gets posted on my blog. Unfortunately I left before Bill had his bday party, but I suppose it couldn't be helped.
Here's a brief rundown of my stay in Sin City:
Thursday night - Arrived in Vegas and at G's insistence, ate at some horrid $5.99 for steak and eggs restaurant, and got caught in a crazy, sandstorm. I couldn't see through the smoke filled casinos and accidentally walked right into the swirling dirt. It was very surreal and felt too David Lynch for my tastes.
Friday Morning - Got up early and went horseback riding in Red Rock Canyon. (One would assume that since I'm from Texas I know how to ride a horse. That would be a bad assumption. I rode horses when I was little and with bigger, older people and the experiences only created vague enough memories to assure me I'd done it.) I rode the hugest horse evah! Her name was June (I assumed as in Cleaver but turns out it was short for Junebug). G's horse was tiny and he looked like he was riding a donkey next to me and my Clydesdale. Turns out getting oneself into a horse saddle is quite the complicated endeavor. As my horse's belly came to about my chin, I considered it quite the feat that I was able to put my left foot in the left foot saddle thing (what's that called?). With my foot raised almost above my head, I looked at the horse wrangler guy and asked him what to do next. He suggested, politely, that I grab the horse horn thing (on the saddle) and pull myself up and swing my right leg over the horse to put my right foot in the right foot saddle thing. Here's me - uh, wha? Did I mention my horse refused to stay still and I was left hopping around with my one leg that was still precariously on the ground while my other foot was in the foot saddle? It was very natural and not at all uncomfortable and terrifying. Luckily the horse wrangler had the vision to see the pure "what the fuck are you talking about horse boy?" look on my face and helped me up onto the giant horse. After mounting the beast, the rest was smooth sailing. Except for the shit and piss parts. Horses do that a lot. It's gross. My ass was sore pretty much the rest of Vegas, but the scenery was beautiful and I convinced my horse to trot a few times so I think it was worthwhile.
Friday Afternoon/Evening - Ate a place called the Burger Bar that had a truffle hamburger. It looked awesome but cost $60, so it was only for oohhing and aaahhing over. We spent the evening downtown (hurrah Golden Nugget!) and had a blast. That's definitely the fun place for gambling in Vegas. No one takes themselves too seriously and it's got all the cheap tables.
Saturday Morning - I hit the pool! Anyone who knows at all knows that I am not a pool person. I bemoan almost all sun exposure and slather the spf on at all possible times. But I chose a chair in the shade, it was cool enough that I kept my sweater on while I was there, and it was so damn peaceful that it made me think that maybe I've missed the mark on my anti-pool stance. The only thing that would have made it better was if I had a fruity beverage to drink, but I figured it was too early in the morning to start all that.
Saturday Afternoon - I met G at a buffet at the Paris. Apparently it's supposed to be good. G gave it a 7/10 but only because he couldn't eat all the crab and shrimp stuff (he's allergic). Otherwise he said it was a 9/10. Personally I've been to that buffet before and it's where S and I named our food babies "Mimosa." No explanation needed really. Then I left G and decided to participate at a poker! tournament! I was so excited - you have no idea. I paid my entry fee and was the 2nd person out at my table. In case you don't know poker, that's bad. In a huff, I decided to win my entry fee back at the slot machines. I lost more money. Boo. Then I decided to leave the swarthy gambling arenas and go see some high art. The Bellagio has a fine art museum and the exhibit was a small but awesome Lichtenstein, Warhol and Friends soiree. It helped to soothe the savage beast within (I hate losing - even at gambling), and I spent the rest of the afternoon softly mewing over the beauties of modern art. Okay, that's not true at all. Modern art makes me laugh (at not with the art and artists) and I actually spent the afternoon feeling morally superior to the idiots who make the audio guide (or written guides for that matter) to modern art exhibits.
Saturday Evening - Saw Ka!, a Cirque de Soleil show and it was freaking awesome. Spent the rest of the evening at some bar, lost G for about half an hour, found G, and found some cage fighters. Not at the same time. Fun evening.
Sunday Day - slept late. Ate at Serendipity by myself with my lovely, lovely book (I'm reading The Time Traveler's Wife for the 2nd time and it's way better on the 2nd read) and had tomato soup with goldfish crackers! I love Serendipity. I also attempted a piece of cheesecake later on in the day (what? I was on vacation), and the piece that came to my table was bigger than my head. I read the menu a little closer and read that it was suitable for 2 people, but I'm guessing more like 6. I made such a small dent in it that the server thought I was unhappy with it. To prove I wasn't, I pointed out how I'd eaten all the whipped cream off the top of the cheesecake, which I guess, to his credit, wasn't exactly evidence of the deliciousness of the cheesecake itself but it was just too damn big! Who can eat that much cheesecake? In between the two Serendipity visits, I sat down at a poker table in another casino. I decided to try my hand at a cash game this time instead of a tournament. It worked out much better and I walked away after a couple of hours even, which was a nice change from my last attempt the day before. I visited the Forum Shops and decided I was way too spirtually wealthy to need any of that vain, commercial crap. (Read: I wanted to save my money for flitting away at the casinos in the evening instead since it was my last night.)
Sunday Night - Saw Penn & Teller, got my tix autographed, and took my picture with both of them. They rocked. They were hilarious and smart. What more can you ask for? We were leaving Vegas at 6:30 a.m., so we decided to spend the entire night out and about. G went to the stuff he liked and once again, I decided to give poker another shot. It was quite the good decision, if I do say so myself. I made a table full of big, strong men weep into their dwindling pile of chips. I bought in at the minimum buy-in, because above all else, I'm superbly cheap, and I nursed my tiny stack of chips until my moment came. Once I'd doubled up, I played a little looser and all those boys who told me to stick by them, that they would help me? walked away empty-handed when I took all their money. And did I mention there was a professional player at the table? I won't say his name (mainly because I don't remember it and don't feel like looking him up although I could 'cause he's on tv and shit), but I took half his stack as well. And yes, it felt good. Eat that, male-dominated semi-sport. And I only stopped short from wiping the whole table clean because I had to leave for the airport. I also got in quite the, um, "debate" over how amazing (or in their cases how unamazing) T.O. is, but I feel I've called it on this one. We'll see, poker boys, we'll see.
Monday Morning/Afternoon/Night - got lost in a haze of crazy dreams and sleep-addled wanderings as I made my way back to the ATX.
So here you have it. My first post back is a grand diatribe on the ins and outs of a Vegas trip that only I'm interested in. I hope all you encouragers and well-wishers are happy.
Showing posts with label delusions of grandeur. Show all posts
Showing posts with label delusions of grandeur. Show all posts
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
In honor of Rana...
I've decided to discuss my last few days, which have been... oddly satisfying and disconcerting, all in one.
Thursday - work until I feel the need to go to bed for the night. A) that's late and B) that's too late to be working. I had to skip a lovely outing I'd looked forward to all week because of all the work. Boo to work.
Friday - get up much earlier than usual and go back to work. Work until I feel the need to eat dinner. The bf beats me to my house for our usual weekend ritual of yummy Indian food. (This is a huge shocker, because he's almost always the one with the later time schedule, forcing me to wait on his sorry ass.) After a lovely glass of wine and like two bites of dinner (not hungry after all the work, I guess?), we head over to the Chandi's and drink more wine. It was lovely until one part of the Chandi decided to go to bed early to be up for her early morning run (hmph - marathoners are really, really annoying). Sorry B but it's true!
Saturday - um... was there a Saturday? I have no memory of it.
Sunday - drove over to SJM's old house for the last time *sigh* and managed to steal the female half of the duo for a lovely trip to Target. As payback, I helped unpack at the new house and realized that there is such a thing as too much vinegar.
Monday - Worked so frantically I forgot to eat food. If you know me at all, you know that is incredibly unlikely. Got out THE WORK PRODUCT of the century about 4:45 Monday afternoon. Had wishes and needs crushed by big boss soon thereafter. Still proud of THE WORK PRODUCT of the century though.
Tuesday - Got to work absurdly early to attend hearing related to THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. Hearing supposed to be done by lunch, ends up going until 4 where, wishes and needs reinvigorated when THE WORK PRODUCT of the century gets mentioned and although I couldn't see the other side, I'm fairly certain heads snapped and eyes agogged. Oh and the hearing went exactly the way our side wanted it to. Bad guys defeated! Went back to work and stayed long enough to hear that THE WORK PRODUCT of the century is officially THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. It's not just in my head. And the guy in our other office who doesn't even know your name if you don't have cocknballs? Yeah, he called THE WORK PRODUCT of the century aggressive. In a good way. While it was cool, it was weird, because what do I care what he thinks? Conundrum. Oh yeah, drank wine and have carpet picnic with the girls. Missed Barack and fell asleep before I could finish hearing what Keith O. thought about it. Sad.
Wednesday (today) - Am confused that it's not Thursday all day. Receive accolades in the form of an ALL CAPS! email, a few phone calls, and a news article that gets it all wrong for THE WORK PRODUCT of the year. Decide to cut the workload considerably post 4 o'clock, hence the current post.
It's been a good few days and oh my god do I need a nap. And quite possibly a trophy.
Thursday - work until I feel the need to go to bed for the night. A) that's late and B) that's too late to be working. I had to skip a lovely outing I'd looked forward to all week because of all the work. Boo to work.
Friday - get up much earlier than usual and go back to work. Work until I feel the need to eat dinner. The bf beats me to my house for our usual weekend ritual of yummy Indian food. (This is a huge shocker, because he's almost always the one with the later time schedule, forcing me to wait on his sorry ass.) After a lovely glass of wine and like two bites of dinner (not hungry after all the work, I guess?), we head over to the Chandi's and drink more wine. It was lovely until one part of the Chandi decided to go to bed early to be up for her early morning run (hmph - marathoners are really, really annoying). Sorry B but it's true!
Saturday - um... was there a Saturday? I have no memory of it.
Sunday - drove over to SJM's old house for the last time *sigh* and managed to steal the female half of the duo for a lovely trip to Target. As payback, I helped unpack at the new house and realized that there is such a thing as too much vinegar.
Monday - Worked so frantically I forgot to eat food. If you know me at all, you know that is incredibly unlikely. Got out THE WORK PRODUCT of the century about 4:45 Monday afternoon. Had wishes and needs crushed by big boss soon thereafter. Still proud of THE WORK PRODUCT of the century though.
Tuesday - Got to work absurdly early to attend hearing related to THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. Hearing supposed to be done by lunch, ends up going until 4 where, wishes and needs reinvigorated when THE WORK PRODUCT of the century gets mentioned and although I couldn't see the other side, I'm fairly certain heads snapped and eyes agogged. Oh and the hearing went exactly the way our side wanted it to. Bad guys defeated! Went back to work and stayed long enough to hear that THE WORK PRODUCT of the century is officially THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. It's not just in my head. And the guy in our other office who doesn't even know your name if you don't have cocknballs? Yeah, he called THE WORK PRODUCT of the century aggressive. In a good way. While it was cool, it was weird, because what do I care what he thinks? Conundrum. Oh yeah, drank wine and have carpet picnic with the girls. Missed Barack and fell asleep before I could finish hearing what Keith O. thought about it. Sad.
Wednesday (today) - Am confused that it's not Thursday all day. Receive accolades in the form of an ALL CAPS! email, a few phone calls, and a news article that gets it all wrong for THE WORK PRODUCT of the year. Decide to cut the workload considerably post 4 o'clock, hence the current post.
It's been a good few days and oh my god do I need a nap. And quite possibly a trophy.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
They say you're Irish...
nah nah nah nah nah nah. Well I'm Irish too. nah nah nah nah nah nah.
Or at least that's what they tell me. So I'm here, wearing green, and I've seriously contemplated the outcomes of pinching strangers in the elevator who are not. (I've decided to avoid the battery and since I'm officially admitting my contemplation, the assault as well.) My family insists the only thing they are, aside from poor, country folk, is Irish. I tend to believe this because of the following:
1. I have blonde hair.
2. I have blue eyes.
3. I'm afraid of snakes (although technically this comes from the non-Irish side but whatev).
4. Almost every man in my family has a Riley or Odais somewhere in their name.
5. I spent the majority of my early childhood lying in the mounds of clovers in my front yard looking for a four-leafed clover. Or is it four leaf clover? I'm unsure.
6. My dad's facial hair comes in red, which is why he only ever grew a beard when he was in Vietnam and shaves regularly since then (or so he says).
7. I'm still fairly certain the tiny footprints I used to see in my old bathroom were those of a leprechaun.
8. I look good in green.
9. Rainbow Brite was my favorite cartoon/book character as a child. (It's a rainbow, pot-at-the-end thing.)
10. I've seen Gone With the Wind at least a dozen times, intermission and all (and if you don't know why this is Irish, shame on you).
11. The only tattoo I've ever wanted to get was a green clover. I'm never going to get that tattoo, so don't worry, but it's the only thing I'd consider putting permanently on my body.
12. The fat in my ass is shaped in large part by potato products. And assorted other white foods.
13. My senior thesis in college was written on the role of mermaids in the folklore (well only folklore to us) of 13th century, Irish popular culture. I like to think of it more as a feminist take on the mean, mean Irish men (or any men of the era), but it's primary focus was Irish folklore. (Small aside: my love of the name Lorelai comes from the mermaid stories I read then not Gilmore Girls, although I'd be perfectly happy to be aptly compared to Lorelai Gilmore.)
14. I like Whiskey. Mainly U.S. whiskey but whiskey nonetheless.
and finally
15. I do not drink green beer.
And in case you can't tell, I have no empirical reason to believe I'm Irish. It's all made up bullshit. BUT. I've always been disappointed by my lack of ethnicity, so I embrace all the green good luck I can wrap my colloquial brain around.
In honor of St. Patrick's day, here's my made up Irish prayer, just for you:
Or at least that's what they tell me. So I'm here, wearing green, and I've seriously contemplated the outcomes of pinching strangers in the elevator who are not. (I've decided to avoid the battery and since I'm officially admitting my contemplation, the assault as well.) My family insists the only thing they are, aside from poor, country folk, is Irish. I tend to believe this because of the following:
1. I have blonde hair.
2. I have blue eyes.
3. I'm afraid of snakes (although technically this comes from the non-Irish side but whatev).
4. Almost every man in my family has a Riley or Odais somewhere in their name.
5. I spent the majority of my early childhood lying in the mounds of clovers in my front yard looking for a four-leafed clover. Or is it four leaf clover? I'm unsure.
6. My dad's facial hair comes in red, which is why he only ever grew a beard when he was in Vietnam and shaves regularly since then (or so he says).
7. I'm still fairly certain the tiny footprints I used to see in my old bathroom were those of a leprechaun.
8. I look good in green.
9. Rainbow Brite was my favorite cartoon/book character as a child. (It's a rainbow, pot-at-the-end thing.)
10. I've seen Gone With the Wind at least a dozen times, intermission and all (and if you don't know why this is Irish, shame on you).
11. The only tattoo I've ever wanted to get was a green clover. I'm never going to get that tattoo, so don't worry, but it's the only thing I'd consider putting permanently on my body.
12. The fat in my ass is shaped in large part by potato products. And assorted other white foods.
13. My senior thesis in college was written on the role of mermaids in the folklore (well only folklore to us) of 13th century, Irish popular culture. I like to think of it more as a feminist take on the mean, mean Irish men (or any men of the era), but it's primary focus was Irish folklore. (Small aside: my love of the name Lorelai comes from the mermaid stories I read then not Gilmore Girls, although I'd be perfectly happy to be aptly compared to Lorelai Gilmore.)
14. I like Whiskey. Mainly U.S. whiskey but whiskey nonetheless.
and finally
15. I do not drink green beer.
And in case you can't tell, I have no empirical reason to believe I'm Irish. It's all made up bullshit. BUT. I've always been disappointed by my lack of ethnicity, so I embrace all the green good luck I can wrap my colloquial brain around.
In honor of St. Patrick's day, here's my made up Irish prayer, just for you:
May your days be spent floating on mounds of green clover;
May you always get to be Rainbow Brite for Halloween;
May your whiskey go down smoothly;
And may your own, personal St. Patrick chase away all the snakes.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Skydiving...
Well I did it. I wanted to wait until I had video to post, but I guess that's not happening anytime soon - thanks bf! I'll try to post again once it becomes somehow accessible to me and not on someone's weird, little recording tape that I haven't seen since the 1990s. But apparently it's quality. Whatever.
Turns out the skydiving got canceled and then rescheduled. I got all psyched up for Saturday and then it was too gusty. But Sunday? Perfect day.
Let me set the scene: I finally went to sleep early Sunday morning (after pitching a pitiful fit to the bf about having to get up early the next day and insisting on going to bedorshire). Of course I couldn't sleep because I kept hearing the wind knock against the windows and wondering if the whole thing was going to be called off - yet again. Part of me hoped it would, because I was crazy tired but the better part of me was hoping Texas weather would do me proud. I woke up at 8:30 (see? early!) and called my co-skydiver in crime. She called back shortly and told me we were on. Of course I still had a little time to snooze if I wanted but I was way to excited/antsy.
I went to the living room and found a Golden Girls marathon on the Hallmark Channel (aside: GG moved from Lifetime to Hallmark! Who knew?) and I was pretty certain it was a good omen. After I'd finally coaxed the bf out of the house, we made our way to the launch pad. I insisted on having a bagel before I fell out of a plane and after about 3 stops - bagels are hard to find! - I was officially on my way.
In the car ride there - the place was a good 30-40 minutes away - the bf was amazed AMAZED! at how cool, calm, and collected I was. I told him there was nothing to mentally prepare for, so really what was there to think about at this point? He thought there was definitely a mental preparation aspect to the whole thing, but after discussing with my co-jumper, also a lawyer, we decided it must be our profession that keeps us from getting nervous at attempts at physical endeavors. Put me in a courtroom and I'll be reciting this or that, anticipating arguments, going over easy objections, etc. in my head the entire morning before. But skydiving? Chatter and fun music is all I had to think about.
Blah, blah, blah, 1 orange jumpsuit later and we're up in the plane. I looked like a convict but at least I was visible... I guess. My instructor woman! asked me if I had any questions - as we're climbing up to 10,000 feet of course - and I just wanted to know what happened if she died on my back before she pulled the cord thing. (I swear I'd just seen something on yahoo news or similar about that.) Luckily the chute had a gadget that automatically triggered the parachute if we reached a certain altitude.
As I looked out the window on the way up, I was completely calm. I realized there wasn't one butterfly in my stomach, which was nice because I can't say I feel that way on any normal day, much less a day when I'm about to potentially plummet to my death. We scooted, quite literally, up to the plane door and as we waddled our way forward I had a momentary panic moment (much like I do when I stand on a diving board or when I'm tripping over my shoes at the top of my staircase at home, or ya know, the crack on the sidewalk outside work, whatevs) that I was about to fall. Luckily I didn't have much time for speculation and before I could think to put my hands in front of me to catch myself, I was out. And flying! And all of a sudden realizing I couldn't breathe. Nope, I wasn't flying - I was very quickly suffocating to death. My brain was telling my mouth that of course I could breathe; I was surrounded by air; there was nothing I could do but breathe. But of course my illogical lack of oxygen receiving lungs took over and I panted horribly. Luckily the free fall portion was over relatively quickly. It wasn't a scary experience by any stretch but more of an uncomfortable feeling that passed as soon as the wind stopped hitting me in the face so hard.
And then IT happened. The parachute opened and after the initial lurch and feeling of gravity, I experienced one of the most peaceful, calm, and relaxing few minutes of my entire life. It was pretty remarkable.
I did worry briefly when I saw my friend spiraling crazily downward but apparently that's what we were all doing and it only looked scary from above (so said my tandem jump instructor). There was one weird thing though. As we were getting closer to the ground, my instructor was telling me how to put my feet for landing, etc. I responded "okay" after every instruction she gave. Apparently this caused her some amount of anxiety because she said, "you keep saying 'okay' but are you really okay?" Um, is there some kind of conversation I should be having when I falling toward the earth? Is there a Miss Manners on this subject that I don't know about? What should I have been saying? Not okay? Commenting on last week's episode of Lost? Strange.
We landed on our feet, just like I'd imagine you'd land if you could really fly, about 6 feet away from the guy who unhooked us, so I'm guessing my instructor was pretty accurate. I kept wanting the parachute to collapse all around me so I could come climbing out from underneath it like they do on cartoons but they were too professional for all that.
Things I learned:
1) Wear your hair back and don't let one, single strand get loose. I had quite a few strays and that shit was impossible to brush for hours!
2) Bring your own gloves. I don't know of finger diseases, necessarily, but if there are some, you'd get them sharing general skydiving gloves with all the other scrubby folks who run through that place.
3) Skydiving is the best way ever to have a peaceful day. I had the most relaxing day that I've probably ever had - or at least had in the last few years. I just kept thinking, as I was sitting on the couch reading, "I should really start all my days off like this."
4) If you're an adrenaline junkie, don't skydive. It's not all that adrenaline-enducing. I didn't do it for that purpose, but I was a tad bit surprised I wasn't more hyped up after it was all said and done.
5) Don't talk very much to your instructor. Those fools will do everything in their power to freak your shit out. I didn't encounter it so much with my instructor, but I could see it in others and feel it bubbling just underneath the surface of mine.
6) Always go skydiving (as in go to the location) with someone who won't do it. It really helps with the superiority complex you're bound to have after you're done.
Turns out the skydiving got canceled and then rescheduled. I got all psyched up for Saturday and then it was too gusty. But Sunday? Perfect day.
Let me set the scene: I finally went to sleep early Sunday morning (after pitching a pitiful fit to the bf about having to get up early the next day and insisting on going to bedorshire). Of course I couldn't sleep because I kept hearing the wind knock against the windows and wondering if the whole thing was going to be called off - yet again. Part of me hoped it would, because I was crazy tired but the better part of me was hoping Texas weather would do me proud. I woke up at 8:30 (see? early!) and called my co-skydiver in crime. She called back shortly and told me we were on. Of course I still had a little time to snooze if I wanted but I was way to excited/antsy.
I went to the living room and found a Golden Girls marathon on the Hallmark Channel (aside: GG moved from Lifetime to Hallmark! Who knew?) and I was pretty certain it was a good omen. After I'd finally coaxed the bf out of the house, we made our way to the launch pad. I insisted on having a bagel before I fell out of a plane and after about 3 stops - bagels are hard to find! - I was officially on my way.
In the car ride there - the place was a good 30-40 minutes away - the bf was amazed AMAZED! at how cool, calm, and collected I was. I told him there was nothing to mentally prepare for, so really what was there to think about at this point? He thought there was definitely a mental preparation aspect to the whole thing, but after discussing with my co-jumper, also a lawyer, we decided it must be our profession that keeps us from getting nervous at attempts at physical endeavors. Put me in a courtroom and I'll be reciting this or that, anticipating arguments, going over easy objections, etc. in my head the entire morning before. But skydiving? Chatter and fun music is all I had to think about.
Blah, blah, blah, 1 orange jumpsuit later and we're up in the plane. I looked like a convict but at least I was visible... I guess. My instructor woman! asked me if I had any questions - as we're climbing up to 10,000 feet of course - and I just wanted to know what happened if she died on my back before she pulled the cord thing. (I swear I'd just seen something on yahoo news or similar about that.) Luckily the chute had a gadget that automatically triggered the parachute if we reached a certain altitude.
As I looked out the window on the way up, I was completely calm. I realized there wasn't one butterfly in my stomach, which was nice because I can't say I feel that way on any normal day, much less a day when I'm about to potentially plummet to my death. We scooted, quite literally, up to the plane door and as we waddled our way forward I had a momentary panic moment (much like I do when I stand on a diving board or when I'm tripping over my shoes at the top of my staircase at home, or ya know, the crack on the sidewalk outside work, whatevs) that I was about to fall. Luckily I didn't have much time for speculation and before I could think to put my hands in front of me to catch myself, I was out. And flying! And all of a sudden realizing I couldn't breathe. Nope, I wasn't flying - I was very quickly suffocating to death. My brain was telling my mouth that of course I could breathe; I was surrounded by air; there was nothing I could do but breathe. But of course my illogical lack of oxygen receiving lungs took over and I panted horribly. Luckily the free fall portion was over relatively quickly. It wasn't a scary experience by any stretch but more of an uncomfortable feeling that passed as soon as the wind stopped hitting me in the face so hard.
And then IT happened. The parachute opened and after the initial lurch and feeling of gravity, I experienced one of the most peaceful, calm, and relaxing few minutes of my entire life. It was pretty remarkable.
I did worry briefly when I saw my friend spiraling crazily downward but apparently that's what we were all doing and it only looked scary from above (so said my tandem jump instructor). There was one weird thing though. As we were getting closer to the ground, my instructor was telling me how to put my feet for landing, etc. I responded "okay" after every instruction she gave. Apparently this caused her some amount of anxiety because she said, "you keep saying 'okay' but are you really okay?" Um, is there some kind of conversation I should be having when I falling toward the earth? Is there a Miss Manners on this subject that I don't know about? What should I have been saying? Not okay? Commenting on last week's episode of Lost? Strange.
We landed on our feet, just like I'd imagine you'd land if you could really fly, about 6 feet away from the guy who unhooked us, so I'm guessing my instructor was pretty accurate. I kept wanting the parachute to collapse all around me so I could come climbing out from underneath it like they do on cartoons but they were too professional for all that.
Things I learned:
1) Wear your hair back and don't let one, single strand get loose. I had quite a few strays and that shit was impossible to brush for hours!
2) Bring your own gloves. I don't know of finger diseases, necessarily, but if there are some, you'd get them sharing general skydiving gloves with all the other scrubby folks who run through that place.
3) Skydiving is the best way ever to have a peaceful day. I had the most relaxing day that I've probably ever had - or at least had in the last few years. I just kept thinking, as I was sitting on the couch reading, "I should really start all my days off like this."
4) If you're an adrenaline junkie, don't skydive. It's not all that adrenaline-enducing. I didn't do it for that purpose, but I was a tad bit surprised I wasn't more hyped up after it was all said and done.
5) Don't talk very much to your instructor. Those fools will do everything in their power to freak your shit out. I didn't encounter it so much with my instructor, but I could see it in others and feel it bubbling just underneath the surface of mine.
6) Always go skydiving (as in go to the location) with someone who won't do it. It really helps with the superiority complex you're bound to have after you're done.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
If I were going to the inauguration...
I'd wear this:
But with better hair and possibly in a deep, royal/peacock blue. I'd prefer a royal blue with the iridescent parts in peacock blue. Damn, I'd look good next to Obama. Not, you know, in place of Michelle, per se, just for pictures and what not.
But with better hair and possibly in a deep, royal/peacock blue. I'd prefer a royal blue with the iridescent parts in peacock blue. Damn, I'd look good next to Obama. Not, you know, in place of Michelle, per se, just for pictures and what not.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
And I'm back.
After a 6ish week blog break, I've finally mustered up the energy (time?) to come up with more dumb shit to say. Lucky me. Lucky everyone else.
Dumb shit #1: New Year's Resolutions. I made some. I can't remember all of them (always happens to things I get excited about), but the highlights are:
1. Be more crafty. So far - success! I've made 4 crafty things this year. 2 of them turned out halfway decently. The other 2 aren't even good enough to give away for free. Oh well. It happens. I'm hoping for enough crafty items to start an etsy account, but right now that's only a hope.
2. Cook more. So far - success! I cooked a pot of beans over the weekend. Yep, that's it. The sad thing is that one cooking attempt in 7 days counts as a success. Well it does. I really, really don't cook, okay?
3. Go to the gym more starting January 5th. (Hey I'm not dumb enough to start a fitness New Year's resolution when I'm still hungover from a NY Eve party. I have priorities.) So far - success! I went Monday, I'm going today, and I have a pilates class this evening. I keep flucuating on what my goal should be. Should I aim for the ultimate - 6 days a week? Or should I aim for 3 and hope for more? I'm unsure as to what my failure rate might be, so I'm unsure where to set goals. I have strict philosophies about not letting myself down, which usually equates to not setting really high goals. Oh and writing things down on a to-do list that I've already done and scratching them all off. I like to feel successful too.
4. Be more budget-minded. So far - success! I spent most of last week at work (stupid holiday weeks when everyone else is on vacation) creating a year-long budget for myself. This isn't really too difficult to do because I budget every month. It's just that now I've decided to spend only cash, which I hope will make my lack of memory not be the reason I've blown my budget this month. (I never, ever remember all of my debit card purchases, even if I keep the receipts.)
5. Join the local community orchestra. So far - failure. I suck. 'Nuff said about that.
6. Volunteer more. So far - failure. I've done nothing except buy some cheap Soy Joy bars (seriously, like $.74 for 6 boxes!) that I intend to donate to the food bank. Only I'm not terribly sure where the food bank is. So that's another obstacle.
Here's to wishing success in the new year! I also plan on figuring out how to make my computer run faster but that's not a new year's resolution, just an I'm-going-to-fucking-throw-this-fucking-thing-across-the-fucking-room resolution, ya know?
Dumb shit #1: New Year's Resolutions. I made some. I can't remember all of them (always happens to things I get excited about), but the highlights are:
1. Be more crafty. So far - success! I've made 4 crafty things this year. 2 of them turned out halfway decently. The other 2 aren't even good enough to give away for free. Oh well. It happens. I'm hoping for enough crafty items to start an etsy account, but right now that's only a hope.
2. Cook more. So far - success! I cooked a pot of beans over the weekend. Yep, that's it. The sad thing is that one cooking attempt in 7 days counts as a success. Well it does. I really, really don't cook, okay?
3. Go to the gym more starting January 5th. (Hey I'm not dumb enough to start a fitness New Year's resolution when I'm still hungover from a NY Eve party. I have priorities.) So far - success! I went Monday, I'm going today, and I have a pilates class this evening. I keep flucuating on what my goal should be. Should I aim for the ultimate - 6 days a week? Or should I aim for 3 and hope for more? I'm unsure as to what my failure rate might be, so I'm unsure where to set goals. I have strict philosophies about not letting myself down, which usually equates to not setting really high goals. Oh and writing things down on a to-do list that I've already done and scratching them all off. I like to feel successful too.
4. Be more budget-minded. So far - success! I spent most of last week at work (stupid holiday weeks when everyone else is on vacation) creating a year-long budget for myself. This isn't really too difficult to do because I budget every month. It's just that now I've decided to spend only cash, which I hope will make my lack of memory not be the reason I've blown my budget this month. (I never, ever remember all of my debit card purchases, even if I keep the receipts.)
5. Join the local community orchestra. So far - failure. I suck. 'Nuff said about that.
6. Volunteer more. So far - failure. I've done nothing except buy some cheap Soy Joy bars (seriously, like $.74 for 6 boxes!) that I intend to donate to the food bank. Only I'm not terribly sure where the food bank is. So that's another obstacle.
Here's to wishing success in the new year! I also plan on figuring out how to make my computer run faster but that's not a new year's resolution, just an I'm-going-to-fucking-throw-this-fucking-thing-across-the-fucking-room resolution, ya know?
Monday, November 10, 2008
My emotions have been hijacked and a crisis averted.
I just watched last week's Grey's Anatomy. It involved old people. I cannot handle old people dying or being sad or freaking pumping the heart of their significant other after they sign the Do Not Resuscitate Form but have changed their minds when the SO is actually dying. I watched the first few episodes of ER way back when but stopped watching when too many old people died on the show. I'm not ashamed to watch and like Grey's Anatomy but I'm here to say I will stop watching their stupid show if more old people die on it. I cannot handle old people dying.
You know how after some cries, especially ones induced due to sappy tv shows or movies, you feel cathartic? Like you needed it in some way? I do not feel that way now. I feel mad. And pissed. And incredibly sad. I CANNOT handle old people dying.
On the bright side I gave my MOH toast at the wedding this weekend. It went pretty well I think. I was a little drunk afterwards and demanded praise for it. I'm not quite as annoying now, although I'll still take praise, but I was pretty worried about sounding like an idiot. I had a story to tell that was incredibly appropriate, but I really, really wanted to do the bride justice by telling it right. I didn't want to half-ass it and make the bride wish I'd said something better. I'm a little concerned I didn't praise her enough. Everything that I am - she's the opposite. I think because of that I respect and admire her more than I would if she were more like me. Because I know how easy it is to say and do all the wrong things (me) and how very hard it is to be patient and nice and forgiving and generally awesome (her). So if I didn't say it enough then - to you, B, may he make you happier than you can ever imagine you deserve. And may the rest of us beat him down if he doesn't!
Oh and she'll never read this because I'll forget to remind her by the time she comes back from her two weeks (wtf??) in Tahiti. I hate them.
You know how after some cries, especially ones induced due to sappy tv shows or movies, you feel cathartic? Like you needed it in some way? I do not feel that way now. I feel mad. And pissed. And incredibly sad. I CANNOT handle old people dying.
On the bright side I gave my MOH toast at the wedding this weekend. It went pretty well I think. I was a little drunk afterwards and demanded praise for it. I'm not quite as annoying now, although I'll still take praise, but I was pretty worried about sounding like an idiot. I had a story to tell that was incredibly appropriate, but I really, really wanted to do the bride justice by telling it right. I didn't want to half-ass it and make the bride wish I'd said something better. I'm a little concerned I didn't praise her enough. Everything that I am - she's the opposite. I think because of that I respect and admire her more than I would if she were more like me. Because I know how easy it is to say and do all the wrong things (me) and how very hard it is to be patient and nice and forgiving and generally awesome (her). So if I didn't say it enough then - to you, B, may he make you happier than you can ever imagine you deserve. And may the rest of us beat him down if he doesn't!
Oh and she'll never read this because I'll forget to remind her by the time she comes back from her two weeks (wtf??) in Tahiti. I hate them.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
My cups filleth over - who knew?
I went for a bra fitting today at a real lingerie shop. No Vicky S or even the Oprah-touted Nordies. I went to a place that's been around for ages, sells really expensive lacy things, and is practically the only store in town where one can find a 32 FFFF (if that's even a size).
You don't just walk into this store to browse either. Oh no. There's a sign-up sheet when you first walk in and a professional fitter (aka salesperson) takes you in the back and starts bringing in bras (after a firm measurement, of course). You never even get to walk through the store and think about what you might want. Instead you tell the "fitter" and they bring you different shapes, colors, materials, etc. The fitter also gets super personal with your ladies. It's not a place for the shy.
I originally went in the store thinking I would get a new bra (mine is currently held together by luck) and possibly some appropriate undergarment for the bridesmaid dress I'll be wearing in an upcoming wedding. Apparently the makers of BM dresses, not so unlike other dress makers, assume that a person with a significant bottom half must have a top to match. I don't know if they make bra sizes big enough to match my ass, but if they do they're at the store I went to today. Needless to say, I have A LOT of room up top in the dress and I was curious what advice the "fitter" would give. She suggested a bustier. I suggested going bra-less. We settled on cups that can be sewn in by the tailor. Apparently looking completely flat-chested in a dress isn't a good "look" for me, i.e. the bra-less version. Whatev.
So as it turns out I'm about 2 cups sizes bigger than I thought. I was right on the band size but this is all quite a shock to me (a girl who swears by the "miracle" of VS to help them look like anything other than the smallest of the small). I tried on the new, bigger bra and was completely overwhelmed. I think I still am. The cup was so huge! It's not like it made my boobs look bigger or anything. The bigger bra just made the bra look bigger. Very weird and disconcerting. Apparently the boob-look I'm used to is not the natural boob-look. Go figure.
The other weird thing? VS tried to tell me last year that my cup size was too small but I laughed in their faces thinking they were dumb VS salespeople. Now I've had a 2nd professional fitting and they say the same thing. I don't know who to believe - them (the professionals) or my own conception of boob-look and sizes. I think I need a 3rd fitting to fully accept the unavoidable: I now have a grown-up girl bra size. Sad.
A new, terrifying thought: do I have to reevalate my low-cut blouses that I always thought were okay to wear because my boobs were so small (a la Debra Messing, pre-baby)? My world is askew...
You don't just walk into this store to browse either. Oh no. There's a sign-up sheet when you first walk in and a professional fitter (aka salesperson) takes you in the back and starts bringing in bras (after a firm measurement, of course). You never even get to walk through the store and think about what you might want. Instead you tell the "fitter" and they bring you different shapes, colors, materials, etc. The fitter also gets super personal with your ladies. It's not a place for the shy.
I originally went in the store thinking I would get a new bra (mine is currently held together by luck) and possibly some appropriate undergarment for the bridesmaid dress I'll be wearing in an upcoming wedding. Apparently the makers of BM dresses, not so unlike other dress makers, assume that a person with a significant bottom half must have a top to match. I don't know if they make bra sizes big enough to match my ass, but if they do they're at the store I went to today. Needless to say, I have A LOT of room up top in the dress and I was curious what advice the "fitter" would give. She suggested a bustier. I suggested going bra-less. We settled on cups that can be sewn in by the tailor. Apparently looking completely flat-chested in a dress isn't a good "look" for me, i.e. the bra-less version. Whatev.
So as it turns out I'm about 2 cups sizes bigger than I thought. I was right on the band size but this is all quite a shock to me (a girl who swears by the "miracle" of VS to help them look like anything other than the smallest of the small). I tried on the new, bigger bra and was completely overwhelmed. I think I still am. The cup was so huge! It's not like it made my boobs look bigger or anything. The bigger bra just made the bra look bigger. Very weird and disconcerting. Apparently the boob-look I'm used to is not the natural boob-look. Go figure.
The other weird thing? VS tried to tell me last year that my cup size was too small but I laughed in their faces thinking they were dumb VS salespeople. Now I've had a 2nd professional fitting and they say the same thing. I don't know who to believe - them (the professionals) or my own conception of boob-look and sizes. I think I need a 3rd fitting to fully accept the unavoidable: I now have a grown-up girl bra size. Sad.
A new, terrifying thought: do I have to reevalate my low-cut blouses that I always thought were okay to wear because my boobs were so small (a la Debra Messing, pre-baby)? My world is askew...
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Daily Pointers, yo.
1. Axe Body Spray does not cover up the smell of personal filth (i.e. funk and body odor).
2. Girls do not automatically want to put band-aids on people just because they're girls.
3. Pensises do not actually get larger when a man holds a drill. They might technically get smaller. (Shrinkage through comparison, you see.)
4. Just because your decision was quick does not make it not stupid.
5. A Cubs baseball game will always look like a blooper reel.
6. Volunteering for more work sometimes means you'll really get more work.
7. A step back is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes you can get a better sense of the big picture and focus on what's really important (like your crazy, brilliant ideas and talents that got you started in the first place).
8. Halloween costumes lose their luster when worn all day at work, in the evening trick-or-treating, and at night for the big shindig.
9. Throwing your legs up over your ass only works when your ass isn't the size of a small national forest. (Pilates instructors should really know this.)
10. I should really be allowed to make all decisions everywhere. Or else run my own hugely-popular think tank. I'm open for either suggestion although I'm partial to the think tank.
2. Girls do not automatically want to put band-aids on people just because they're girls.
3. Pensises do not actually get larger when a man holds a drill. They might technically get smaller. (Shrinkage through comparison, you see.)
4. Just because your decision was quick does not make it not stupid.
5. A Cubs baseball game will always look like a blooper reel.
6. Volunteering for more work sometimes means you'll really get more work.
7. A step back is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes you can get a better sense of the big picture and focus on what's really important (like your crazy, brilliant ideas and talents that got you started in the first place).
8. Halloween costumes lose their luster when worn all day at work, in the evening trick-or-treating, and at night for the big shindig.
9. Throwing your legs up over your ass only works when your ass isn't the size of a small national forest. (Pilates instructors should really know this.)
10. I should really be allowed to make all decisions everywhere. Or else run my own hugely-popular think tank. I'm open for either suggestion although I'm partial to the think tank.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I think this is called tagging?
She named me - is that the official tag? I'm new to all of this stuff. If so, here goes. If not, oh well. I haven't done a survey since my rabid myspace days. Thanks to Blondie for the... tag? She's on my blogroll so you probably have but if you haven't, read her blog. It's definitely read-at-work worthy.
1. What are the last three things you purchased?
I won't list groceries and my amazing good deal on Electrasol thingees at Target because that's boring, right? I bought an Astros hat at Walmart Saturday morning. I am usually anti-Walmart, and it's on my "boycott when convenient" list (along with Target pharmacies, Exxon, and beef products). But the bf wanted to look at Star Wars toys (please, please don't ask), and we were in hostile country (Clear Lake) where the only thing resembling Target was Walmart. So we went and since I wanted a hat to wear to the Astros game that night, I bought it. It was only $12 too! I now know what anti-union, anti-American smells like. It smells like the cheap, cheap price of $11.99, and I have to say I liked it. Let's see. I also bought some ear buds (with bling on them!) in the clearance section at Target over the weekend and 2 UT Longhorn shirts at Kohls. I don't support buying your own school's memorabilia like that (I'm weird, I know), but I'm going to Cape Cod over Labor Day and figured I could get away with wearing them there.
2. What are the last thee songs you downloaded?
Ha! Three songs from the Newsies soundtrack. A Christian Bale post on Jezebel last week got me all Newsied-up and since my soundtrack got stolen a billion years ago, I downloaded what I could find of the record. I love that movie.
3. Where were the last three places you visited?
Nasa (to take a special behind-the-scenes tour), Moody Gardens (where we snuck into the Titanic exhibit - boring - so glad we didn't pay), and Minute Maid Field (see previous post). It was an extension of the staycation where we traveled far and away (Houston) to visit all the lame touristy places we never bothered to go to when we (I) lived there.
4. What are your three favorite movies?
Only 3? I'm counting series as 1 movie - Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Goonies. (I could have easily listed the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice, Legally Blonde, and Bridget Jones' Diary but I was going with my nerdy list this time.) See what I did there? I disposed of the 3 requirement with a parenthetical reference. Pure genius.
5. What are your three favorite possessions?
My computer - silly but true
My pearl necklace - I won't label whore but they're very nice and were a gift
My flute
My blanket that my grandmother gave to me made by my great-grandmother of my great-aunt's curtains. Got all that?
My silver ring from Tiffany's (I bought it for myself with my own money at the Tiffany's on 5th Ave after I graduated law school - it's very symbolic to me even though it's not the huge endeavor now that it was then)
I'm obviously ignoring the rules of this survey.
6. What three things can you not live without?
Diet coke
The internet
ghost shows on A&E
7. What would be your three wishes?
Jump out of a plane (doing it for my 30th bday this year)
spend time in Paris (hopefully going next year)
own a house in Hyde Park that I could afford (meaning I'd have more money, not that there would be a house that would be in my current budget)
8. What are three things you have not done yet?
Isn't this the same question as the one above?
jumped out of a plane
been to Paris
been to Turkey, Russia, Japan, Hawaii, and many, many other places
9. What are your three favorite dishes?
vietnamese spring rolls - good ones
unagi (eel) rolls - any kind will do as long as there are no sauces on it
my mom's mac 'n cheese - freaking amazing
10. What three celebrities would you want to hang out with the most?
Kathy Griffin
Lauren Graham
Jon Stewart
11. Name three things that freak you out.
snakes
cruise ships
plants that move towards the sun (like ivys and vines) *shudder*
12. If you could describe yourself in three words, what would they be?
sarcastic
disgruntled
genius
13. Name three unusual things you are good at.
counting things
playing the flute
thinking shit up
14. What are three things you are currently coveting?
a fabulous purse (i'm shallow, i'll admit it)
new bedstuffs
someone to buy me xm radio because i can't justify spending the $$$ on something that's supposed to be free - radio (but all the sports channels!! I never have to search for a game again!)
15. What three bloggers would you like tag?
I'm not sure who has already been tagged (besides Blondie and Rana and Lauren) so I'll go with:
Squishy over at BoredSquishy
CK at DisplacedUrbanite
and MaterialLust
1. What are the last three things you purchased?
I won't list groceries and my amazing good deal on Electrasol thingees at Target because that's boring, right? I bought an Astros hat at Walmart Saturday morning. I am usually anti-Walmart, and it's on my "boycott when convenient" list (along with Target pharmacies, Exxon, and beef products). But the bf wanted to look at Star Wars toys (please, please don't ask), and we were in hostile country (Clear Lake) where the only thing resembling Target was Walmart. So we went and since I wanted a hat to wear to the Astros game that night, I bought it. It was only $12 too! I now know what anti-union, anti-American smells like. It smells like the cheap, cheap price of $11.99, and I have to say I liked it. Let's see. I also bought some ear buds (with bling on them!) in the clearance section at Target over the weekend and 2 UT Longhorn shirts at Kohls. I don't support buying your own school's memorabilia like that (I'm weird, I know), but I'm going to Cape Cod over Labor Day and figured I could get away with wearing them there.
2. What are the last thee songs you downloaded?
Ha! Three songs from the Newsies soundtrack. A Christian Bale post on Jezebel last week got me all Newsied-up and since my soundtrack got stolen a billion years ago, I downloaded what I could find of the record. I love that movie.
3. Where were the last three places you visited?
Nasa (to take a special behind-the-scenes tour), Moody Gardens (where we snuck into the Titanic exhibit - boring - so glad we didn't pay), and Minute Maid Field (see previous post). It was an extension of the staycation where we traveled far and away (Houston) to visit all the lame touristy places we never bothered to go to when we (I) lived there.
4. What are your three favorite movies?
Only 3? I'm counting series as 1 movie - Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Goonies. (I could have easily listed the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice, Legally Blonde, and Bridget Jones' Diary but I was going with my nerdy list this time.) See what I did there? I disposed of the 3 requirement with a parenthetical reference. Pure genius.
5. What are your three favorite possessions?
My computer - silly but true
My pearl necklace - I won't label whore but they're very nice and were a gift
My flute
My blanket that my grandmother gave to me made by my great-grandmother of my great-aunt's curtains. Got all that?
My silver ring from Tiffany's (I bought it for myself with my own money at the Tiffany's on 5th Ave after I graduated law school - it's very symbolic to me even though it's not the huge endeavor now that it was then)
I'm obviously ignoring the rules of this survey.
6. What three things can you not live without?
Diet coke
The internet
ghost shows on A&E
7. What would be your three wishes?
Jump out of a plane (doing it for my 30th bday this year)
spend time in Paris (hopefully going next year)
own a house in Hyde Park that I could afford (meaning I'd have more money, not that there would be a house that would be in my current budget)
8. What are three things you have not done yet?
Isn't this the same question as the one above?
jumped out of a plane
been to Paris
been to Turkey, Russia, Japan, Hawaii, and many, many other places
9. What are your three favorite dishes?
vietnamese spring rolls - good ones
unagi (eel) rolls - any kind will do as long as there are no sauces on it
my mom's mac 'n cheese - freaking amazing
10. What three celebrities would you want to hang out with the most?
Kathy Griffin
Lauren Graham
Jon Stewart
11. Name three things that freak you out.
snakes
cruise ships
plants that move towards the sun (like ivys and vines) *shudder*
12. If you could describe yourself in three words, what would they be?
sarcastic
disgruntled
genius
13. Name three unusual things you are good at.
counting things
playing the flute
thinking shit up
14. What are three things you are currently coveting?
a fabulous purse (i'm shallow, i'll admit it)
new bedstuffs
someone to buy me xm radio because i can't justify spending the $$$ on something that's supposed to be free - radio (but all the sports channels!! I never have to search for a game again!)
15. What three bloggers would you like tag?
I'm not sure who has already been tagged (besides Blondie and Rana and Lauren) so I'll go with:
Squishy over at BoredSquishy
CK at DisplacedUrbanite
and MaterialLust
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
It's official.
I'm sending in an application for "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?" And to prove I am not, I even had to look up the title of the gameshow to determine if "than" should be capitalized or not. Turns out I was right but I didn't know for sure. See, here's the thing. I could really use $25,000. I can think of no side job that would afford me that kind of cash, or at least I can think of no side job that I would do that would afford me that kind of cash. As I don't see any dying relatives in my future - or I should say any dying relatives who would a) have money and b) leave it to me - I've convinced myself a gameshow is the way to go.
I've thought about all the usual suspects: Millionaire & Jeopardy - not smart enough. That Truth show - not dumb enough. All the other gameshows are action oriented (i.e. dancing, singing, having a talent of some kind, trying to lure a man, staying alive for 6 weeks with a bunch of crazy people on an island, running a very physical race, etc., etc., etc.). So that leaves me with the 5th Grader show. I'll admit that I find Jeff Foxworthy's humor kind of hilarious, because I'm 10, although I haven't seen the show that many times. Maybe like 5 times altogether? But I think that's enough.
My only concern is that they'll be scared away by my advanced degree, but they really shouldn't be. In the few times I've seen the shows, I'm 50/50 (at best) on the questions. I did recently get a 3rd grade (I think) animal science question right about a woodpecker not pecking for wood but rather for insects underneath the wood. To be fair it was a T/F and I happen to know that most birdshit doesn't contain wood particles (if the exterior of my car is any indication). Really it was an educated guess not based on any actual knowledge to speak of.
The application is actually kind of involved. They want to know if you have a myspace "or similar" account. I don't think I should admit such things because what if they read something and (assuming I get chosen) say it out loud on the air for my mommy to hear? So maybe I'll say no to that one.
Another question asks: Even though it's not true, people always assume about me:
Um, how the hell should I know? One asshole at work once said he assumed I liked Britney Spears' music (back when it was very uncool to like BS), but I can't imagine very many people would assume such things about me, especially given my proclivity to give off the air of "music snob" even though I don't know shit.
Question: something about biggest risks I've taken. I definitely know I don't want to answer that one truthfully. Ouch. What's a good answer for that? Going all in at the final table of the 2005 World Series of Poker? Do you think they'd research that to see if it was true?
And shit. It wants to know if I have any surprising talents or tricks. If I did I'd be on that other gameshow with the Osborne chick.
This ones funny: "What type of organizations do you belong to? (Mensa, etc...)" hahaha! I was a member of Junior Mensa. Or at least my mom bought me a Junior Mensa puzzle game book. Does that count? (My mom's fascination with completely odd logic puzzles is almost the entire reason for my better than mediocre LSAT score.)
And finally it asks if I know anyone who graduated from an Ivy League school in the LA area? That's a bad sentence because if I didn't know better, I'd be confused as to whether they meant someone who lives in LA who went to an Ivy League school or someone who graduated from an LA Ivy League school. Luckily I know what they mean and I'm slightly insulted. Are they using my application to try and recruit smarter people to their show? Seriously uncool.
Oh and they want my SAT scores. I think I can definitely lie on those. But should I lie higher or lower? I can't tell what the purpose of this application is! Should I appear smarter or dumber than I really am? Because obviously the truth would never work.
I've thought about all the usual suspects: Millionaire & Jeopardy - not smart enough. That Truth show - not dumb enough. All the other gameshows are action oriented (i.e. dancing, singing, having a talent of some kind, trying to lure a man, staying alive for 6 weeks with a bunch of crazy people on an island, running a very physical race, etc., etc., etc.). So that leaves me with the 5th Grader show. I'll admit that I find Jeff Foxworthy's humor kind of hilarious, because I'm 10, although I haven't seen the show that many times. Maybe like 5 times altogether? But I think that's enough.
My only concern is that they'll be scared away by my advanced degree, but they really shouldn't be. In the few times I've seen the shows, I'm 50/50 (at best) on the questions. I did recently get a 3rd grade (I think) animal science question right about a woodpecker not pecking for wood but rather for insects underneath the wood. To be fair it was a T/F and I happen to know that most birdshit doesn't contain wood particles (if the exterior of my car is any indication). Really it was an educated guess not based on any actual knowledge to speak of.
The application is actually kind of involved. They want to know if you have a myspace "or similar" account. I don't think I should admit such things because what if they read something and (assuming I get chosen) say it out loud on the air for my mommy to hear? So maybe I'll say no to that one.
Another question asks: Even though it's not true, people always assume about me:
Um, how the hell should I know? One asshole at work once said he assumed I liked Britney Spears' music (back when it was very uncool to like BS), but I can't imagine very many people would assume such things about me, especially given my proclivity to give off the air of "music snob" even though I don't know shit.
Question: something about biggest risks I've taken. I definitely know I don't want to answer that one truthfully. Ouch. What's a good answer for that? Going all in at the final table of the 2005 World Series of Poker? Do you think they'd research that to see if it was true?
And shit. It wants to know if I have any surprising talents or tricks. If I did I'd be on that other gameshow with the Osborne chick.
This ones funny: "What type of organizations do you belong to? (Mensa, etc...)" hahaha! I was a member of Junior Mensa. Or at least my mom bought me a Junior Mensa puzzle game book. Does that count? (My mom's fascination with completely odd logic puzzles is almost the entire reason for my better than mediocre LSAT score.)
And finally it asks if I know anyone who graduated from an Ivy League school in the LA area? That's a bad sentence because if I didn't know better, I'd be confused as to whether they meant someone who lives in LA who went to an Ivy League school or someone who graduated from an LA Ivy League school. Luckily I know what they mean and I'm slightly insulted. Are they using my application to try and recruit smarter people to their show? Seriously uncool.
Oh and they want my SAT scores. I think I can definitely lie on those. But should I lie higher or lower? I can't tell what the purpose of this application is! Should I appear smarter or dumber than I really am? Because obviously the truth would never work.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Driving a Prius - for 2 days
I'm officially done with the Prius. I turned it back in to the rental car place.* I've learned I'm not a Prius person. I used to think I was one but I'm not. I never got used to pushing a button to turn the car on, to shifting gears at face level, to pushing the car, via button, into park, to feeling the shuddering as the engine switched randomly back and forth from electric to gas motor, and I never got used to the fleeting feeling of panic anytime I wanted to change the a/c temp or change the radio station (because it was in some weird computer screen form, you see). I also managed to turn the Prius into a gas guzzler, at least by Prius standards. When I got the car it was doing about 44 mpg - not bad. As I drove it along, I managed to hit the high, high average of 35 to 37. I'm not saying that's a bad mpg, that's great. But for a Prius? Not so much. And I have no clue how I did it. I blame it on the air conditioning. I don't think hybrid cars are made to sit in traffic in the Texas heat, especially on 100+ degrees days. Oh and the really loud beeping that filled the car everytime I used the knob to put the car in reverse? Terribly annoying.
All that said, I did feel a certain smugness at times, like squishy suggested. I think the Prius gives you a superiority complex on the road, like you know all those other cars are burning through their fuel while you're obsessing about battery power. It's like an immediate "I break for lower dependence on foreign oil sources" bumper sticker. It's pretty much like the feeling you get when you send out charity cards at xmas time (i.e. the local food bank xmas cards saying a donation was made in your name, etc., etc., etc.). Wait. It's even better than that. It's more like wearing an "I Voted" sticker while handing out food to the homeless, all while you're volunteering at a big brothers/big sisters event. Yeah, it's more like that.
Don't everyone go buy a Prius now. Toyota car salespeople are already too smug. If I see another one on CNN talking about waiting lists, I just might hurl. Car salespeople are made to be despised and unhappy, not satiated and content. The two just don't mesh. Go buy a truck. Those guys are definitely frustrated and angry. I bet you'll get a better deal too.
*The rental car place is in a nearby hotel and I went to return the car in my pilates outfit as I was about to go to pilates. The hotel was apparently hosting some kind of golfers/drunkard convention and - I'm guessing for shits and giggles - the hotel blocked off all of my normal exits with huge black curtains. As a result I began to frantically pull back tall pieces of fabric in an insane attempt to flee the middle-aged men and frosted women, an attempt in which I was unsuccessful. I ended up scaling the perimeters of the hotel lobby and finding myself in some kind of alley where cars were entering and exiting at great speeds. I didn't care. At least I was out. Lesson of the week: avoid hotel lobbies in downtown areas in the middle of the week. It's a carnival, i.e. where all the carnies (freaks aka middle-aged men and divorcees) hang out.
All that said, I did feel a certain smugness at times, like squishy suggested. I think the Prius gives you a superiority complex on the road, like you know all those other cars are burning through their fuel while you're obsessing about battery power. It's like an immediate "I break for lower dependence on foreign oil sources" bumper sticker. It's pretty much like the feeling you get when you send out charity cards at xmas time (i.e. the local food bank xmas cards saying a donation was made in your name, etc., etc., etc.). Wait. It's even better than that. It's more like wearing an "I Voted" sticker while handing out food to the homeless, all while you're volunteering at a big brothers/big sisters event. Yeah, it's more like that.
Don't everyone go buy a Prius now. Toyota car salespeople are already too smug. If I see another one on CNN talking about waiting lists, I just might hurl. Car salespeople are made to be despised and unhappy, not satiated and content. The two just don't mesh. Go buy a truck. Those guys are definitely frustrated and angry. I bet you'll get a better deal too.
*The rental car place is in a nearby hotel and I went to return the car in my pilates outfit as I was about to go to pilates. The hotel was apparently hosting some kind of golfers/drunkard convention and - I'm guessing for shits and giggles - the hotel blocked off all of my normal exits with huge black curtains. As a result I began to frantically pull back tall pieces of fabric in an insane attempt to flee the middle-aged men and frosted women, an attempt in which I was unsuccessful. I ended up scaling the perimeters of the hotel lobby and finding myself in some kind of alley where cars were entering and exiting at great speeds. I didn't care. At least I was out. Lesson of the week: avoid hotel lobbies in downtown areas in the middle of the week. It's a carnival, i.e. where all the carnies (freaks aka middle-aged men and divorcees) hang out.
Monday, June 16, 2008
It was a very bad week...
I almost broke up with my boyfriend.
I almost disowned my parents and severed our relationship.
I almost crashed my car, potentially fatally, to collect the insurance money.
I almost got fired due to fits of hysteria and excessive mental absences.
I almost lost a limb.
I almost shed a tear several times.
But now it's over. And here is both the cause (partially) and the salvation of my bad, horrible, no-good week:
Hyundai Elantra - only mine's in black pearl (sparkly black to be exact)
It's nothing fancy but it's new and it's mine! And I put enough of a down payment down that my monthly budget will not be altered significantly. It has new car smell and I only slightly feel like I'm driving in a clown car, which, given that my previous vehicle felt something like a coffin (a fact I enjoyed immensely but apparently was not popular with the passengers), is no small feat.
I feel very sad about losing my old car. It was 8 years old and a gift from my dad for graduating college. It was an old school sports car, to say the very least, and I miss the way the engine would roar when I just slightly pushed the gas peddle. I also miss my beautiful dings and scratches that meant I could attempt to fit my car in any parking spot available (instead of searching for the farthest spot with no chance of door dings like I have to do now). I miss the rows of bumper stickers (all political) that I'd decided my car needed, what with the aforementioned dings and scratches. I miss the Care Bear (Good Luck Bear!) smelly thing that hung from the rearview mirror. I miss the longhorn sticker that looked at me every time I looked out the back window. I miss the way I could throw a napkin in the back seat and not worry about trashing my new car. I miss how none of the windows never got one, tiny crack in them even though rocks were always bouncing off of them. *tear*
I do not miss the driver's side window that would not roll down. I do not miss the way the gas gauge moved at will from E to F with no bearing to the amount of gas in the tank. I do not miss the way the speakers crackled if I turned up the volume just slightly. I do not miss the bruises I got on my arms (and the cuts on my hands) from trying to change the spark plug wireset, which I never managed to change. I do not miss the weird smell of mildew that seemed to take over when it rained, which wasn't a huge problem because it hardly rains here in Texas. I do not miss the huge dent on the passenger side door from when I accidentally ran into my apartment building. I don't miss the scratches on the driver's side door where G tried to scrape off ice even though I told him not to.
But you know, it's really the little things that make owning a non-crappy car nice. (My car was not originally crappy but after 8 years, although it hurts me to say it, it was pretty crappy.) I went to the drive through bank Friday and was so excited that I called my mom. We both cheered. It was a good feeling.
Oh and did I mention I made a kick ass deal for the new car? I did all my research and ended up paying about $400 over invoice price. I'll accept accolades, statues, and national holidays in my name, thank you.
I almost disowned my parents and severed our relationship.
I almost crashed my car, potentially fatally, to collect the insurance money.
I almost got fired due to fits of hysteria and excessive mental absences.
I almost lost a limb.
I almost shed a tear several times.
But now it's over. And here is both the cause (partially) and the salvation of my bad, horrible, no-good week:
Hyundai Elantra - only mine's in black pearl (sparkly black to be exact)It's nothing fancy but it's new and it's mine! And I put enough of a down payment down that my monthly budget will not be altered significantly. It has new car smell and I only slightly feel like I'm driving in a clown car, which, given that my previous vehicle felt something like a coffin (a fact I enjoyed immensely but apparently was not popular with the passengers), is no small feat.
I feel very sad about losing my old car. It was 8 years old and a gift from my dad for graduating college. It was an old school sports car, to say the very least, and I miss the way the engine would roar when I just slightly pushed the gas peddle. I also miss my beautiful dings and scratches that meant I could attempt to fit my car in any parking spot available (instead of searching for the farthest spot with no chance of door dings like I have to do now). I miss the rows of bumper stickers (all political) that I'd decided my car needed, what with the aforementioned dings and scratches. I miss the Care Bear (Good Luck Bear!) smelly thing that hung from the rearview mirror. I miss the longhorn sticker that looked at me every time I looked out the back window. I miss the way I could throw a napkin in the back seat and not worry about trashing my new car. I miss how none of the windows never got one, tiny crack in them even though rocks were always bouncing off of them. *tear*
I do not miss the driver's side window that would not roll down. I do not miss the way the gas gauge moved at will from E to F with no bearing to the amount of gas in the tank. I do not miss the way the speakers crackled if I turned up the volume just slightly. I do not miss the bruises I got on my arms (and the cuts on my hands) from trying to change the spark plug wireset, which I never managed to change. I do not miss the weird smell of mildew that seemed to take over when it rained, which wasn't a huge problem because it hardly rains here in Texas. I do not miss the huge dent on the passenger side door from when I accidentally ran into my apartment building. I don't miss the scratches on the driver's side door where G tried to scrape off ice even though I told him not to.
But you know, it's really the little things that make owning a non-crappy car nice. (My car was not originally crappy but after 8 years, although it hurts me to say it, it was pretty crappy.) I went to the drive through bank Friday and was so excited that I called my mom. We both cheered. It was a good feeling.
Oh and did I mention I made a kick ass deal for the new car? I did all my research and ended up paying about $400 over invoice price. I'll accept accolades, statues, and national holidays in my name, thank you.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
And it's out.
I have a new niece. Her name is Chloe Grace. J has enlightened me on the problems that arise from naming a kid a virtue, so there's that. But the Chloe part is nice. And I'm fairly certain my brother and SIL don't know who the Kardashians are - another good point.
She weighed in at 8 lbs, 14 oz. She's huge! And she's 21" long. That's long, right? I mean, I wouldn't want an almost 2 foot long thing inside of me. (I wouldn't want any kind of "thing" inside me but that's another topic altogether.)
She was all puffy and stay-puff-mashmellow-manish and she had an eerie purple glow about her, but by the time we started to leave the hospital in the evening she was beginning to look like a normal baby.
FYI: don't go look in the nursery when the baby makes their first trip there. The mean nurses stick utensils up the baby's butt, poke them with sharp needles, and scrub their poor, little head with a loofa. Boo to mean baby nurses! I wonder what they shoot them with? Rana - any help? I never knew babies got a shot immediately after they were born.
My brother has 5 kids now. Take a moment to ingest that. 5 kids. It's completely bizarre. They were all there at the hospital for pictures and introductions and what not. It was a nice scene.
And then. I won't go into the details but suffice to say that I love my mother and she is a much better person than I will ever be. Don't get me wrong, she's completely batshit crazy sometimes, but I know I can never have the patience and strength that she has. She's a much better person than me. As I sat in the backseat of our car (filled with my mom, my dad, my oldest nephew, and my grandmother), completely filled with rage and practically bruising myself to keep my mouth shut, I gained a whole new level of respect for my mom. My dad better not give her cancer with his goddamned cigar smoking. (That last bit was a completely unrelated aside.)
So there were some highs yesterday and there were some serious lows. I'm choosing the forget the lows and focus on the highs. Yea a baby! Yea a newfound respect for the mom! Yea a baby!
And um, is it wrong that I want to hug and kiss the baby and make her love me more than anyone else? I don't want to breastfeed her or buy her clothes or anything but unadulterated, compulsive love? Yeah, I'll take that.
She weighed in at 8 lbs, 14 oz. She's huge! And she's 21" long. That's long, right? I mean, I wouldn't want an almost 2 foot long thing inside of me. (I wouldn't want any kind of "thing" inside me but that's another topic altogether.)
She was all puffy and stay-puff-mashmellow-manish and she had an eerie purple glow about her, but by the time we started to leave the hospital in the evening she was beginning to look like a normal baby.
FYI: don't go look in the nursery when the baby makes their first trip there. The mean nurses stick utensils up the baby's butt, poke them with sharp needles, and scrub their poor, little head with a loofa. Boo to mean baby nurses! I wonder what they shoot them with? Rana - any help? I never knew babies got a shot immediately after they were born.
My brother has 5 kids now. Take a moment to ingest that. 5 kids. It's completely bizarre. They were all there at the hospital for pictures and introductions and what not. It was a nice scene.
And then. I won't go into the details but suffice to say that I love my mother and she is a much better person than I will ever be. Don't get me wrong, she's completely batshit crazy sometimes, but I know I can never have the patience and strength that she has. She's a much better person than me. As I sat in the backseat of our car (filled with my mom, my dad, my oldest nephew, and my grandmother), completely filled with rage and practically bruising myself to keep my mouth shut, I gained a whole new level of respect for my mom. My dad better not give her cancer with his goddamned cigar smoking. (That last bit was a completely unrelated aside.)
So there were some highs yesterday and there were some serious lows. I'm choosing the forget the lows and focus on the highs. Yea a baby! Yea a newfound respect for the mom! Yea a baby!
And um, is it wrong that I want to hug and kiss the baby and make her love me more than anyone else? I don't want to breastfeed her or buy her clothes or anything but unadulterated, compulsive love? Yeah, I'll take that.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
My "Dying Instructions" List
I figure if I can obsess about retirement, I can lay out the specifics of dying, death, my own in particular.
First thing to do if I die or am close to dying: read this blog entry.
Regarding being hooked up to machines: Don't unplug me! I hate to be a drain on the environment and someone's electricity bill (charge it to my Visa, they won't care), but damn! give a girl a moment, ya know? I'm slow in most things I do, especially if it involves physical activity like, say, coming back to life. So give me a few months to sort things out. If I'm not awake in oh, 3 months, you can put a dimmer on my switches. Turn me down low at night and see how I cook. If in another 3 months I've shown no improvement and instead show obvious signs of distress when I'm on the "low" setting, I concede that it's probably time to start planning the funeral.
Regarding the funeral:
1. Open casket.
2. Pin my butt and thighs back, maybe even some stomach, and push my boobs up. I want everyone to admire my post-mortem body.
3. Put me in something cute. I don't want to wear any black or yellow or red. I'd be happiest with a dress in peacock blue (favorite color and all), because it makes my eyes look good. I have a great one from Anthro that you can use if no one wants to have it after I'm dead.
4. Can you open eyes on a dead person? If so and if they look halfway decent, prop those babies open. It's my best asset. Everyone might as well enjoy it.
5. Get a real makeup artist to do my face. I don't want one of those clown, funeral home people. I'm cool with eyeliner as well. Just be sure to apply it like I would. No red lipstick.
6. I want tears. I don't want any of this laughing through tears, telling funny stories junk. I want honest-to-goodness sobbing.
7. If you put a cross on or near me, I will rise up and haunt you. Not kidding. I'll accept a flask though.
8. I want everyone to stand up and tell a story about me. I prefer it to be inspirational in a way that will encourage people to cry more. If you can't think of a story where I acted in an upstanding, moral way, make one up. No one will know and it will greatly decrease your chances of the aforementioned haunting.
9. Song choice - sad songs. Yesterday (Beatles), O Danny Boy (any old Irish guy), It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday (Boys II Men), My Wild Irish Rose (Hank Lucklin), Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley), Tiny Dancer (Elton John, although the Foo Fighters version is also acceptable), Sitting on the Dock of the Bay (Otis Redding - don't fuck with this one), Rio (Duran, Duran), and Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain (Willie Nelson). I reserve the right to add to and/or change this list at any time.
10. Burial or cremation? Couldn't care less. But only cremate me after the open casket if that's the choice. Make me into diamonds or amber, keep me above the fireplace, vacuum me up, or throw me off a cliff. I don't care. Just make sure there's a marker out there somewhere that's bigger and better than all the other grave markers. Make it interesting enough so that classes of kids will want to come over and do grave rubbings on my headstone/marker thing. Put swirlies and ridges and stuff.
Oh and the most important bit: if and when I am getting to that point, run to wikipedia (or whatever the future equivalent is) and create some entry calling me the inventor of cold fusion or some such thing. Make sure all the newspapers know the inventor (creator?) of cold fusion just died and the whole scientific community (or whatever community it is that I'm a part of) is in mourning. Call it a loss for the Nobel Prize Committee. (I'm open to true songwriter of all Beatles songs, muse for Jackson Pollack, or whatever other really significant thing you can think of that would be hard to prove.)
Oh and G? When you go to my house to remove anything incriminating? Don't forget the, er, things that are in the strawberry shortcake tin.
First thing to do if I die or am close to dying: read this blog entry.
Regarding being hooked up to machines: Don't unplug me! I hate to be a drain on the environment and someone's electricity bill (charge it to my Visa, they won't care), but damn! give a girl a moment, ya know? I'm slow in most things I do, especially if it involves physical activity like, say, coming back to life. So give me a few months to sort things out. If I'm not awake in oh, 3 months, you can put a dimmer on my switches. Turn me down low at night and see how I cook. If in another 3 months I've shown no improvement and instead show obvious signs of distress when I'm on the "low" setting, I concede that it's probably time to start planning the funeral.
Regarding the funeral:
1. Open casket.
2. Pin my butt and thighs back, maybe even some stomach, and push my boobs up. I want everyone to admire my post-mortem body.
3. Put me in something cute. I don't want to wear any black or yellow or red. I'd be happiest with a dress in peacock blue (favorite color and all), because it makes my eyes look good. I have a great one from Anthro that you can use if no one wants to have it after I'm dead.
4. Can you open eyes on a dead person? If so and if they look halfway decent, prop those babies open. It's my best asset. Everyone might as well enjoy it.
5. Get a real makeup artist to do my face. I don't want one of those clown, funeral home people. I'm cool with eyeliner as well. Just be sure to apply it like I would. No red lipstick.
6. I want tears. I don't want any of this laughing through tears, telling funny stories junk. I want honest-to-goodness sobbing.
7. If you put a cross on or near me, I will rise up and haunt you. Not kidding. I'll accept a flask though.
8. I want everyone to stand up and tell a story about me. I prefer it to be inspirational in a way that will encourage people to cry more. If you can't think of a story where I acted in an upstanding, moral way, make one up. No one will know and it will greatly decrease your chances of the aforementioned haunting.
9. Song choice - sad songs. Yesterday (Beatles), O Danny Boy (any old Irish guy), It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday (Boys II Men), My Wild Irish Rose (Hank Lucklin), Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley), Tiny Dancer (Elton John, although the Foo Fighters version is also acceptable), Sitting on the Dock of the Bay (Otis Redding - don't fuck with this one), Rio (Duran, Duran), and Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain (Willie Nelson). I reserve the right to add to and/or change this list at any time.
10. Burial or cremation? Couldn't care less. But only cremate me after the open casket if that's the choice. Make me into diamonds or amber, keep me above the fireplace, vacuum me up, or throw me off a cliff. I don't care. Just make sure there's a marker out there somewhere that's bigger and better than all the other grave markers. Make it interesting enough so that classes of kids will want to come over and do grave rubbings on my headstone/marker thing. Put swirlies and ridges and stuff.
Oh and the most important bit: if and when I am getting to that point, run to wikipedia (or whatever the future equivalent is) and create some entry calling me the inventor of cold fusion or some such thing. Make sure all the newspapers know the inventor (creator?) of cold fusion just died and the whole scientific community (or whatever community it is that I'm a part of) is in mourning. Call it a loss for the Nobel Prize Committee. (I'm open to true songwriter of all Beatles songs, muse for Jackson Pollack, or whatever other really significant thing you can think of that would be hard to prove.)
Oh and G? When you go to my house to remove anything incriminating? Don't forget the, er, things that are in the strawberry shortcake tin.
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