If you've been a long-time reader (and you never comment! For shame!), you'll know that on occasion I have been known to use the boy's name. That has changed, per his request. He already thinks it's weird that I have an online diary, and has told me that he prefers to not have his real name attached. I'm allowed to continue to refer to him as the boy - in fact, I think he thinks it's kinda cute that I call him that. I respect his privacy, and have removed his name from those posts. So if you see an older post with his name, please comment or email or get a carrier pigeon or send some smoke signals to let me know I've overlooked a post.
Muchas gracias.
PS - I was initially tempted to create an entire post dedicated solely to his personal information, but decided against it.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
I Can Only Aspire To Get Paid For This
For Christmas, my sister gave me a travel kit of Kinerase products. Because I'm a complete moron, I complained to her that it was for dry-to-normal skin, where mine is normal-to-oily-to Fry Daddy. So I didn't use any of the products until I went to D.C. and needed travel sizes that wouldn't get me pulled off the flight for breaking some federal law of beauty. (Plus, I bet I could really take down some people with skin moisturizer.)
Folks, let me just tell you how much I love the eye cream. I've been lucky, the crow's feet around my eyes were pretty minimal, and I've only in the past year or so wonder if they were going to be permanent, or act like good little birds and migrate. Preferably to someone else. Someone mean, like the guy who cut me off in traffic on the way home today and then flipped me off. Really? Good sir, I wish for you a week of red lights.
Anyhoo...
After just FIVE days of using this cream (as directed, of course, morning and evening) I saw such a noticeable difference around my eyes that when I got home, I called Wade and gave her essentially this PSA speech. Later, I told the boy all about it as well. (You'd think he'd not care, but he can be a bit vain as well, and not just in keeping me pretty. Himself, too!) The creases have lessened, and the one developing darker (gasp!) wrinkle has smoothed itself down as well.
This was about the time I ran out. So now I must compensate with lowly Oil of Olay Definity (also good stuff! But no Kinerase, alas) while I work on my Christmas list.
The moral of this story: LISTEN TO YOUR SISTER. SHE IS SMART AND CARES ABOUT YOUR AGING PROCESS.
Folks, let me just tell you how much I love the eye cream. I've been lucky, the crow's feet around my eyes were pretty minimal, and I've only in the past year or so wonder if they were going to be permanent, or act like good little birds and migrate. Preferably to someone else. Someone mean, like the guy who cut me off in traffic on the way home today and then flipped me off. Really? Good sir, I wish for you a week of red lights.
Anyhoo...
After just FIVE days of using this cream (as directed, of course, morning and evening) I saw such a noticeable difference around my eyes that when I got home, I called Wade and gave her essentially this PSA speech. Later, I told the boy all about it as well. (You'd think he'd not care, but he can be a bit vain as well, and not just in keeping me pretty. Himself, too!) The creases have lessened, and the one developing darker (gasp!) wrinkle has smoothed itself down as well.
This was about the time I ran out. So now I must compensate with lowly Oil of Olay Definity (also good stuff! But no Kinerase, alas) while I work on my Christmas list.
The moral of this story: LISTEN TO YOUR SISTER. SHE IS SMART AND CARES ABOUT YOUR AGING PROCESS.
Friday, July 24, 2009
I've Been Thinking
I wrote a list of the thoughts I had this morning at work. So, lucky ones, here you go!
1. I wish I brought my camera here today.
2. I wish I could blog from here.
3. I think it’s my fault that the bank opened early because I just had to open the goddamned elevator.
4. Wachovia never opened early; I think that’s because it had thick wooden doors so the employees couldn’t see the people standing outside waiting. This bank has big glass doors so it’s like looking into an aquarium and maybe fish can ignore spectators but it’s harder for humans to ignore being watched.
5. I asked for a pink-tip French manicure and instead I have weirdly iridescent baby pink fingernails.
6. I’m totally digging the toenail polish though, and my eyebrows are pretty fucking stellar.
7. I love my boy and I miss him. I wish he’d come home.
8. I need to find more webpages and blogs and stuff to read. I’m running out of source material.
9. Because of @texburgher (or whatever) I’ve now got The Great Commandment stuck in my head. Know what’ll fix that? Muthascratchin’ Miley Cyrus. Kill me now.
10. Stolen hair. That’s a thing, right?
11. Why can’t I play mah jongg here? It’s not like that time-waster would keep me from doing any actual “work”; I’ve got none.
12. You know, the correct answer when I translate a text I sent you saying that I love you in Spanish isn’t, “Oh!”.
13. Well, here I was going to send the boy a fun gift, but that’s just shot to hell. I’m keepin’ my ten bucks!
14. Must…suppress…urge…to…fight…over…SMS…
15. Sluggy is funny. I’d forgotten how much. Makes me hate that there’s a camera over my head.
16. Hungry.
17. Omigod, I didn’t need any sort of accurate vision anyway. Please give me as much detailed work as possible. Kthxbye
1. I wish I brought my camera here today.
2. I wish I could blog from here.
3. I think it’s my fault that the bank opened early because I just had to open the goddamned elevator.
4. Wachovia never opened early; I think that’s because it had thick wooden doors so the employees couldn’t see the people standing outside waiting. This bank has big glass doors so it’s like looking into an aquarium and maybe fish can ignore spectators but it’s harder for humans to ignore being watched.
5. I asked for a pink-tip French manicure and instead I have weirdly iridescent baby pink fingernails.
6. I’m totally digging the toenail polish though, and my eyebrows are pretty fucking stellar.
7. I love my boy and I miss him. I wish he’d come home.
8. I need to find more webpages and blogs and stuff to read. I’m running out of source material.
9. Because of @texburgher (or whatever) I’ve now got The Great Commandment stuck in my head. Know what’ll fix that? Muthascratchin’ Miley Cyrus. Kill me now.
10. Stolen hair. That’s a thing, right?
11. Why can’t I play mah jongg here? It’s not like that time-waster would keep me from doing any actual “work”; I’ve got none.
12. You know, the correct answer when I translate a text I sent you saying that I love you in Spanish isn’t, “Oh!”.
13. Well, here I was going to send the boy a fun gift, but that’s just shot to hell. I’m keepin’ my ten bucks!
14. Must…suppress…urge…to…fight…over…SMS…
15. Sluggy is funny. I’d forgotten how much. Makes me hate that there’s a camera over my head.
16. Hungry.
17. Omigod, I didn’t need any sort of accurate vision anyway. Please give me as much detailed work as possible. Kthxbye
Monday, July 20, 2009
Uh-Oh
Do I have to aspire to get “better”? I spent today reading the advice column of Cary Tennis. He writes in a flowery prose, one that seems anathema to his advice-giving colleagues, who clearly are restrained by editors and column-inches.
Without getting into too much detail about my childhood and what I’ve become because of / despite of it, I want to discuss the nature of mental health. Like any good liberal-leaning upper-middle class white girl, I absolutely had to study psychology in college. I’ve always been fascinated by people – one of my favorite pastimes as a child was people-watching at Disney. The inherent problem with people-watching is that you become inured to the individual and it makes it easier to judge people. There’s a safety in watching and not interacting with others. It protects you from judgment and pain and rejection and fear. The problem is as you get older, you start to recognize that you might just be missing out on some of the best parts of other people – their silliness and sense of fun and occasional incredible openness and lovingness.
And then I ran across this:
“So we have this failure, this difference, this secret. It makes us different. We know it does. So we go into society and we know we are different because our mother was passed out on the floor and our father died when we were 12, and no one got us help because ... because? ... because they did not know our needs? They did not care about our needs? Or they did not see our needs? So we had to decide, either our needs were not important, or the adults were cruel and wrong, and the adults could not be cruel and wrong, for they were the adults. So our needs must be trivial. We must be whiners. Our needs must be unimportant! So we limp along, trying to take care of ourselves, not asking to have our needs met.”
Uh-oh. Someone out there might have figured out my secret. Someone else might be able to see directly through all my facades and well-developed defense mechanisms. That person might see the pain in me. So if I’m not hiding nearly as well as I thought I was; if I’m actually an open book and a terrible poker player, what happens next? Am I now to get me to a therapy? Do I have to get myself better? Who does it hurt if I do develop stronger boundaries and sense of self? Who does it help? I don’t know and I don’t know if I want to know. So for now, the closing of Tennis’ advice will have to be enough to carry me:
“So bless you. Bless you, child. You have a right to happiness. You have a right to be treated with respect and dignity and tenderness. You have a right to be here on this planet. You have a right to your feelings. You have a right to your own perceptions. Bless you, child. You have a right to be who you are.”
Without getting into too much detail about my childhood and what I’ve become because of / despite of it, I want to discuss the nature of mental health. Like any good liberal-leaning upper-middle class white girl, I absolutely had to study psychology in college. I’ve always been fascinated by people – one of my favorite pastimes as a child was people-watching at Disney. The inherent problem with people-watching is that you become inured to the individual and it makes it easier to judge people. There’s a safety in watching and not interacting with others. It protects you from judgment and pain and rejection and fear. The problem is as you get older, you start to recognize that you might just be missing out on some of the best parts of other people – their silliness and sense of fun and occasional incredible openness and lovingness.
And then I ran across this:
“So we have this failure, this difference, this secret. It makes us different. We know it does. So we go into society and we know we are different because our mother was passed out on the floor and our father died when we were 12, and no one got us help because ... because? ... because they did not know our needs? They did not care about our needs? Or they did not see our needs? So we had to decide, either our needs were not important, or the adults were cruel and wrong, and the adults could not be cruel and wrong, for they were the adults. So our needs must be trivial. We must be whiners. Our needs must be unimportant! So we limp along, trying to take care of ourselves, not asking to have our needs met.”
Uh-oh. Someone out there might have figured out my secret. Someone else might be able to see directly through all my facades and well-developed defense mechanisms. That person might see the pain in me. So if I’m not hiding nearly as well as I thought I was; if I’m actually an open book and a terrible poker player, what happens next? Am I now to get me to a therapy? Do I have to get myself better? Who does it hurt if I do develop stronger boundaries and sense of self? Who does it help? I don’t know and I don’t know if I want to know. So for now, the closing of Tennis’ advice will have to be enough to carry me:
“So bless you. Bless you, child. You have a right to happiness. You have a right to be treated with respect and dignity and tenderness. You have a right to be here on this planet. You have a right to your feelings. You have a right to your own perceptions. Bless you, child. You have a right to be who you are.”
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I Think It's Funny
To wit: The boy doesn't think the velociraptor cartoon below is funny. I vote him WRONG.
Friday I got a phone call from a friend I've had since junior high. Years later, when we were seniors in high school, she came out from California to visit me here in Huntsville, and while she was here she met a lot of my friends. She also met the boy.
I didn't remember this, and I don't know how the conversation came up, but I was talking with the boy a few months ago, and he remembered her. Really? You remember a girl you met once or twice eighteen years ago? Impressive.
No, not impressive. Turns out they'd hooked up.
So after talking with her on Friday, and then telling the boy about talking to her (also on Friday), I remembered that he had told me about the two of them. This meant that I had to immediately call my girlfriend (because it amazed me that she remembered him too) to tease her relentlessly about her fling with my boyfriend.
Awesome. I thought the weird incestuous circle that is teen life in Huntsville applied only to the people living here, and not outsiders.
And I really do think it's funny.
Friday I got a phone call from a friend I've had since junior high. Years later, when we were seniors in high school, she came out from California to visit me here in Huntsville, and while she was here she met a lot of my friends. She also met the boy.
I didn't remember this, and I don't know how the conversation came up, but I was talking with the boy a few months ago, and he remembered her. Really? You remember a girl you met once or twice eighteen years ago? Impressive.
No, not impressive. Turns out they'd hooked up.
So after talking with her on Friday, and then telling the boy about talking to her (also on Friday), I remembered that he had told me about the two of them. This meant that I had to immediately call my girlfriend (because it amazed me that she remembered him too) to tease her relentlessly about her fling with my boyfriend.
Awesome. I thought the weird incestuous circle that is teen life in Huntsville applied only to the people living here, and not outsiders.
And I really do think it's funny.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Makes Me Laugh
Today I ran across this Tumblr, and essentially raped it of all the images that made me laugh. So, to give her credit (oh, wait, I just did!)...ok, instead of credit, I'll just wish her fantastic luck on the bar. Do yourself a favor and check out the inspiration for my thievery.
And the best:
You're welcome.
And the best:
You're welcome.
Guilt
I don’t do well with guilt; I tend to pretend things just didn’t happen in order to not feel badly about them. But sometimes these situations can’t be avoided, and I get caught up in the drama.
Case in point:
There are a lot of women in the office where I’m currently working. As I was leaving the other day, I was chatting with a blonde lady (I’ve since learned her name, but there’s no point in telling you) about what I’ve been doing since I started here. She asked, “So what have you been doing?” I replied, “Not enough, so if there’s anything you’ve got that I can help you with, just let me know.” She answered that with, “Well, my car needs cleaning…”
Folks, I was really taken aback. What a rude thing to say, even if she were joking! I mean, that’s just plain bitchy. I joked off the encounter, saying something to the effect of, “You don’t want that, just look at my own car!” But still, it stung, and the next day I just refused to look at her or speak to her.
But yesterday, as I was leaving, I was on the phone with the boy, and this woman was behind me. As I was getting into my car and she into hers, parked two places away from mine, I told the boy that she was there. Maybe not in as nice of terms. Maybe it was something more like, “That bitch who said that thing to me was right behind me.”
Now I can’t say for certain that she heard me call her a bitch, but it’s entirely possible that she did. So now I feel guilty, not because she didn’t deserve to be called a bitch, but because I don’t like to get caught talking about people. I don’t really like the repercussions. And who knows? Maybe she was just kidding and I’m overreacting.
And this is where the cycle begins. I’m angry at what she said, I’m worried that she heard me call her a name, and I get nervous when I see her in the hall. Why is it so hard for me to just stand up for myself and say, “Yeah, I said/did that”?
Case in point:
There are a lot of women in the office where I’m currently working. As I was leaving the other day, I was chatting with a blonde lady (I’ve since learned her name, but there’s no point in telling you) about what I’ve been doing since I started here. She asked, “So what have you been doing?” I replied, “Not enough, so if there’s anything you’ve got that I can help you with, just let me know.” She answered that with, “Well, my car needs cleaning…”
Folks, I was really taken aback. What a rude thing to say, even if she were joking! I mean, that’s just plain bitchy. I joked off the encounter, saying something to the effect of, “You don’t want that, just look at my own car!” But still, it stung, and the next day I just refused to look at her or speak to her.
But yesterday, as I was leaving, I was on the phone with the boy, and this woman was behind me. As I was getting into my car and she into hers, parked two places away from mine, I told the boy that she was there. Maybe not in as nice of terms. Maybe it was something more like, “That bitch who said that thing to me was right behind me.”
Now I can’t say for certain that she heard me call her a bitch, but it’s entirely possible that she did. So now I feel guilty, not because she didn’t deserve to be called a bitch, but because I don’t like to get caught talking about people. I don’t really like the repercussions. And who knows? Maybe she was just kidding and I’m overreacting.
And this is where the cycle begins. I’m angry at what she said, I’m worried that she heard me call her a name, and I get nervous when I see her in the hall. Why is it so hard for me to just stand up for myself and say, “Yeah, I said/did that”?
Monday, July 13, 2009
There’s Some Good Eats In Birmingham
This weekend, I went to Birmingham to judge a We The People /Frontiers civil rights competition. Sounds thrilling, right? It was, actually. I judged teams of middle-schoolers (can’t we just have junior high back? Pet peeve of mine. Anyhoo…) mostly, and a high-school team, on their thoughts on judicial review, due process, and equal protection. I would have felt a lot better about my abilities to judge others about the 14th Amendment had I been able to remember the difference between the two, but let’s not dwell on specificities. There’s food to talk about!
Needless to say, I completely destroyed my diet while I was down there. Friday night we ate at the Tutwiler Hotel . The food was pretty darn tasty. I had tortellini with fried asparagus and mushrooms. It was a bit salty for my liking – tasted as if the chef added salt to the dish, which was unnecessary considering the inherent saltiness of asparagus. Didn’t stop me from eating my whole meal, though. And dessert was even better. It was a chocolate torte served with fresh basil and balsamic vinaigrette. I highly recommend chocolate combined with balsamic vinaigrette.
Saturday’s lunch was courtesy of Pete’s Famous Hot Dogs . As I am not a fan of the hot dog (anyone else remember Jake Johannsen’s routine on white balls in hot dogs?), I opted for the cheeseburger. Well, let’s be honest. I opted for two of them. Folks, these were the best damn scary-diner cheeseburgers I have ever eaten. I had mine with mustard, pickles, and “sauce”. I have no idea what was in the sauce, and I can’t even fathom a guess, because it’s entirely possible that I swallowed these burgers whole. They were slap-your-Mama good. Seriously. I was completely stuffed, yet an hour later, I craved another one. I’m craving one as I write this right now. I don’t often recommend products, but if you get the chance, get your sweet self down to Pete’s and eat. And say hi to Gus for me too.
Saturday night we went to Dreamland . Dreamland is a barbeque institution in Alabama, and from what I hear, is really good stuff. This was not necessarily the best place for me to eat, as I don’t eat ribs or pulled pork. But my fellow diners nearly drown themselves in plates upon plates of ribs, and judging from the satisfied sighs and sauce-related wardrobe malfunctions I heard and saw, it was worth every bite. I had a grilled cheese. ‘Cos I’m a rebel.
Afterwards, we went to Dave’s Pub , which is a beerhaus in Five Points. Good atmosphere, decent music (except for the GnR Patience – really, morose drunken man?), and a fairly exhaustive selection of beers. This is because Alabama recently raised the alcohol limit on beer from 5% to 13%. Go, Alabama! Now can we actually serve the beer in the same establishment where it was brewed? No? Alrighty then, no microbreweries for us.
Sunday we went to the Original Pancake House , also in Five Points. We waited just slightly under forever to be seated, but that was to be expected considering that early service church had already ended and we were a party of nine. This left time for an awkward exchange of text messages between me and one of my exes, so there’s always a highlight. I had the egg sandwich, which was incredibly tasty and cheddar-y. Everyone else’s food looking amazing as well, and I seriously considered stealing one of Jayme’s pancakes. This would seem only fair since she snagged Kyle’s rye toast, but I wasn’t quick enough to get the pancake before she ate it herself. Next time I shall be speedier.
That pretty much summarizes my weekend in Birmingham. Suffice to say I will be avoiding food like the plague for the next month or so to repair the damage I did eating three meals a day (who does that?), but for the most part, it will be worth every biteful.
Needless to say, I completely destroyed my diet while I was down there. Friday night we ate at the Tutwiler Hotel . The food was pretty darn tasty. I had tortellini with fried asparagus and mushrooms. It was a bit salty for my liking – tasted as if the chef added salt to the dish, which was unnecessary considering the inherent saltiness of asparagus. Didn’t stop me from eating my whole meal, though. And dessert was even better. It was a chocolate torte served with fresh basil and balsamic vinaigrette. I highly recommend chocolate combined with balsamic vinaigrette.
Saturday’s lunch was courtesy of Pete’s Famous Hot Dogs . As I am not a fan of the hot dog (anyone else remember Jake Johannsen’s routine on white balls in hot dogs?), I opted for the cheeseburger. Well, let’s be honest. I opted for two of them. Folks, these were the best damn scary-diner cheeseburgers I have ever eaten. I had mine with mustard, pickles, and “sauce”. I have no idea what was in the sauce, and I can’t even fathom a guess, because it’s entirely possible that I swallowed these burgers whole. They were slap-your-Mama good. Seriously. I was completely stuffed, yet an hour later, I craved another one. I’m craving one as I write this right now. I don’t often recommend products, but if you get the chance, get your sweet self down to Pete’s and eat. And say hi to Gus for me too.
Saturday night we went to Dreamland . Dreamland is a barbeque institution in Alabama, and from what I hear, is really good stuff. This was not necessarily the best place for me to eat, as I don’t eat ribs or pulled pork. But my fellow diners nearly drown themselves in plates upon plates of ribs, and judging from the satisfied sighs and sauce-related wardrobe malfunctions I heard and saw, it was worth every bite. I had a grilled cheese. ‘Cos I’m a rebel.
Afterwards, we went to Dave’s Pub , which is a beerhaus in Five Points. Good atmosphere, decent music (except for the GnR Patience – really, morose drunken man?), and a fairly exhaustive selection of beers. This is because Alabama recently raised the alcohol limit on beer from 5% to 13%. Go, Alabama! Now can we actually serve the beer in the same establishment where it was brewed? No? Alrighty then, no microbreweries for us.
Sunday we went to the Original Pancake House , also in Five Points. We waited just slightly under forever to be seated, but that was to be expected considering that early service church had already ended and we were a party of nine. This left time for an awkward exchange of text messages between me and one of my exes, so there’s always a highlight. I had the egg sandwich, which was incredibly tasty and cheddar-y. Everyone else’s food looking amazing as well, and I seriously considered stealing one of Jayme’s pancakes. This would seem only fair since she snagged Kyle’s rye toast, but I wasn’t quick enough to get the pancake before she ate it herself. Next time I shall be speedier.
That pretty much summarizes my weekend in Birmingham. Suffice to say I will be avoiding food like the plague for the next month or so to repair the damage I did eating three meals a day (who does that?), but for the most part, it will be worth every biteful.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Bubbles Is Dying
She'll fill with water, and then just stop. Then I turn her off, beat her repeatedly, change the cycle, and then she'll go again.
Except today, where I've had to beat her three times just to get through one load. Of course I'm headed to Birmingham tomorrow after work and of course I need the clothes and where am I going to find someone to fix her and when can it be done since I work from eight to five and how am I going to pay for it and what will I do if she's ruined? I can't afford a new Bubbles.
So much for a good day today! I'll be worried all night tonight. Crap.
See you when I get back on Sunday. May your weekend be drama-free and laundry-rific.
Except today, where I've had to beat her three times just to get through one load. Of course I'm headed to Birmingham tomorrow after work and of course I need the clothes and where am I going to find someone to fix her and when can it be done since I work from eight to five and how am I going to pay for it and what will I do if she's ruined? I can't afford a new Bubbles.
So much for a good day today! I'll be worried all night tonight. Crap.
See you when I get back on Sunday. May your weekend be drama-free and laundry-rific.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Photos Galore!
I managed to wrestle this damn laptop into submission for twenty-five minutes, which is how long it took to transfer the following photos from my camera to the machine. Please to enjoy...
This is where we had lunch. Italian during the day, French at night.
This is the menu. I took this picture for the boy, because I knew I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't get down everything available. There's other photos of the menu, but since none of you are him, I'm assuming that you don't care.
After lunch, we took the Metro down to the House of Representatives Office Buildings. The escalator down was almost a Disney ride unto itself.
We then got to the office buildings and went upstairs, via the elevator. I couldn't believe the elevators had antique wood in them.
This one is of one of the hallways, and can I tell you how incredibly stoked the cleaning lady was to be in this picture?
Next we went through the tunnels to the next office building. Ladies and gentlemen, your tax dollars at work...
These next are the view from my patio. I call it "my patio" because I spent each evening sitting out here, sipping cocktails and talking with the boy. It took complete darkness and an endless need for the ladies' to get me out of my patio and into my room.
Closest to me:
The few behind the bushes:
And finally, the evening view - simply stunning:
This is where we had lunch. Italian during the day, French at night.
This is the menu. I took this picture for the boy, because I knew I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't get down everything available. There's other photos of the menu, but since none of you are him, I'm assuming that you don't care.
After lunch, we took the Metro down to the House of Representatives Office Buildings. The escalator down was almost a Disney ride unto itself.
We then got to the office buildings and went upstairs, via the elevator. I couldn't believe the elevators had antique wood in them.
This one is of one of the hallways, and can I tell you how incredibly stoked the cleaning lady was to be in this picture?
Next we went through the tunnels to the next office building. Ladies and gentlemen, your tax dollars at work...
These next are the view from my patio. I call it "my patio" because I spent each evening sitting out here, sipping cocktails and talking with the boy. It took complete darkness and an endless need for the ladies' to get me out of my patio and into my room.
Closest to me:
The few behind the bushes:
And finally, the evening view - simply stunning:
Monday, July 6, 2009
Running, Sans Scissors
(Pretend it's last Tuesday.) So as I sat at the airport in DC waiting for my flight to take off, my temp agency called to tell me that I've picked up a gig for the next 4-6 weeks. Cool. The catch? It started last Wednesday. So I've got a cold, a delayed flight, and now, apparently, a job to start at 8:30 the next morning. Perfect. I made it back, did laundry, visited with the boy, changed the bedsheets from where Biggs left me a welcome home present, and got going. I had to call out on Thursday due to the cold, which made me feel like a complete douche. Who calls out on the second day of work? But when I went back Friday, they totally understand, and I think were happy, that I wasn't there. I looked a complete mess on Wednesday, and no-one wants a summer cold.
So now I work, and it's cool, and I'm almost completely recovered, and this weekend the civics competition people that I work for want me to go down to Birmingham and judge another competition. Cool! But I may never get rest again. Also, it sucks to go down there and then not be able to hang out with my friends. But I might be able to sneak something in.
What's that they say? No rest for the wicked? Darn tootin'. And I promise promise promise to get that DC post up sometime this month.
So now I work, and it's cool, and I'm almost completely recovered, and this weekend the civics competition people that I work for want me to go down to Birmingham and judge another competition. Cool! But I may never get rest again. Also, it sucks to go down there and then not be able to hang out with my friends. But I might be able to sneak something in.
What's that they say? No rest for the wicked? Darn tootin'. And I promise promise promise to get that DC post up sometime this month.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Coming Soon
I know I owe you guys a rundown on everything I did while in DC. And you will have it, soon, I promise. But right now I'm tired, and have a headcold, and just want to rest FOREVER. Plus, I need to grab the photos off the digital so you can see proof that I was actually in the District and not just making up a weekend getaway.
But could I make up sitting on a patio, sipping cocktails and reading a book called I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, when a car rolls by, bumping Cherry Pie at full volume?
And good news! I should have a new laptop later this month, so I can actually watch videos, and surf the internet, and not burn off my fingers when I'm online for more than an hour.
But could I make up sitting on a patio, sipping cocktails and reading a book called I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, when a car rolls by, bumping Cherry Pie at full volume?
And good news! I should have a new laptop later this month, so I can actually watch videos, and surf the internet, and not burn off my fingers when I'm online for more than an hour.
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