So today has been fun. It was arts and crafts day. I made pretty posters and played with scissors and construction paper to create the WBC Bulletin Board, it’s pretty spiffy. And then tonight I’m playing dress up, Flashdance style. Oh it’s good to be back in school, doing all sorts of mature things. Yep, I sure do feel grown up.
And since I’m so grown up now, I feel like it’s time to start thinking about buying my first car. (if you’re curious, my Accord was my 18th birthday present). For me, there are two stipulations attached to this car purchase: 1) The car purchase will coincide with graduation time as a present to myself, and 2) This car WILL be a convertible, yes, it will.
So, while I was home, I went test driving cars w/ Greggy. Actually I only drove one, the new VW Eos. It’s a hard top convertible and it’s damn near the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m not really a huge car person, but it was some kind of fun driving that thing. So so so so cute, and the roof goes up/down in like 20 seconds flat. But don’t try doing it in traffic when you’re moving…word to the wise…I don’t think it was so much designed for that…and it does hinder your vision…
Anyway, I’m basically in love with the car. And after the test drive I was like that is it!!! I am buying that car!! In less than one year!!! And I’m all giddy, b/c I’m happily thinking how it’s cheaper than the other cars that I had been considering (the Saab convertible, the Volvo convertible).
But now it’s kind of hitting home that I’m pretty much financially retarded. I really don’t know how on earth I thought I could’ve ever afforded either the Saab or the Volvo, let alone the WV, considering I’ll be graduating with huge loans to pay off and most likely not a banker’s salary. I talked about the car w/ Jaime and Sean and they were both like do you realize you will have like $500 car payments for a car at that price point? And you know, I really didn’t.
I don’t really know what I thought they’d be, I didn’t actually think about purchasing the car… I just thought about owning the car. You know, putting the sweet ass top down as I pull out on Montana, driving around in it with the wind blowing through my hair, heated seat toasting my buns, JTimbo bringing sexy back on my satellite radio, my passenger adjusting the lumbar support to suit his/her needs.
But now…it’s sinking in…I can continue to fantasize about this car, but I think I may have to hold onto the Accord for like another 10 years. Perhaps just until it like stops moving. Unless someone out there wants to buy me a car, perhaps? Anyone? I hear crickets. Oh well.
Well then, I’ll leave the car purchase thing for now. It’s time to go put on my play clothes anyway.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
America F'in West
I’ve joked about this place before, but this time it’s for real – seriously – I think I just visited Idiot Island. I could’ve sworn it was the Indianapolis “International” Airport, but no, I must’ve been wrong, it must’ve been Idiot Island. Mare, Mibs, it truly exists, it does.
My travel day (I’m finally heading back to LA, I feel like I’ve been going for like a year, but it’s only been two weeks) has been hell on wheels. Hell in a handbasket. I of course started it all by myself. I showed up plenty early for my flight, checked in, my parents left…and then I realized that I left my laptop behind… Not in the car, at my house, 30 minutes (going fast) away. Dick and Jane are lucky for me amazingly wonderful and awesome, thank you Mom for going 65 in a 30 and other such moves.
Laptop in hand, I proceed through security. I want to ask btw, who wears 4 inch wedge sandals that wrap three times around the ankle to the airport? And take like 2 minutes a shoe to put on? I’ll tell you. It’s me. I’m dumb. Anyway, I run down to my gate, guess what, not even boarding yet (it was like 20 minutes past boarding time). Mechanical problems. It quickly becomes apparent, by the long line at the desk, that the plane is not being repaired anytime soon, or soonish, or like, ever.
I want to ask a quick question: how on earth does an airline put a plane at a gate, without even bothering to make sure that the plane works? Do you think fireman show up at burning buildings without knowing if their hoses are in working condition? Do you think a surgeon shows up to operate without ensuring that his instruments are in order? Does a consultant ever walk into a client presentation without proofing his deck? I think not. I say no.
So anyway. I get in line. Oh btw, I’m sitting on the plane waiting for takeoff right now. So I’m still in a really bitchy mood. I haven’t smiled in like an hour. I think I’ve tried in fact to see if the term “dagger eyes” holds any literal meaning (I don’t think it does). Oh, ok, so then. I tried calling the airline (America West btw) while I’m in line b/c it’s so f’in slow, but they can’t do anything b/c the gate agents haven’t bothered to change the status. So, when I get up there, this woman, I can’t remember her name, so I’ll call her Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met, takes 5 years to book me on a flight on American. She can’t do a damn thing herself. If you checked the entry in Webster’s for “incompetent” I shit you not you’d find a pic of Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met. Anyway, Ms. DWIEM (very close to “dim…” kind of…coincidence?) With the aid of other dumb woman they book me. First I have to go down to the baggage carousel and reclaim my 80 pounds of luggage. Then I have to go to the complete opposite end of the airport and recheck into American.
I do this. I get down there. The guy is like, “well, they didn’t really book you. I mean, they booked you, but they didn’t complete the transaction correctly. So…” I don’t know what they really did, but they didn’t actually book me. So for doing absolutely nothing constructive, they sure did make me walk a long way, and they sure did take their sweet ass time. I still haven’t taken off, btw.
Anyway, the guy calls the America West counter. Gets off. He’s like, “Oh, umm, so it doesn’t matter. They said to just go back. I guess your original plane is now leaving.” Awesome. I am so happy now. Really, I am so happy that I get to take my 80 pounds of luggage back across the damn airport so I can re-check into the flight and then go through security again. I march up to the America West counter and kind of just start blabbering. Blabbering angry style. It might be said that my voice was elevated. It’s possible I was yelling. I might have been slightly mean. I might have apologized. Anyway, I got my second boarding pass for the same flight and returned to security. The guy who looks at your ticket was like, “um, haven’t you already been through?” “Yes. I have.” He asked why I was back. I told him not to ask.
I tried to sneak through security w/out taking off my shoes. Didn’t work.
The beautiful thing is I’m sure I would’ve made my connection had I been on the American flight, but this America West was supposed to leave at 5:30, and it’s 7 and I’m still on the ground and I believe I had an hour layover…so I’ll let you do the math there.
The thing that probably pissed me off the most are how people were all like so f’in nice to Ms. DWIEM when they boarded. Like, “Oh, gosh, you sure have had a long night!” You know what I would’ve liked to say? I would’ve like to tell her how f’in stupid she is. Or perhaps, "f you." Or maybe, "Hey! you! go to hell!" But, I didn't.
Well, glorious. It’s now 7:15 and I’m still sitting here on the damn ground. And I’m getting hungry now. But we all know planes don’t serve food anymore unless you want to like pay for it and I swear I will never actually purchase food from an airplane given that it tastes like shit.
Ok. I have to put this away now. We may actually be leaving. Then again maybe we won’t. Who knows. Did I mention that my bags got lost by the airlines last weekend going from Boston to Buffalo? b/c they did. Airlines suck.
PS: I’m in the air now. Watching The Sentinel. Ever seen that? It’s like one of those presidential movies. And BTW, I’m drinking a bloody mary. Past tense actually. I already drank it. And, for the record, I NEVER drink on planes. I lie. I have, once, on my way to Whistler last year. And that was only to take the edge off sitting next to, well, I won’t write who I was sitting next to here, but you would’ve had a bloody mary, too. Ok then. I’m now going to write my “reorientation” memo. That’s right. For like 9 hours on Friday I’ll be at school talking about what I did for my summer vacation. Am I 26? Or, am I 6?
My travel day (I’m finally heading back to LA, I feel like I’ve been going for like a year, but it’s only been two weeks) has been hell on wheels. Hell in a handbasket. I of course started it all by myself. I showed up plenty early for my flight, checked in, my parents left…and then I realized that I left my laptop behind… Not in the car, at my house, 30 minutes (going fast) away. Dick and Jane are lucky for me amazingly wonderful and awesome, thank you Mom for going 65 in a 30 and other such moves.
Laptop in hand, I proceed through security. I want to ask btw, who wears 4 inch wedge sandals that wrap three times around the ankle to the airport? And take like 2 minutes a shoe to put on? I’ll tell you. It’s me. I’m dumb. Anyway, I run down to my gate, guess what, not even boarding yet (it was like 20 minutes past boarding time). Mechanical problems. It quickly becomes apparent, by the long line at the desk, that the plane is not being repaired anytime soon, or soonish, or like, ever.
I want to ask a quick question: how on earth does an airline put a plane at a gate, without even bothering to make sure that the plane works? Do you think fireman show up at burning buildings without knowing if their hoses are in working condition? Do you think a surgeon shows up to operate without ensuring that his instruments are in order? Does a consultant ever walk into a client presentation without proofing his deck? I think not. I say no.
So anyway. I get in line. Oh btw, I’m sitting on the plane waiting for takeoff right now. So I’m still in a really bitchy mood. I haven’t smiled in like an hour. I think I’ve tried in fact to see if the term “dagger eyes” holds any literal meaning (I don’t think it does). Oh, ok, so then. I tried calling the airline (America West btw) while I’m in line b/c it’s so f’in slow, but they can’t do anything b/c the gate agents haven’t bothered to change the status. So, when I get up there, this woman, I can’t remember her name, so I’ll call her Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met, takes 5 years to book me on a flight on American. She can’t do a damn thing herself. If you checked the entry in Webster’s for “incompetent” I shit you not you’d find a pic of Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met. Anyway, Ms. DWIEM (very close to “dim…” kind of…coincidence?) With the aid of other dumb woman they book me. First I have to go down to the baggage carousel and reclaim my 80 pounds of luggage. Then I have to go to the complete opposite end of the airport and recheck into American.
I do this. I get down there. The guy is like, “well, they didn’t really book you. I mean, they booked you, but they didn’t complete the transaction correctly. So…” I don’t know what they really did, but they didn’t actually book me. So for doing absolutely nothing constructive, they sure did make me walk a long way, and they sure did take their sweet ass time. I still haven’t taken off, btw.
Anyway, the guy calls the America West counter. Gets off. He’s like, “Oh, umm, so it doesn’t matter. They said to just go back. I guess your original plane is now leaving.” Awesome. I am so happy now. Really, I am so happy that I get to take my 80 pounds of luggage back across the damn airport so I can re-check into the flight and then go through security again. I march up to the America West counter and kind of just start blabbering. Blabbering angry style. It might be said that my voice was elevated. It’s possible I was yelling. I might have been slightly mean. I might have apologized. Anyway, I got my second boarding pass for the same flight and returned to security. The guy who looks at your ticket was like, “um, haven’t you already been through?” “Yes. I have.” He asked why I was back. I told him not to ask.
I tried to sneak through security w/out taking off my shoes. Didn’t work.
The beautiful thing is I’m sure I would’ve made my connection had I been on the American flight, but this America West was supposed to leave at 5:30, and it’s 7 and I’m still on the ground and I believe I had an hour layover…so I’ll let you do the math there.
The thing that probably pissed me off the most are how people were all like so f’in nice to Ms. DWIEM when they boarded. Like, “Oh, gosh, you sure have had a long night!” You know what I would’ve liked to say? I would’ve like to tell her how f’in stupid she is. Or perhaps, "f you." Or maybe, "Hey! you! go to hell!" But, I didn't.
Well, glorious. It’s now 7:15 and I’m still sitting here on the damn ground. And I’m getting hungry now. But we all know planes don’t serve food anymore unless you want to like pay for it and I swear I will never actually purchase food from an airplane given that it tastes like shit.
Ok. I have to put this away now. We may actually be leaving. Then again maybe we won’t. Who knows. Did I mention that my bags got lost by the airlines last weekend going from Boston to Buffalo? b/c they did. Airlines suck.
PS: I’m in the air now. Watching The Sentinel. Ever seen that? It’s like one of those presidential movies. And BTW, I’m drinking a bloody mary. Past tense actually. I already drank it. And, for the record, I NEVER drink on planes. I lie. I have, once, on my way to Whistler last year. And that was only to take the edge off sitting next to, well, I won’t write who I was sitting next to here, but you would’ve had a bloody mary, too. Ok then. I’m now going to write my “reorientation” memo. That’s right. For like 9 hours on Friday I’ll be at school talking about what I did for my summer vacation. Am I 26? Or, am I 6?
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Lamb + Quail Equals...
At dinner tonight, my brother ordered this dish which consisted of some sort of lamb chop paired with a cut of quail wrapped in bacon.
This dish was called the "Leathers and Feathers." I am not kidding. Neither the waiter nor any member of my family could keep a straight face when uttering the terrible, terrible, dreadful name of this dish.
Honestly. Leathers and Feathers. Really.
This dish was called the "Leathers and Feathers." I am not kidding. Neither the waiter nor any member of my family could keep a straight face when uttering the terrible, terrible, dreadful name of this dish.
Honestly. Leathers and Feathers. Really.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Wine Wednesday!!!
I am listening to The Fray album. I think someone told me they just got it and would do a little lend, but you see, I’m crazy anxious about music and if there is something I need to hear like RIGHT NOW then I need to hear it like RIGHT NOW and I cannot wait, cannot bear it. So I bought it. I like. Even though currently I’m listening to the “How to Save a Live” title track now for like the 5th time in a row. But it alone is worth it. I swear.
Anyway. So this typing is hard. I’ve hard like 3 glasses of wine to drink. Cuz you know what tonight was??? It was “wine Wednesday!!!!!!!!” My mom sent me out to run errands pre-dinner, which involved a series of impossible returns that break all return policies. Such as going to American Eagle and getting an adjustment with a coupon on stuff she bought a month ago. I flirted lots and mission accomplished. Seriously. The guy is like “we don’t do this, blah blah blah,” and I’m like “you totally do, really you’ve done it before.” That was a lie. I’ve never tried. Anyway, he did it. At one point when he’s denying stuff he looks at me and I give him some really good puppy dog eyes, and then…he points his finger at me…and he goes, “No!” Was he telling me, like, no puppy dog eyes??? I think he was. He was cute though.
So…I get home eventually and I walk into our kitchen where my mom is with some neighbor ladies and they all like scream and go crazy when walk in. It was my Beyonce moment or some shit. Not I’m kidding. It wasn’t really that dramatic. But anyway, they were like, “Its Wine Wednesday!!!!!!” They were all worked up. I think they were on like glass number 3. So I joined in. I like these women. For IN women, they are nice and liberal and not totally born-again. So that was fun. They stayed for a while. My mom had to get them out eventually cuz she was concentrating on her briskets. It’s nearly Rosh Hashanah you know. Time for the Jewish New Year.
In case you were wondering, that kind of sums up my day. I also did a little power walking w/ Jane in the morning, and another day of tennis w/ AC Slater. Slater wants me to go watch him DJ on Sat night. I think I just might. What an existence I lead. Now it’s nearly time for Laguna Beach, and note that I indeed missed last week’s episode so I have a double-header to hit up tonight. Oh. I did make plans to go out on Friday night. But they have been subsequently foiled. Jane was NOT happy about that b/c my brother and cousins will be there. But thing is I was planning on going out at 10 and I know the elders will be going to bed by 10:30.
So here is the really sad thing. I’m 26. Twenty f’in 6. I could be married. I could have kids. I don’t, I don’t, it’s true, but I could. And that’s important. B/c I’m 26, I could be married w/ kids, and my mom is like, “you can’t go out Friday night,” and I’m like “oh, ok then, right.” Linderteen is taking on a whole new meaning man. And I don’t know if I like it…
Anyway. So this typing is hard. I’ve hard like 3 glasses of wine to drink. Cuz you know what tonight was??? It was “wine Wednesday!!!!!!!!” My mom sent me out to run errands pre-dinner, which involved a series of impossible returns that break all return policies. Such as going to American Eagle and getting an adjustment with a coupon on stuff she bought a month ago. I flirted lots and mission accomplished. Seriously. The guy is like “we don’t do this, blah blah blah,” and I’m like “you totally do, really you’ve done it before.” That was a lie. I’ve never tried. Anyway, he did it. At one point when he’s denying stuff he looks at me and I give him some really good puppy dog eyes, and then…he points his finger at me…and he goes, “No!” Was he telling me, like, no puppy dog eyes??? I think he was. He was cute though.
So…I get home eventually and I walk into our kitchen where my mom is with some neighbor ladies and they all like scream and go crazy when walk in. It was my Beyonce moment or some shit. Not I’m kidding. It wasn’t really that dramatic. But anyway, they were like, “Its Wine Wednesday!!!!!!” They were all worked up. I think they were on like glass number 3. So I joined in. I like these women. For IN women, they are nice and liberal and not totally born-again. So that was fun. They stayed for a while. My mom had to get them out eventually cuz she was concentrating on her briskets. It’s nearly Rosh Hashanah you know. Time for the Jewish New Year.
In case you were wondering, that kind of sums up my day. I also did a little power walking w/ Jane in the morning, and another day of tennis w/ AC Slater. Slater wants me to go watch him DJ on Sat night. I think I just might. What an existence I lead. Now it’s nearly time for Laguna Beach, and note that I indeed missed last week’s episode so I have a double-header to hit up tonight. Oh. I did make plans to go out on Friday night. But they have been subsequently foiled. Jane was NOT happy about that b/c my brother and cousins will be there. But thing is I was planning on going out at 10 and I know the elders will be going to bed by 10:30.
So here is the really sad thing. I’m 26. Twenty f’in 6. I could be married. I could have kids. I don’t, I don’t, it’s true, but I could. And that’s important. B/c I’m 26, I could be married w/ kids, and my mom is like, “you can’t go out Friday night,” and I’m like “oh, ok then, right.” Linderteen is taking on a whole new meaning man. And I don’t know if I like it…
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Def. a Mojito
I’m mixing things up a bit, writing from yet another location. I’m in Tahiti, enjoying a Mai-Tai. Indy was boring me. I’m lying. I’m actually in Boston and that’s the truth. Frou is showering and I’m writing.
And – btw – to those of you in the know – I’m safe and sound and no bodily harm has come to me yet, just in case you worried about any close encounters of the third kind. That’s what they say, right? Third kind? Isn’t that an expression? I think it refers to extraterrestrial stuff, which of course I’m not talking about, but whatever.
Anyway, so of course I’ve done some shopping since arriving. Went down to Newbury Street yesterday and tooled around for some time. The weekend wouldn’t have been a weekend without the purchase of a new bag. But I won’t describe it b/c I know that you honestly don’t really care what it looks like or what I purchased for that matter, but you know what is funny is that we went to all these stores where they have live DJs spinning. I don’t so much get that. Do I need house shit blaring while I’m trying on the hottest white jeans ever? I was in Puma trying on a jacket when I turned to Brett (whose clothing taste, btw, continues to spiral into the oblivions of ultra-trendy-urban-male – and PS: I snapped a picture after a brief wrestling session of the manpris and boy are they silly) and told him that I definitely am getting old, b/c the music was really pissing me off. Then we left. BTW: I’m on a quest for a hat. Like a daytime hat. What do you think? I am going to find one today I think.
Oh, I have BIG news too. It’s actually quite lucky that I came this weekend and talked a certain NY friend to come in and chill w/ us, b/c I got to be one of the first to hear of a pending…engagement!!!!!! And it so happens that I am madly in love w/ the soon to be fiancé of my friend (no I mean not like that like I’m not going to try to seduce him or something, he’s just wicked awesome). And how romantic is this: the guy this weekend is flying to my friend’s hometown to ask permission from her parents. He tried to lie and say he was going on a biz trip, but he sux at lying I guess. I’m swooning right now. I am. Swooning.
So other than that it’s been a lot of the typical were we recount stories of yesteryear, such as the time I mistakenly flashed two male friends and was completely oblivious to that fact. Or, the time when we were in Miami and hired a fake stripper. No joke. He was not actually a real stripper. So that was funny.
And some new stories, such as the fact that some shithead at biz school calls Roo long island tea. She doesn’t like it. For the record, she’d much rather be a cosmo or a vodka soda. Personally I’d like to be a mojito. Not only b/c it’s tasty and fun, but b/c it has all that green mint in it, and you know I love green. This is kind of a fun game. Although I guess for some people it’s so obvi and for some it’s kinda hard. But I guess if I have any sucky classes this coming quarter it’s a new game to play to pass time.
And – btw – to those of you in the know – I’m safe and sound and no bodily harm has come to me yet, just in case you worried about any close encounters of the third kind. That’s what they say, right? Third kind? Isn’t that an expression? I think it refers to extraterrestrial stuff, which of course I’m not talking about, but whatever.
Anyway, so of course I’ve done some shopping since arriving. Went down to Newbury Street yesterday and tooled around for some time. The weekend wouldn’t have been a weekend without the purchase of a new bag. But I won’t describe it b/c I know that you honestly don’t really care what it looks like or what I purchased for that matter, but you know what is funny is that we went to all these stores where they have live DJs spinning. I don’t so much get that. Do I need house shit blaring while I’m trying on the hottest white jeans ever? I was in Puma trying on a jacket when I turned to Brett (whose clothing taste, btw, continues to spiral into the oblivions of ultra-trendy-urban-male – and PS: I snapped a picture after a brief wrestling session of the manpris and boy are they silly) and told him that I definitely am getting old, b/c the music was really pissing me off. Then we left. BTW: I’m on a quest for a hat. Like a daytime hat. What do you think? I am going to find one today I think.
Oh, I have BIG news too. It’s actually quite lucky that I came this weekend and talked a certain NY friend to come in and chill w/ us, b/c I got to be one of the first to hear of a pending…engagement!!!!!! And it so happens that I am madly in love w/ the soon to be fiancé of my friend (no I mean not like that like I’m not going to try to seduce him or something, he’s just wicked awesome). And how romantic is this: the guy this weekend is flying to my friend’s hometown to ask permission from her parents. He tried to lie and say he was going on a biz trip, but he sux at lying I guess. I’m swooning right now. I am. Swooning.
So other than that it’s been a lot of the typical were we recount stories of yesteryear, such as the time I mistakenly flashed two male friends and was completely oblivious to that fact. Or, the time when we were in Miami and hired a fake stripper. No joke. He was not actually a real stripper. So that was funny.
And some new stories, such as the fact that some shithead at biz school calls Roo long island tea. She doesn’t like it. For the record, she’d much rather be a cosmo or a vodka soda. Personally I’d like to be a mojito. Not only b/c it’s tasty and fun, but b/c it has all that green mint in it, and you know I love green. This is kind of a fun game. Although I guess for some people it’s so obvi and for some it’s kinda hard. But I guess if I have any sucky classes this coming quarter it’s a new game to play to pass time.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Good Come!!!
Wow, so not that I’ve ever been that exciting, cuz I’m not, but this Indy trip really does not do much for the excitement meter in this kid’s life. And what this means is, I have a lot of time on my hands, and my friends for the most part have moved away or gotten married over the past couple years so no longer are the trips to the bars in Broadripple that regular…so despite my earlier entry indicating that I might be an irregular blogger…well…let’s just withdraw that statement…cuz…I guess it was a lie or something.
It also means that my blogs might be disappointing. Cuz you’re all expecting stories about getting vomited on at the club and hanging tough w/ Mr. Die Hard, and I’m all like, “so, I made this really delish summer vegetable salad tonight…”
So on that note, let me tell you some things about being home.
First, a Jack Bauer update, of course. Last night I went to puppy school. We learned some good stuff, such as the “come” command. And you can guess what this means. Or maybe you can’t. It means that I now have to hear “Good Come!” like every five minutes. Seriously, “good come!” And I know you’re thinking the exact same thing I’m thinking right now so don’t even act like you’re not. You SO want to try this line out…in the spirit of the fortune cookie…in bed…
Let’s see, what else. Well, today I had a tennis lesson w/ Jane and her teacher, Slater. Yep, the pro’s name is Slater. He divies his time b/t tennis and djing. He rather kicks your ass at the lesson too and makes you run like a fiend. My hand was too sweaty for my racquet and I needed one of those absorb grips so he let me use his racquet and he took mine. And I think he was kind of disgusted by how sweaty the grip on my racquet was, but, whatever, I’m a sweater. Not like the kind you wear. But more importantly, I want to discuss the phenomenon of the Carmel Housewife, I cap’ed it cuz it’s almost like an official title. These well-groomed, well-kept women spend the majority of their time playing tennis. We walk into the Carmel Racquet Club around 1:30 and it’s filled, totally filled, like all 20 courts there, with small instructional groups of women. Wearing really sweet little tennis outfits. And they’re all pretty good. But then again they should be as it’s pretty much their key hobby. Should I ever move back to Carmel, and become a Carmel Housewife, I am really going to have to work on my tennis, b/c without tennis, there really is…nothing…And I must admit, it kind of weirds me out, it really does.
Other than tennis, I will report that I did, like, nothing. I did go to the orthodontist – my bottom teeth are moving around just a little and driving me crazy so I want a new retainer – which meant I had to get impressions, and those things make me gag something fierce, and I almost booted. You know, I have actually thrown up on my orthodontist? And my dentist too.
I also went grocery shopping to make that salad for dinner thought. Which made for an interesting dinner, b/c it contained among other things, edamame, and Dick does NOT eat edamame. He doesn’t really eat veggies. He’s kind of five. I think we spent at least 10 minutes at dinner picking on my dad for not eating his vegetables. He also drinks too much Diet Coke and doesn’t drink enough water. You know, apparently he actually had a prescription written by his doctor to drink more water? I’m not shitting you. Totally happened.
The veggie convo was right after we talked about penile implants. Cuz I started drilling my dad about various implants. You do pec implants?? (had to ask for the hair guy) No. You do butt implants? No. You do calf implants? No. Umm…do you…do…penile implants?? NO. But I guess my mom was answering the phones at my dad’s office one day and she had this convo: “I was calling about getting my wife some boobies. Does the doctor do boobies?” Mom: “yes, he does breast enhancement surgery.” Guy: “Cool. So um, does he do, you know, like, man stuff?” Mom: “Umm, man stuff? You will have to be more specific sir.” Man: “You know! Like, man stuff!!” Mom: (clearly just totally being a pain in the ass): “No, I’m sorry, I do not know. What exactly are you asking?” I think this went on for a bit before the guy finally spit out the words. And NO, again, my dad does NOT do penile implants. Then my mom went off about how in LA everyone gets penile implants. Is this true? And how does my mom know? She likes to make stuff up. It’s part of her charm.
It also means that my blogs might be disappointing. Cuz you’re all expecting stories about getting vomited on at the club and hanging tough w/ Mr. Die Hard, and I’m all like, “so, I made this really delish summer vegetable salad tonight…”
So on that note, let me tell you some things about being home.
First, a Jack Bauer update, of course. Last night I went to puppy school. We learned some good stuff, such as the “come” command. And you can guess what this means. Or maybe you can’t. It means that I now have to hear “Good Come!” like every five minutes. Seriously, “good come!” And I know you’re thinking the exact same thing I’m thinking right now so don’t even act like you’re not. You SO want to try this line out…in the spirit of the fortune cookie…in bed…
Let’s see, what else. Well, today I had a tennis lesson w/ Jane and her teacher, Slater. Yep, the pro’s name is Slater. He divies his time b/t tennis and djing. He rather kicks your ass at the lesson too and makes you run like a fiend. My hand was too sweaty for my racquet and I needed one of those absorb grips so he let me use his racquet and he took mine. And I think he was kind of disgusted by how sweaty the grip on my racquet was, but, whatever, I’m a sweater. Not like the kind you wear. But more importantly, I want to discuss the phenomenon of the Carmel Housewife, I cap’ed it cuz it’s almost like an official title. These well-groomed, well-kept women spend the majority of their time playing tennis. We walk into the Carmel Racquet Club around 1:30 and it’s filled, totally filled, like all 20 courts there, with small instructional groups of women. Wearing really sweet little tennis outfits. And they’re all pretty good. But then again they should be as it’s pretty much their key hobby. Should I ever move back to Carmel, and become a Carmel Housewife, I am really going to have to work on my tennis, b/c without tennis, there really is…nothing…And I must admit, it kind of weirds me out, it really does.
Other than tennis, I will report that I did, like, nothing. I did go to the orthodontist – my bottom teeth are moving around just a little and driving me crazy so I want a new retainer – which meant I had to get impressions, and those things make me gag something fierce, and I almost booted. You know, I have actually thrown up on my orthodontist? And my dentist too.
I also went grocery shopping to make that salad for dinner thought. Which made for an interesting dinner, b/c it contained among other things, edamame, and Dick does NOT eat edamame. He doesn’t really eat veggies. He’s kind of five. I think we spent at least 10 minutes at dinner picking on my dad for not eating his vegetables. He also drinks too much Diet Coke and doesn’t drink enough water. You know, apparently he actually had a prescription written by his doctor to drink more water? I’m not shitting you. Totally happened.
The veggie convo was right after we talked about penile implants. Cuz I started drilling my dad about various implants. You do pec implants?? (had to ask for the hair guy) No. You do butt implants? No. You do calf implants? No. Umm…do you…do…penile implants?? NO. But I guess my mom was answering the phones at my dad’s office one day and she had this convo: “I was calling about getting my wife some boobies. Does the doctor do boobies?” Mom: “yes, he does breast enhancement surgery.” Guy: “Cool. So um, does he do, you know, like, man stuff?” Mom: “Umm, man stuff? You will have to be more specific sir.” Man: “You know! Like, man stuff!!” Mom: (clearly just totally being a pain in the ass): “No, I’m sorry, I do not know. What exactly are you asking?” I think this went on for a bit before the guy finally spit out the words. And NO, again, my dad does NOT do penile implants. Then my mom went off about how in LA everyone gets penile implants. Is this true? And how does my mom know? She likes to make stuff up. It’s part of her charm.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
If You Really Wanna See Something, Get the Broom...
In a money saving effort I booked myself home on a flight through Phoenix, which departed at 4am LA time and finally got me into Indy a little after 2:30am IN time. My mom LOVED picking me up. Seriously she did. I’m just glad she skipped the Lunesta before taking to the crowded streets of North side Indianapolis.
Anyway, on the drive home she asked if I wanted to stop and grab some water or something. You know, it’s like almost 3am now. I was like, “umm, no, I think I can wait for some H2O till we get home…” And she’s like, “well, you can’t go into the kitchen to get water. Your dad has an early case and I don’t want to wake up Jack. So we’ll be going through the front door.” (not the garage which takes you through the kitchen and past the little devil dog) But then she’s like, “Unless, you want to play with him if he wakes up.” So I say “sure, yeah, I’ll play with little Jack-y.” And then she pulls the ultimate Jane move, which I’ve never understood, whereby she suggests something, you agree to it, then she rescinds her offer and is like, “oh, I was just kidding. You can’t do that.” It’s like the 2001 job market at my house every single day. If something Jane says sounds like it’s too good to be true and will be snatched away one second later…well then, it was too good an offer, and it will be snatched away. She’s like f’in Accenture.
Anyway, in the couple weeks it’s been since I’ve last seen him, Jack has learned some new tricks. You see, he’s not an old dog. He’s a new dog. So he can learn those new tricks. He now understands sit. And every time you tell him to sit, you have to say, “Good sit!!” And when he bites, you say, “Leave it!” And his potties are getting better. And yes, when he potties, you HAVE to say, “Good potty!!!” Think of what that must do for your self esteem. I’m trying to imagine what life would be like if every time I sat down on our couch Veeve was like, “Good sit Lindy!” Or whenever I came out of the bathroom she was like, “Good potty!” You know though, that’d be pretty weird. I guess. Yeah, slightly odd for sure.
My favorite Jack-related line so far though was we’re playing with him, and my mom is like, “you should seem him do his tail games.” (I guess he likes to chase his tail around and shit) But then she goes, “But if you really wanna see something, you have to get the broom out!” He likes to chase the broom around, I saw it, it’s silly. But that sounds really filthy, doesn’t it?
Jack aside, I want to announce that I got my Nicole Richie haircut, and I L-O-V-E it. Yes, as has been pointed out, I do live in LA, a style mecca, and I did get my hair chopped in Indy, but the fact is that my mom’s hairdresser, Emmet, works magic with scissors and has actually been mentioned in US Weekly for his line of styling products which have landed in swag bags. Yes, I am validating a little here. Seriously though he’s awesome and I totally trusted him to chop off EIGHT inches of my hair. Eight. Yes, it was scary. Anyway, it’s super super fun. I took pics to post but I really hate the pics so you’ll just have to see the real deal.
Oh, and his gay lover works at the salon too. We have the same conversation every time I go in there. He starts telling me all the plastic surgery he’s going to have Dick do on him. Today he was talking about getting the muscles in his chin tightened up. Then he asked if dad does pec implants. I honesty don’t know if he does. But, ewww. Oh, the lover was also fascinated and devastated by my vocal nodules. He found them very disturbing. He was so disturbed by them that I think I’m now more disturbed by them. He’s a character that gay lover man, sure is.
Ok, well, the weather blows to death here. I’m gonna go…get the broom out…
Anyway, on the drive home she asked if I wanted to stop and grab some water or something. You know, it’s like almost 3am now. I was like, “umm, no, I think I can wait for some H2O till we get home…” And she’s like, “well, you can’t go into the kitchen to get water. Your dad has an early case and I don’t want to wake up Jack. So we’ll be going through the front door.” (not the garage which takes you through the kitchen and past the little devil dog) But then she’s like, “Unless, you want to play with him if he wakes up.” So I say “sure, yeah, I’ll play with little Jack-y.” And then she pulls the ultimate Jane move, which I’ve never understood, whereby she suggests something, you agree to it, then she rescinds her offer and is like, “oh, I was just kidding. You can’t do that.” It’s like the 2001 job market at my house every single day. If something Jane says sounds like it’s too good to be true and will be snatched away one second later…well then, it was too good an offer, and it will be snatched away. She’s like f’in Accenture.
Anyway, in the couple weeks it’s been since I’ve last seen him, Jack has learned some new tricks. You see, he’s not an old dog. He’s a new dog. So he can learn those new tricks. He now understands sit. And every time you tell him to sit, you have to say, “Good sit!!” And when he bites, you say, “Leave it!” And his potties are getting better. And yes, when he potties, you HAVE to say, “Good potty!!!” Think of what that must do for your self esteem. I’m trying to imagine what life would be like if every time I sat down on our couch Veeve was like, “Good sit Lindy!” Or whenever I came out of the bathroom she was like, “Good potty!” You know though, that’d be pretty weird. I guess. Yeah, slightly odd for sure.
My favorite Jack-related line so far though was we’re playing with him, and my mom is like, “you should seem him do his tail games.” (I guess he likes to chase his tail around and shit) But then she goes, “But if you really wanna see something, you have to get the broom out!” He likes to chase the broom around, I saw it, it’s silly. But that sounds really filthy, doesn’t it?
Jack aside, I want to announce that I got my Nicole Richie haircut, and I L-O-V-E it. Yes, as has been pointed out, I do live in LA, a style mecca, and I did get my hair chopped in Indy, but the fact is that my mom’s hairdresser, Emmet, works magic with scissors and has actually been mentioned in US Weekly for his line of styling products which have landed in swag bags. Yes, I am validating a little here. Seriously though he’s awesome and I totally trusted him to chop off EIGHT inches of my hair. Eight. Yes, it was scary. Anyway, it’s super super fun. I took pics to post but I really hate the pics so you’ll just have to see the real deal.
Oh, and his gay lover works at the salon too. We have the same conversation every time I go in there. He starts telling me all the plastic surgery he’s going to have Dick do on him. Today he was talking about getting the muscles in his chin tightened up. Then he asked if dad does pec implants. I honesty don’t know if he does. But, ewww. Oh, the lover was also fascinated and devastated by my vocal nodules. He found them very disturbing. He was so disturbed by them that I think I’m now more disturbed by them. He’s a character that gay lover man, sure is.
Ok, well, the weather blows to death here. I’m gonna go…get the broom out…
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Committing Was Dumb.
So I'm in the process of dying my hair which means I have a pile of chemical saturated hair piled on my head and have to move very carefully to avoid splattering any surfaces with my toxic goo. Which means I can't really move much at all, so I am now sitting down, to write stuff.
Today was a fairly uneventful day, which consisted of laundry and house cleaning and some afternoon yoga, where I ran into Meg and Jaime who have returned from exotic lands. We went to grab food at Urth Cafe afterward, it apparently is a dreadful dreadful crime that I have never been to this place before. But now I have, so everyone can sleep a little more easily.
Anyway, I asked for a Diet Coke with my sandwhich. They don't serve Diet Coke. The offered me Organic Soda as an alternative. I declined. My panini was divine, but what kind of place does not serve Diet Coke? I mean sure it's filled with chemicals and probably goes against a place with Urth in its name, but come on, it's not even spelled the right way, it's spelled some weird LA way. And Diet Coke is an American staple. How can they take that away from us good people?
So switching topics. I am heading back to IN tomorrow for a little vacation before school starts. Internship is over, no more faucets, no more Orange County, no more surrogate parents. Kinda weird. Highlights of home will include my lovely Jack, the Nicole Richie haircut, visits with my NC cuzins who I love, a trip to Boston, and a trip to visit the granpda in Buffalo New York. The most exciting part of Buffalo will be a visit to the Anchor Bar, btw, where I will indulge in what the world's ORIGINAL Buffalo chicken wings. No joke, not even kidding. The 100% originals. I even know the story of the recipe. But I won't post it. I'm sure I've probalby told you before anyway, b/c as some people (Jizz) like to point out, I sure do like my Anchor Bar wings. Boston....that is another story...which you may or may not know...and let's suffice to say that it should be an interesting trip.
I also anticipate doing a lot of school related shit while I'm home. Yes, it's still several weeks away, but I am dumb, really f'in dumb, and seemed to think it was a good idea to be on all these boards for next year. I actually wanted to do them last year, but now that second year is rolling around, and I'm a "senior," I really kind of feel like doing not much of anything. Maybe a bit of school work, and otherwise stuff like, dinner parties, the beach, and bars. As discussed over lunch today, they clearly know you won't want to do shit your second year, so they make sure you're committed during first year when you're still all punky brewster and stuff. Damn them, they are so clever. Perhaps I should just drop out...Something to think about.
So...I am going to do a rinse and reveal my newly glossified hair. Blogging over these next couple weeks will be spotty. Ironic, no? When I was working, actually gainfully employed, I made sure to find time to blog every single weekday. Now, I'm pretty much on vaca and no one is paying me to do anything and I have virtually endless time to play with...I'm not nearly as compelled to write...
I want to sign off with one question I've been thinking about. With school starting up, I will most likely have tremendous gossip and shit as fodder for my blog. And so the question is, do I write about it? And risk getting myself into trouble on a fairly regular basis? Or...shall I be more considerate and cautious? I know myself pretty well, and I'm guessing I'll take option one...but just though I'd pose the thought anyway. Input welcome. Ta ta!
Today was a fairly uneventful day, which consisted of laundry and house cleaning and some afternoon yoga, where I ran into Meg and Jaime who have returned from exotic lands. We went to grab food at Urth Cafe afterward, it apparently is a dreadful dreadful crime that I have never been to this place before. But now I have, so everyone can sleep a little more easily.
Anyway, I asked for a Diet Coke with my sandwhich. They don't serve Diet Coke. The offered me Organic Soda as an alternative. I declined. My panini was divine, but what kind of place does not serve Diet Coke? I mean sure it's filled with chemicals and probably goes against a place with Urth in its name, but come on, it's not even spelled the right way, it's spelled some weird LA way. And Diet Coke is an American staple. How can they take that away from us good people?
So switching topics. I am heading back to IN tomorrow for a little vacation before school starts. Internship is over, no more faucets, no more Orange County, no more surrogate parents. Kinda weird. Highlights of home will include my lovely Jack, the Nicole Richie haircut, visits with my NC cuzins who I love, a trip to Boston, and a trip to visit the granpda in Buffalo New York. The most exciting part of Buffalo will be a visit to the Anchor Bar, btw, where I will indulge in what the world's ORIGINAL Buffalo chicken wings. No joke, not even kidding. The 100% originals. I even know the story of the recipe. But I won't post it. I'm sure I've probalby told you before anyway, b/c as some people (Jizz) like to point out, I sure do like my Anchor Bar wings. Boston....that is another story...which you may or may not know...and let's suffice to say that it should be an interesting trip.
I also anticipate doing a lot of school related shit while I'm home. Yes, it's still several weeks away, but I am dumb, really f'in dumb, and seemed to think it was a good idea to be on all these boards for next year. I actually wanted to do them last year, but now that second year is rolling around, and I'm a "senior," I really kind of feel like doing not much of anything. Maybe a bit of school work, and otherwise stuff like, dinner parties, the beach, and bars. As discussed over lunch today, they clearly know you won't want to do shit your second year, so they make sure you're committed during first year when you're still all punky brewster and stuff. Damn them, they are so clever. Perhaps I should just drop out...Something to think about.
So...I am going to do a rinse and reveal my newly glossified hair. Blogging over these next couple weeks will be spotty. Ironic, no? When I was working, actually gainfully employed, I made sure to find time to blog every single weekday. Now, I'm pretty much on vaca and no one is paying me to do anything and I have virtually endless time to play with...I'm not nearly as compelled to write...
I want to sign off with one question I've been thinking about. With school starting up, I will most likely have tremendous gossip and shit as fodder for my blog. And so the question is, do I write about it? And risk getting myself into trouble on a fairly regular basis? Or...shall I be more considerate and cautious? I know myself pretty well, and I'm guessing I'll take option one...but just though I'd pose the thought anyway. Input welcome. Ta ta!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Spooky Stuff on the 73
So last night’s drive home was weird. I leave Huntington beach around 10:45 to head back to Laguna (so, I must point out the sad fact that I missed LB last night, and from what Winston tells me, it was a doozie). Anyway, so I head for the 73, and I pass the 73 South purposefully cuz I’m like I need to take the 73 North.
After a few miles I for some reason ask myself why the hell I purposefully am driving north when indeed I live south of Huntington…and I know this. It’s like for some reason I tricked myself momentarily into thinking I live north. It was a very, very dumb moment, and I’m not proud. Nor am I entirely surprised given that I generally suck at finding my way around and am generally very good at going the wrong way.
Anyway, so I turn myself around and pretty soon I’m back on track, and I get to the toll plaza. I put in a $5 for my $4 toll (no person on duty) and the machine starts making like this puking noise and then…nothing. Machine still says I owe $4. And I’m like, the f I’m going to pay you again you damn machine. I see a phone number on the toll booth. I called. I left a message. Something to the effect of, “Hi, my name is Lindy, my phone number is blah blah blah, and I’m on the 73 heading south, just past the Bison exit. The machine ate my money, and I have not more bills smaller than a $20 left (that was a lie). So, umm, please call me.” Then I ran through the red toll booth light.
It was at that point that the orange glow of my gas light caught my attention. Which is always nice. Especially when you realize you’ve been completely zoned out for the past 20 minutes and you’re driving on the 73 which winds through the mountains and is very, very, very (I’m emphasizing something here) dark, and kinda spooky, pretty spooky actually.
That didn’t keep my attention long b/c soon I hear a siren or two in the distance, and then all of a sudden like three cops with their lights on and no sound whiz past. Then I see all sorts of lights up ahead, like a light show, crazy. Then I see a spotlight swooping around and I notice a helicopter circling overhead. So, I am witnessing, I think, a high speed chase. It was like OJ V2. Or, something. I kept getting closer or closer, and seriously, there are like 8 cop cars all clumped together driving down the 73 w/ their lights on, copter following overhead.
This was also…spooky. I turn my radio on and I’m scanning FM and AM for some news, but nothing. I like to think it was an escaped convict b/c that’s pretty exciting and I like excitement. But I guess I’ll never know. I think it was top secret or some shit.
I am now going to prepare for my presentation. Maybe one more person can walk by and give me that raised eyebrow look and ask me in that pumped up voice if I’m ready. But I am, oh yes, I was born ready. Then once it’s all over, I’ll be spending the remainder of the afternoon googling, trying to solve the mystery that was the 73 last night.
After a few miles I for some reason ask myself why the hell I purposefully am driving north when indeed I live south of Huntington…and I know this. It’s like for some reason I tricked myself momentarily into thinking I live north. It was a very, very dumb moment, and I’m not proud. Nor am I entirely surprised given that I generally suck at finding my way around and am generally very good at going the wrong way.
Anyway, so I turn myself around and pretty soon I’m back on track, and I get to the toll plaza. I put in a $5 for my $4 toll (no person on duty) and the machine starts making like this puking noise and then…nothing. Machine still says I owe $4. And I’m like, the f I’m going to pay you again you damn machine. I see a phone number on the toll booth. I called. I left a message. Something to the effect of, “Hi, my name is Lindy, my phone number is blah blah blah, and I’m on the 73 heading south, just past the Bison exit. The machine ate my money, and I have not more bills smaller than a $20 left (that was a lie). So, umm, please call me.” Then I ran through the red toll booth light.
It was at that point that the orange glow of my gas light caught my attention. Which is always nice. Especially when you realize you’ve been completely zoned out for the past 20 minutes and you’re driving on the 73 which winds through the mountains and is very, very, very (I’m emphasizing something here) dark, and kinda spooky, pretty spooky actually.
That didn’t keep my attention long b/c soon I hear a siren or two in the distance, and then all of a sudden like three cops with their lights on and no sound whiz past. Then I see all sorts of lights up ahead, like a light show, crazy. Then I see a spotlight swooping around and I notice a helicopter circling overhead. So, I am witnessing, I think, a high speed chase. It was like OJ V2. Or, something. I kept getting closer or closer, and seriously, there are like 8 cop cars all clumped together driving down the 73 w/ their lights on, copter following overhead.
This was also…spooky. I turn my radio on and I’m scanning FM and AM for some news, but nothing. I like to think it was an escaped convict b/c that’s pretty exciting and I like excitement. But I guess I’ll never know. I think it was top secret or some shit.
I am now going to prepare for my presentation. Maybe one more person can walk by and give me that raised eyebrow look and ask me in that pumped up voice if I’m ready. But I am, oh yes, I was born ready. Then once it’s all over, I’ll be spending the remainder of the afternoon googling, trying to solve the mystery that was the 73 last night.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
“I Got No Patience, and I Hate Waitin’…” (The song: anyone? Anyone?)
Firstly, wardrobe critique of the day – hooker boots in the summer (as Ms. Sequins is wearing them today): I say no. Oh, no doubt, I am a firm believer in the hooker boot, as I have three pairs (black, chocolate, and some lovely natural colored suede ones) – and they do not connote hooker unless they’re cheap black vinyl with a skany heel anyway. It’s too hard to explain the differentiation b/t hooker and non-hooker tall boots, but suffice to say that they have their place in the calendar year, and it is not early September. Nope, I think October is the earliest they can come out to play.
Second, conversation starter of the day – “Hey lindy, you over there? Wanna come over and hear about how I nearly died this weekend?” Umm, sure, yes, I’ll be right over. The story, in case you’re curious, involved Brad, a mountain bike, and a 4 foot long rattler. Yes, I sit right next to Steve Erwin. Let’s not dwell on the fact that my favorite Croc Hunter actually passed away this weekend…and instead, just know that Brad is still alive. Phew!
Third, key observation of the day - Wow, I’m really close to being done… I’m actually stressed right now. No seriously, you know when you’re under a deadline at work and you’re kind of frazzled and you have that little adrenaline buzz going? No? You don’t? I’m weird? Oh, ok then…Anyway, I’ve got that right now and haven’t had it since I actually had a real job v. an internship. I am currently in the process of stalking this guy from finance who I currently think of a total shithead and I’d like to go spill a cup of coffee all over him. Hot coffee. Yes.
Update, after an email (marked with a red exclamation point thanks much), a VM, and like 3 unanswered phone calls (yes I’m persistent, it’s true) I had to physically go down to douche’s office, where he sat motionless in front of his computer. Oh, hey, sorry to bug you, I just need to get 10 copies of a 50 page deck and a 50 page report and 10 CDs burnt in, oh, say, one hour, and can’t do it w/out this shit. Yes, I am presenting to the whole management team. Yes, it is kind of a big deal. Uh huh, yeah, that’s why I’m stalking you. Anyway, I guess he was essentially choosing to ignore me. How sweet.
Oh btw. So you’re thinking, if you need to print all this stuff so urgently, why the f are you blogging? Oh, b/c there is someone else I need final approval from. I like to call him my boss, but sometimes I just think of him as that guy or some guy b/c he is and has been practically non-existent for the entire summer. Unlike when I worked under the terrible Hungarian GG, who would come watch me type, and who once made me cry and yell and air jab my finger at him all at the same time, and whose most famous quote in my opinion is “Omar!!!!!! Where the hell are my Harvey Balls???? I asked for Harvey Balls, damn it!!!”
Nope, this boss, I don’t think he really knows what the hell is even in the presentation or the report that I’ll be presenting tomorrow to our executive team. His edits on my PPt amounted to one entire line of text to be added, and apparently everything I did is great, fabulous, wonderful and perfect. No one else around here, save for one guy (who has won my undying love), bothered to respond to my request for feedback either. Why is that I feel I might be chewed up and spit out into a sad heap tomorrow at noon? Perhaps b/c in my consulting days anything I submitted to the boss would come back looking like a red pen had exploded all over it and the ultimate corrected version would not even quasi-resemble the original… And here, no one really seems to care…
I guess in the end, I have my little project, my precious little deliverable to take away with me so that I actually have concrete evidence that I did actual work this summer when I go to interview for a real job in the fall. And, I suppose it was nice to earn real actual money instead of racking up debt for a few months.
Anyway, well wait, by the way, this has been written in brief spurts over the afternoon in between waiting on people. That is corporate America to me. Waiting on people. Right? Agreed? I need to start my own business. Actually I have an idea. But I can’t tell you b/c maybe you’d steal it b/c it’s so good. But once it really gets going and I’m on fire with it I’ll be sure to write about it. So on that night, ta-ta and good night. It’s bout time to head out of here.
Second, conversation starter of the day – “Hey lindy, you over there? Wanna come over and hear about how I nearly died this weekend?” Umm, sure, yes, I’ll be right over. The story, in case you’re curious, involved Brad, a mountain bike, and a 4 foot long rattler. Yes, I sit right next to Steve Erwin. Let’s not dwell on the fact that my favorite Croc Hunter actually passed away this weekend…and instead, just know that Brad is still alive. Phew!
Third, key observation of the day - Wow, I’m really close to being done… I’m actually stressed right now. No seriously, you know when you’re under a deadline at work and you’re kind of frazzled and you have that little adrenaline buzz going? No? You don’t? I’m weird? Oh, ok then…Anyway, I’ve got that right now and haven’t had it since I actually had a real job v. an internship. I am currently in the process of stalking this guy from finance who I currently think of a total shithead and I’d like to go spill a cup of coffee all over him. Hot coffee. Yes.
Update, after an email (marked with a red exclamation point thanks much), a VM, and like 3 unanswered phone calls (yes I’m persistent, it’s true) I had to physically go down to douche’s office, where he sat motionless in front of his computer. Oh, hey, sorry to bug you, I just need to get 10 copies of a 50 page deck and a 50 page report and 10 CDs burnt in, oh, say, one hour, and can’t do it w/out this shit. Yes, I am presenting to the whole management team. Yes, it is kind of a big deal. Uh huh, yeah, that’s why I’m stalking you. Anyway, I guess he was essentially choosing to ignore me. How sweet.
Oh btw. So you’re thinking, if you need to print all this stuff so urgently, why the f are you blogging? Oh, b/c there is someone else I need final approval from. I like to call him my boss, but sometimes I just think of him as that guy or some guy b/c he is and has been practically non-existent for the entire summer. Unlike when I worked under the terrible Hungarian GG, who would come watch me type, and who once made me cry and yell and air jab my finger at him all at the same time, and whose most famous quote in my opinion is “Omar!!!!!! Where the hell are my Harvey Balls???? I asked for Harvey Balls, damn it!!!”
Nope, this boss, I don’t think he really knows what the hell is even in the presentation or the report that I’ll be presenting tomorrow to our executive team. His edits on my PPt amounted to one entire line of text to be added, and apparently everything I did is great, fabulous, wonderful and perfect. No one else around here, save for one guy (who has won my undying love), bothered to respond to my request for feedback either. Why is that I feel I might be chewed up and spit out into a sad heap tomorrow at noon? Perhaps b/c in my consulting days anything I submitted to the boss would come back looking like a red pen had exploded all over it and the ultimate corrected version would not even quasi-resemble the original… And here, no one really seems to care…
I guess in the end, I have my little project, my precious little deliverable to take away with me so that I actually have concrete evidence that I did actual work this summer when I go to interview for a real job in the fall. And, I suppose it was nice to earn real actual money instead of racking up debt for a few months.
Anyway, well wait, by the way, this has been written in brief spurts over the afternoon in between waiting on people. That is corporate America to me. Waiting on people. Right? Agreed? I need to start my own business. Actually I have an idea. But I can’t tell you b/c maybe you’d steal it b/c it’s so good. But once it really gets going and I’m on fire with it I’ll be sure to write about it. So on that night, ta-ta and good night. It’s bout time to head out of here.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
A Little Weekend Recap. Actually a Big One. Cuz This Is Long.
Greetings and salutations from my cube. My cube, yes, b/c I am the only bschool student on the planet still working. Well probably not the only one on the planet. Actually I’m being dramatic. I know there are several andersonites still working but I like a good whine every now and then. I’m done though.
So. Hmmm. It was a lovely Labor Day. Freddie came in from NY and Liz came up from SDiego, which meant that we had 5 Wakies in LA for the weekend, which made me happy. Can I share my favorite tidbits from the weekend? I love asking questions that no one can answer, b/c I’m sure that if someone were here and I asked them, they’d be like, “no, shut up. I’m too tired to listen to your long stories.” But since I’m WRITING and I’m not TALKING, and my audience, who may not even exist at all, at least does not exist in the present moment, I can say whatever I want.
Liz’s Tooth: So anyway. We’re at breakfast on Saturday, and Liz turns to us and is like, “So, my tooth fell out the other day.” And we’re like, “Wow, did you really just say your tooth fell out? B/c that’s really disgusting.” Well at least we thought that (love you Liz!). But then she’s like, “Well actually it wasn’t my tooth. It was my crown. But I like to say tooth, b/c it’s a lot funnier. Anyway, I was going to get it fixed when I go back to DC next, but apparently my dentist no longer practices. I guess he ran off to Mexico with his gay lover.” Oh, ok, yes, my tooth fell out the other day and couldn’t be fixed by my dentist who also ran off to foreign lands w/ his gay lover. That’s crazy how this shit happens isn’t it?
One more breakfast table thing, b/c it’s something I think I’m going to start using. Liz asks me: “So, how’s Brett doing?” And out of all the things I could’ve said, there was just one thing that I could think of. I told her, “Well, he wears capris now.” Sorry Brett, couldn’t help it. But you know what I’m realizing? It’s actually a really good way to describe someone. Like, “Well, she sure has been wearing a lot of Manolos lately” might indicate sudden luck at work. Or, “Hmm, he has really gotten into True Religion jeans” might indicate a sudden frequenting of pasties parties. You know stuff like that. So now instead of being like, “Oh, she’s good” or whatever, I’m going to think of wardrobe attributes that might describe a new state of being. As for what Brett wearing capris says, I’m not sure. Hey – you’re sure you’re still straight right??? And still a US citizen?? Ok, just checking.
Anyway (and this is completely not a smooth transition but I don’t really care), on Saturday night we went out in Hollywood. I never go out there. But when I do, sure does give me the giggles. After a long line wait (and I’m taking credit for our final entrance as I was complementing one of the bouncer’s green shoes, telling him how great they coordinated w/ his shirt and how green is my favorite color and stuff), we head in. There was a lot to comment on, mostly just this gay guy who was flashdancing out of control and who’d randomly come up on you and start freaking you, but he’d be like, “don’t’ worry, I’m gay.” Oh, ok, then, continue humping my leg freely, sure go ahead. And one guy wearing a really big white purse. I wanted Veeve to ask him if it was his but she didn’t want to. No fun.
**Ok, so, you know how guys do that thing where they bust up behind you and start dancing on you? So I get a live one. And you don’t turn around b/c that is awkward. But what you do, is you give the “so????” eyes to a friend. So I look at Freds and am like, “so????? Is he cute???” And she’s like “yeah! Cute!” so I keep dancing. Eventually I turn around. And you know what, f’ you Freds. She pulled a fast one on me. Totally completely not cute at all. So he’s all can I have your number blah blah blah, and I’m all proud of myself b/c I finally don’t give it and I’m like “How about you give me yours?” so he does. And his name is Eddie.
So that happened. Now let’s fast forward to the end of the night. It’s 2, and Gen has gone out w/ Maria to our car. And we’re gathering to leave, and Freds is like “SHOTS!!!” and who doesn’t like to take a couple shots when you’re LEAVING a club??? So we do that, and I ask the bartender for his number just b/c he’s cute and I want to although I never intended to call him. So he gives me his number on the back of a receipt.
Anyway, the next morning, we’re going through our phones, and I am trying to figure out what this random 949 number is that I called around 2:15. And I’m like, “well it’s not Eddie (the ugly guy whose number I asked for); maybe the bartender?” Liz: “can’t be – remember you took the receipt and then wrote YOUR number on it after he gave you his and then gave the receipt back to him….” And yes, I did remember, I did do that...which is really really dumb. Liz: “give me the number, I’ll call it.” She calls. It’s f’in Eddie. Who I put in my phone, then called, then deleted. Why?? Who the hell knows. So she’s like, “Hi, how are you? How was your night last night? Blah blah blah.” She talks to him and it ends w/ him saying “oh I’m on the other line I’ll call you back.”
Mind you, he has no clue who he’s actually talking to, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He then calls Liz back, he calls her back FOUR times. From like 2 different numbers (tricky). Until she’s finally like, “Look. I don’t know you. Stop calling me.”
Why do the people you want to call you never call, and then some guy that doesn’t even KNOW you (and sucks anyway) calls you like 4 times BEFORE 2pm on a weekend afternoon? I’m open for answers.
Anyway, it was fairly amusing, as was the weekend in its entirety. Oh wait, for the record, this is what I observed around 9:30 pm last night in Hermosa, at Dragon, where I went to watch Newman do his thing (Newman, you’re adorable when you dj). Man, that crowd was weird though. They were all wearing their “stunner glasses at night” (for real). But anyway, the observed act: I’m standing there contemplating sitting down at this empty booth, when I realize that this guy is standing there peeing on the table. He’s peeing on the table, all over it. He’s peeing on the table!!!!!!! Hands down nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. Aaron decided we should leave after that. And I agreed. I guess that is kind of how my weekend ended….Hmm. Think about that.
Final note: my neck hurts. I need a massage. I think someone owes me. And I don’t forget things. Actually I forget a lot of things, but not important things. Like massages. For me. Just a note.
Ok, I’m out. Time to 26. I’m 26ing!!!!***
**PS: Shoes – This was all harmless club silliness. No panties in a bundle plz.
***I’ll pay you $1M if you figure out what that means. Well I don’t have $1M, but I’ll make it worth it troubles. No, I wont’ do that either. But you’ll have self-satisfaction, which is nice.
So. Hmmm. It was a lovely Labor Day. Freddie came in from NY and Liz came up from SDiego, which meant that we had 5 Wakies in LA for the weekend, which made me happy. Can I share my favorite tidbits from the weekend? I love asking questions that no one can answer, b/c I’m sure that if someone were here and I asked them, they’d be like, “no, shut up. I’m too tired to listen to your long stories.” But since I’m WRITING and I’m not TALKING, and my audience, who may not even exist at all, at least does not exist in the present moment, I can say whatever I want.
Liz’s Tooth: So anyway. We’re at breakfast on Saturday, and Liz turns to us and is like, “So, my tooth fell out the other day.” And we’re like, “Wow, did you really just say your tooth fell out? B/c that’s really disgusting.” Well at least we thought that (love you Liz!). But then she’s like, “Well actually it wasn’t my tooth. It was my crown. But I like to say tooth, b/c it’s a lot funnier. Anyway, I was going to get it fixed when I go back to DC next, but apparently my dentist no longer practices. I guess he ran off to Mexico with his gay lover.” Oh, ok, yes, my tooth fell out the other day and couldn’t be fixed by my dentist who also ran off to foreign lands w/ his gay lover. That’s crazy how this shit happens isn’t it?
One more breakfast table thing, b/c it’s something I think I’m going to start using. Liz asks me: “So, how’s Brett doing?” And out of all the things I could’ve said, there was just one thing that I could think of. I told her, “Well, he wears capris now.” Sorry Brett, couldn’t help it. But you know what I’m realizing? It’s actually a really good way to describe someone. Like, “Well, she sure has been wearing a lot of Manolos lately” might indicate sudden luck at work. Or, “Hmm, he has really gotten into True Religion jeans” might indicate a sudden frequenting of pasties parties. You know stuff like that. So now instead of being like, “Oh, she’s good” or whatever, I’m going to think of wardrobe attributes that might describe a new state of being. As for what Brett wearing capris says, I’m not sure. Hey – you’re sure you’re still straight right??? And still a US citizen?? Ok, just checking.
Anyway (and this is completely not a smooth transition but I don’t really care), on Saturday night we went out in Hollywood. I never go out there. But when I do, sure does give me the giggles. After a long line wait (and I’m taking credit for our final entrance as I was complementing one of the bouncer’s green shoes, telling him how great they coordinated w/ his shirt and how green is my favorite color and stuff), we head in. There was a lot to comment on, mostly just this gay guy who was flashdancing out of control and who’d randomly come up on you and start freaking you, but he’d be like, “don’t’ worry, I’m gay.” Oh, ok, then, continue humping my leg freely, sure go ahead. And one guy wearing a really big white purse. I wanted Veeve to ask him if it was his but she didn’t want to. No fun.
**Ok, so, you know how guys do that thing where they bust up behind you and start dancing on you? So I get a live one. And you don’t turn around b/c that is awkward. But what you do, is you give the “so????” eyes to a friend. So I look at Freds and am like, “so????? Is he cute???” And she’s like “yeah! Cute!” so I keep dancing. Eventually I turn around. And you know what, f’ you Freds. She pulled a fast one on me. Totally completely not cute at all. So he’s all can I have your number blah blah blah, and I’m all proud of myself b/c I finally don’t give it and I’m like “How about you give me yours?” so he does. And his name is Eddie.
So that happened. Now let’s fast forward to the end of the night. It’s 2, and Gen has gone out w/ Maria to our car. And we’re gathering to leave, and Freds is like “SHOTS!!!” and who doesn’t like to take a couple shots when you’re LEAVING a club??? So we do that, and I ask the bartender for his number just b/c he’s cute and I want to although I never intended to call him. So he gives me his number on the back of a receipt.
Anyway, the next morning, we’re going through our phones, and I am trying to figure out what this random 949 number is that I called around 2:15. And I’m like, “well it’s not Eddie (the ugly guy whose number I asked for); maybe the bartender?” Liz: “can’t be – remember you took the receipt and then wrote YOUR number on it after he gave you his and then gave the receipt back to him….” And yes, I did remember, I did do that...which is really really dumb. Liz: “give me the number, I’ll call it.” She calls. It’s f’in Eddie. Who I put in my phone, then called, then deleted. Why?? Who the hell knows. So she’s like, “Hi, how are you? How was your night last night? Blah blah blah.” She talks to him and it ends w/ him saying “oh I’m on the other line I’ll call you back.”
Mind you, he has no clue who he’s actually talking to, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He then calls Liz back, he calls her back FOUR times. From like 2 different numbers (tricky). Until she’s finally like, “Look. I don’t know you. Stop calling me.”
Why do the people you want to call you never call, and then some guy that doesn’t even KNOW you (and sucks anyway) calls you like 4 times BEFORE 2pm on a weekend afternoon? I’m open for answers.
Anyway, it was fairly amusing, as was the weekend in its entirety. Oh wait, for the record, this is what I observed around 9:30 pm last night in Hermosa, at Dragon, where I went to watch Newman do his thing (Newman, you’re adorable when you dj). Man, that crowd was weird though. They were all wearing their “stunner glasses at night” (for real). But anyway, the observed act: I’m standing there contemplating sitting down at this empty booth, when I realize that this guy is standing there peeing on the table. He’s peeing on the table, all over it. He’s peeing on the table!!!!!!! Hands down nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. Aaron decided we should leave after that. And I agreed. I guess that is kind of how my weekend ended….Hmm. Think about that.
Final note: my neck hurts. I need a massage. I think someone owes me. And I don’t forget things. Actually I forget a lot of things, but not important things. Like massages. For me. Just a note.
Ok, I’m out. Time to 26. I’m 26ing!!!!***
**PS: Shoes – This was all harmless club silliness. No panties in a bundle plz.
***I’ll pay you $1M if you figure out what that means. Well I don’t have $1M, but I’ll make it worth it troubles. No, I wont’ do that either. But you’ll have self-satisfaction, which is nice.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Panties Is a Silly Word
Do you see that dashing cartoon character who is part princess, part angel, a little painter, something of a drinker, with a dash of ice cream eater, that one there, right off to your left? Guess who it is. Guess. Ok I’ll tell you. It’s me, lindy, South Park style. Indeed, you too can give yourself a southpark makeover by visiting this fabulous link:
http://www.sp-studio.de/
If you do it at work, and if you sit in the shit cube, and by shit cube I mean the one that is positioned just so every single moron who strolls past your cube can see what’s on your screen, just try creating a southpark character of yourself w/out looking like a total ass. I bet you can’t. But given that I have one week left here and my report is pretty much done, I really don’t care. Nope, I don’t.
A coupla things about this SP thing though: 1) Sauj, plz thank your friend Alice, I located this link via her blog. 2) I didn’t really want to have the angel wings or the earrings or the paint supplies or the ice cream for that matter, but I was experimenting w/ my character, and then when I clicked those options I couldn’t unclick. So I’m stuck totally over-accessorized, and I really hate over-accessorizing. It’s so unnecessary.
Anyway, made me laugh. You know what else is funny? There is this showerhead that Brian ordered (we’re doing mad showerhead research up in these parts, competitors, beware) and the motto on the package is “The Art of the Shower.” It’s in Spanish and French, too. You wanna know the French translation? “L’arte de la douche.” Douche! The art of the douche!!! That is very funny. Verrrrry funny.
How bout another uncomfortable word: panties. People do NOT like this word. I take that back. Someone I know does. And this person seems to think other people might too. Curious? Are you? Have a read over the explanation. Not curious? No? Well I don’t like you either you big herb.
…
me: duh. it's just odd. she didn't know my last name y-day, today we're all talking about the queerbait panties you can buy.
Friend: seriously, you need to not say queerbait. you know, i like the word "panties". i'm not sure why. well, i can guess why, but i never really thought about it
me: sorry can't help it. you must be the only human being who likes the word panties. i hate it.
friend: i bet you most guys, if they thought about it, like the word panties
me: why?
friend: well first, because it only refers to women's underwear, there's nothing manly about it. and also because i think it's really hard to separate the word and the idea. i basically can't think about the word panties without automatically thinking about panties. and thinking about panties is fun.
me: whatever works for you man.
friend: oh, as always, this is all off the record
me: of course it is.
Oh, and for the record. Plz stop sending me communications related to “my last day.” Or, for that matter, related to YOUR last days. B/c It’s NOT my last day motards. I have another week. And I’m bitter. So don’t rub it in. It hurts.
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