriend, my freshman year roommate, my Zeta big sis and my grand-lil-sis....

My grandfather and a family friend are heading back soon to survey the damage. I wonder what they'll find when they get there.

When the levee breaks

Please keep in your thoughts all those in the gulf area today -- so much devastation, so many homeless, and we haven't seen the half of the damage yet. My grandparents live in Slidell, the city through which the eyewall tore early yesterday morning. They're safe and sound in central Florida, but only time will tell what damage their home and friends' homes have sustained.

Fortunately New Orleans proper has survived; what a loss it would have been for this nation, that culture and joie de vivre washed away in 145 mph winds. But there's so much more to that area than the French Quarter, so many more bouroughs and cultural centers. A few of the popular rappers of our time, for example, come from the 9th Ward, Magnolia projects -- under 6 feet of water today.

And where do those people go when they're rescued from their rooftops? They have relied on government-subsidized housing for years, for better or for worse. I guess it will truly be an experiment in human nature and resilience; when your safety net is removed, what do you do?

Break on through

I've been having some difficulty decorating my house. Well, really I suppose the difficulty lies in getting motivated to start such a long process -- and it's really left me wondering whether I'm a commitmentphobe. I'm just scared to buy something and find out, upon consideration, that it was the wrong thing.

I decided a week or so ago that I absolutely needed to get things in gear. In fit of OCD, I ran to Lowes and collected one of ever single paint sample booklet they had. If you've ever perused paint samples at Lowes, you're familiar with these booklets, organized by color family, and featuring monochramatic, coordinating, and other color schemes. Not wanting to look like a crazy bag lady, I stashed the 4-inch stack of booklets in my purse as I headed for the door.

It was at this point I noticed that each of the booklets were barcoded. This, of course, left me to consider whether I was committing an act of theivery or simply taking what was rightfully mine. As I approached the exit, I decided on the latter, for no other reason save that it made me feel better about myself.

I arrived home at 8:30 and laid all the booklets on my living room floor before me. Scissors in hand, I clipped each individual one-by-two-inch sample, arranging them in an imprompteau color wheel before me. I grabbed a few reprentative samples and ran around the house trying to match them to things. I matched my tile, my bedspread, my cabinets, my couch, my houseplants -- everything. I searched through the remaining pile, finding coordinating colors for each of my selections. I was in a zen state, at one with my furniture.

And 4 hours later, I had it -- a color palette that I would use to find coordinating accessories and furniture for each of my rooms. One piece of paper with three individual palettes, one for each room. Shocked, I realized that each would-be room featured different shades of the same 3 colors: red, yellow, and green.

Am I really in that much of a rut?? I blame the couch that my mother bought when I was 10, a plaid in those same colors on a field of off-white. I swear it's imprinted on my retinas to this day. Or maybe the various accidents I've been in have cultivated in me an obsession with traffic lights?

Anyway, I've heard that it's a good design technique to weave the same colors from room to room in a house. It's supposed to lend a sense of cohesion to the decor...or something else that sounds equally based in reality. I'm going to adopt that philosophy as justification for my actions, and press on. Wish me luck!

Have you seen me lately?

I wanted to take a second to point you guys to the funniest blog I've ever read (present company excepted): Kiss & Blog.

It's maintained by two friends, a guy from Sydney and a girl from, I assume, the Midwest, who now reside in Seattle. They take turns blogging about dating, relationships, and sex, and reading their posts is one of the highlights of my day. Now that may sound like a bold statement, but bear in mind that I work in a very boring place. It really is hilarious, though, and you guys should check it out.

Hello? Is there anybody in there?

You know, for all of Gary's griping about a "loss of novelty" in our collective blogs, he's certainly been quiet!

Michelle and I went to a Jack Johnson concert last night, it was fantastic, as usual.

Highlights:

1. All the fashion victims who think pairing skirts with cowboy boots is cute. Newsflash: The combo is not cute, nor is it flattering. The net effect is to make you look stumpier than you already are.
2. Jack's encore cover of the Beatles' "Two of Us" -- a pleasant surprise!
3. Mmmm, margaritas.
4. The doppelganger for that chubby red-headed kid in The Sandlot who rolled down the rear window of his mom's car to blow us kisses and proclaim his undying love for us as we passed them on the interstate.
5. The fact that the combo of pot smoke and nachos coming from the row behind us didn't make me puke. (I can't handle that smell, really -- is it not as bad if you're the one smoking it, maybe?? I'm thinking I can safely add that to the list of things I'll never try. Like corndogs.)

We also learned last night that sequins are now in style, and I don't mean a few strategically-placed sequins on one article of clothing. I mean it is now in style to be dripping in them, like Liberace's cat. Bad news for anyone with a body fat percentage greater than 6%; good news for anorexic girls who can't afford a boob job. Thank God the sun set quickly, otherwise my retinas would be burned beyond repair.

The sounds of silence

I know I've been really quiet on this blog lately, and part of that can be attributed to moving and the 80 gabillion things I have to get done, but another part of that is that I'm trying to find good topics. Don't get me wrong, I have a ton of things clamoring to get out of my head, no shortage of things to say, most of them inane and inconsequential.

I think it's more to do with the diversity of my audience -- I've got friends, exes, and ex-friends reading this thing, and I guess it's a question of image management, really. Not that I'm worried so much about what any of y'all* think of me, per se, but that I'm worried that some of the things I say will be hurtful to people. I realize this sounds like paranoia, but I've already had this happen in the short 2 months that I've been blogging, and I guess it just freaked me out.

Oh well, right? I guess this thing is a forum for my uncensored thoughts, and no one can blame me for speaking the truth. Can they??

Great, now I'm going to have Simon & Garfunkel in my head all freaking day. This always happens!

* Yeah, you heard me -- "y'all".

So much to say

I'm closing on my house Friday, which, frankly, freaks me out. I think it's just the thought of laying down a lot of cash on one thing, really, because living in/owning the house itself doesn't scare me. (Well, except for the utility bills...) Decorating is going to be pretty fun, as soon as I get some more furniture. It'll also be fun to have a roommate again; as long as she doesn't pretend to kill herself or get strung out and attack my friends, everything should be copacetic.

(It's 7:30am and I already have a headache, so go ahead and add your own witticism to this post. Thanks! Kisses!!)

Sell out

So I just found out that Reel Big Fish played tonight at a theater that's like, 5 minutes from my apartment. Bummer! I loved those guys back in high school, they and Ben Folds Five were favorites.

Which reminds me, when I went to the movies the other night they were playing a new Ben Folds song, sans Five. Has this been out for some time? Lately my dial's been landing on classic rock so I might be a little behind the times.

But not enough...I am embarassed to admit that my girl Laura and I rocked out to "Since You've Been Gone" in the middle of the bar last weekend -- what?! It was my birthday!! Let me have my moment, okay? Jeez... I don't know if that song is getting mad play everywhere, or if we're just special because Kelly Clarkson lives 15 minutes south of Fort Worth, but it just won't die. It's like some kind of sick, deranged, sugar-coated tapeworm. The kind that makes you sing and violently thrash your head around while holding a fake mike.

Stop looking at me like that.

Here in my car

So what better way is there to spend a birthday than dealing with car trouble? It's no secret that I have the worst luck with cars ever, and owning my 2002 Mazda Tribute has been the worst experience ever. Don't get me wrong, I love the car, but it's in the shop every couple of months for recalls, fuel leaks, warning lights, etc.

Driving home from work on Thursday I had huge plans -- I was going to go the gym, then hurry home and get my homework done so that I could enjoy my Friday off and my birthday the next day. As I turned off the interstate and sat on the ramp, waiting to turn down my street, my radio turned off. I said a few choice words and figured, great, another problem, now my radio is dead, and my 3-year warranty just ran out. I turned the corner and was met with some resistance -- the power steering was out. I made it all the way around the corner on fumes and my own stubbornness, and came to a complete halt, blocking a whole lane of traffic.

Sitting in the car I panicked -- I was THAT GIRL. The girl you curse at for not moving her car out of the road? The girl you drive by and think, "Poor thing," as she sits there bawling and screaming?

Luckily my friends Carlos and Jill were driving down the road and spotted me. (In Fort Worth, odds are if you see a stalled Tribute, it's mine.) We flagged down some farmboy to jump the car, giving it just enough to power to push it into a parking lot, and had a tow sent out. The phone call the next day was bad news, the battery had drained completely and mysteriously, wearing out the alternator. It would be $1200 to fix. Oh, and by the way, the brakes are worn out, would you like us to fix those, too?

"My ass," my mom said over the phone, asking me for the number to Mazda's service center. Five hours later, I picked up my car, for a charge of $100 plus tax.

Moral of the story: Moms kick ass, Mazda sucks it.

I need a remedy

...for what's ailing me.

Austin City Limits 2005

I'll for sure be checking out Keane, the Black Crowes (no question!!), Mraz, Widespread, and Coldplay. If anyone's heard good things about the lesser-knowns on the bill, let me know - I'm in need of some good new music.

Stuck in a moment

What a sad day. I will never understand the senseless violence that tears through our world.

Pour some sugar on me

I just made the biggest mistake of my life. Well, if by "life" I mean "day" and if by "mistake" I mean "gut-wrenching error in judgement". When I woke up this morning I realized I desperately needed to go grocery shopping. I had nothing to eat, not even peanut butter (Gary) and so I threw a baggie of cereal, a yogurt, an apple, and a snack-sized can of tuna into my bag for lunch and figured I'd deal with it later.

By noon I was starving, by 1 I was wasting away. At 2pm CST I decided enough was enough, and pointedly made my way to the vending machine. Greeted by a lot of foods with hyphenated names and unpronounceable ingredients, I went for the unassuming "Grandma's Cookies". You've seen them, the ones with the little old lady on the package, saying, "Hey little girl, come here and sample my tasty cookies! They are so moist and delicious, don't you want one?"

I did indeed, and in 2 minutes the cookies were bought and wholly devoured. And now at 2:32pm CST, I feel like crap. I mean absolute utter crap. See, I'm that girl who shops at Whole Foods, the one who spends $35/week on fruit, vegetables, and chicken breasts. I'm not fanatical, but I don't really do the processed foods thing anymore, and I love cooking things from scratch. In short, I don't do convenience.

Unfortunately my stomach has decided against "convenience" too, and so I'm leaning miserably over my desk, pursing my lips and praying for 53 more minutes of resolve before I run out of here to puke in peace.

Moral of the story: Grandma cookies are made of people! They're people!!

They say that breaking up...

...is hard to do, and boy, is that an understatement. Last night I tried to explain to a girlfriend of mine -- a fantastic friend who is bright and sweet and beautiful but who lets guys walk all over her -- that she needs to stand up for herself and not get all doe-eyed and analytical over meaningless gestures from simple men...

...and then I realized that I really ought to take my own advice. Boy what a crazy realization, helping someone through a problem and realizing that you have it yourself. I fell asleep thinking about what I want in a relationship, wondering why I feel myself floundering the second I'm "alone". It must have been one of those nights, because suddenly my phone rings. It's 1:30am, and it's my ex -- one of my best friends, and the other half of my most satisfying relationship ever. He had just been blindsided by a break-up that seemed to come out of nowhere but at the same time had been brewing for a while.

All of this makes me wonder why we even bother, why we surrender our hearts to people we barely know, hoping to find that one thing that will just finally be right. For the road to be this rocky, I hope the reward is rich!

Take this job and...

So I finally figured out how to log in to this thing at work, like, really, should that be so hard? Not the type of task you expect to take 2 days to figure out. And ironically, I have far more time to post here than I did while I was laid up on my couch. Stay tuned...

What's going on?

Time to play the caption game!

The poster who submits the best caption for the picture above will win...well, I don't know. My undying love and affection?

Our house

I have spent all day working on an assignment for school and wasn't going to post, but I just watched the best freaking show on TV and I had to share.

It's this new show on TLC -- hey, stop laughing -- called Property Ladder, and it's about the world's most moronic real estate entrepreneurs. Well, really it's about "flipping" properties, buying them at rock-bottom prices and renovating them to sell for a profit, but I can't help feeling a teeny bit better about my own investments after watching. I don't know where they find these smarmy guys and ditzy girls* who think they're going to break into real estate, but it is fantastically bad. Truly appointment TV from now on.

Off to see if the kind folks at TWoP have gotten a hold of this one yet....


*Okay, well the ditzy girls were from Texas -- go figure that one out.

Redemption song

Since everyone balked at my post-surgical photo (and since most haven't seen me since I was 16) here's a better shot. This is actually going to be my motivation when I get back to the gym.

I am almost able to walk again without any pain, and the swelling in my leg has gone down. Still, I spend most of the day flat on my back. (Hey now, don't go getting any ideas) I have debated trying to do some upper body work with my weight set, but I think my mom would murder me.

The space between

I finally got to take my bandages off last night, and my leg is so swollen it looks like I don't have a knee! The incisions are really tiny, and I'm debating having a smile tattooed underneath them so I can forever look like Debbie Gibson on the cover of that CD that I really can't believe I'm admitting that I had.

So it's kind of unfair that I've been hiding so much about the last 7 or so years from you guys, after all the wonderful times we've shared this week. You deserve more than that.

After graduating from LSU in May 2002 with my bachelors in Computer Science, I moved to Fort Worth, TX -- how's that for "6 words I never thought I'd say"! -- to work for Lockheed Martin Aeronautics. I write software for the F-35 (Joint Strike Fighter) program, which basically means that I help people kill people, only I try not to think of it like that. I like to think I actually save lives, because my code is responsible for the functioning of the landing gear, and because it's easier on the ego.

For the last 3 years I've been doing the professional cheerleader thing. Nothing too big-time, just a local sports team, the Fort Worth Brahmas. It's a hockey team, which proves that Texans can find a way to work cheerleaders into everything. Who knew? So far no requests for dancers at the local tractor pull, but I'm looking into it. We shot a swimsuit calendar this last year, which was an interesting experience, and makes me fear October. I'm also in line to teach a cardio hip-hop class at 24-Hour Fitness when I recover, which should be an incredible experience and is what's driving my recovery effort.

Aside from that, I'm finishing up grad school, and I'm scheduled to graduate this December. It's a distance program through George Washington University, a masters in Project Management. I'm especially amped for the residency week out in D.C. because I've made a few great friends through the program and I'm looking forward to, you know, actually meeting them.

So there you have it, "her life in a nutshell"...if anyone's ever interested in coming down and witnessing the mania first-hand, you're more than welcome. Come July I'll have plenty of room for houseguests!

Break on through

Here I am on my first day out of the house! It was fantastic, I'd been going stir crazy the past 2 days.

(click on the picture to enlarge)
You can see how crazy big that bandage is, it's unreal. All that fuss for two small incisions! Some little girl in Garden Ridge was fascinated by the tubes hanging off my legs, she couldn't stop staring. Gotta love kids, they're so uncensored!

I brought my mom by to see the house, she was pretty excited to see it. It's been landscaped now, and the fence is in. I'm just waiting on carpeting, electric, and the granite countertops to be installed -- then I'll be an almost-homeowner!

Cruise control

Never again will I take showering for granted -- what a wonderful invention, this indoor plumbing, truly a gift from God! I never expected my bandages to be so extensive, they run all the way from the middle of my thigh to my toes. Consequently, it took a feat of modern engineering, two Hefty bags, and half a roll of duct tape to make sure that my leg stayed dry.

I think that's the only time I'll need to go through that, though. The bandages come off tomorrow morning, and then I get the pleasure of cleaning out the wound with peroxide, which - OW. If you listen carefully, you might be able to hear my screams all the way up in Dayton.

Tom and Katie sing Candy Shop

So everything on the TV these days has to do with Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, as if I weren't nauseous enough already. Is it possible for a 42-year-old man to spontaneously become retarded? I mean, I'm neither inspired by nor jealous of their new-found "love" -- it's an absolute trainwreck, and a completely uninteresting one at that. Please, Tom, get off my TV.

It's alive!!

Well here I am, parked on the couch, as I can expect to be for the next couple of days. It's really not so bad, aside from a little nausea. Actually the parts of me that hurt worst are the spot where the IV was and the spot where they drew blood.

It turns out that the meniscus tear wasn't too big, so they just sliced it up and it's supposed to heal on its own. The thing that was causing me so much pain was a large cyst in the back of my knee -- eeeeck! I guess it was getting aggravated and enlarged when I worked out, and so the next morning it would get stuck in the knee joint when I tried to straighten my leg. Anyway, that's pretty gross so I'll stop now.

I feel like the Bionic Woman, seriously, because I've got this crazy tube thing sticking out of my bandages -- it attaches to a big cooler of ice and water that plugs into the wall and circulates cold stuff across my knee. Plus I can keep some cold drinks and lunch meat on hand. Totally bizarre...but pretty comfy!

Stepford life

T minus 10 hours and counting....

My surgery is tomorrow morning and I have tried to make use of all my nervous energy by grocery shopping for my mom, cleaning my apartment floor to ceiling (even the fridge!), buying and wrapping gifts for everyone who's helping me get to and from the hospital -- and now all that's done, and I'm just plain antsy. At least Family Guy is on...maybe I should go make some muffins while I watch.

Spin doctor

I'm not sure, but I might be the biggest idiot that ever lived. I mean, really, what moron with a torn meniscus takes a spin class? Even though they'll tell you that "riding the bike is the BEST thing to do for a knee injury", there is evidently a limit on how much bike riding one should do. Otherwise, I'd be able to walk today which...not so much.

I think I'm too stubborn to be in poor health. I mean, I've reached this point where a day without a workout just isn't a day. The work-gym-dinner-sleep cycle is so ingrained in my head after three years that I feel like a complete loser if I don't go, like I should be doing someting more with my day.

Disclaimer: I swear I'm not obsessive about my weight or any of that mess; it's just the impending doom of complete incapacitation that drives me nuts. Oh well, 2 more days, then I'll be on my way back to normal! If anyone has any suggestions on things I could do to keep myself busy during recovery, I'd appreciate it!!

Hello world

So after years of skepticism about the concept, an attempt to post on my friend's blog led me to start my own. Stupid log-ins.... But I figured why not? I mean, who wouldn't want to hear the cynical musings of an almost-24 software engineer, dancer, and aspiring nice girl? (Bueller?)

Well, whatever. I'm about to have knee surgery, and I might as well have a new toy to keep me occupied during my recovery. Plus I'm procrastinating on my grad school homework that's due tomorrow. And of course, you know, there's the whole keeping-up-with-friends-from-past-lives thing, which is always exciting. See? Everybody wins!

So if anyone out there is really ever inclined to read this thing, thanks, and I hope you enjoy!