Sunday, May 13, 2012
It's Mommy Day in Vegas
It's Mommy Day. I slept till 8, enjoyed a quiet coffee on the deck, watched the mini-people (my kids) race through an an obstacle course in the yard, and caught up on my own blog. Very fun day. And it's only 9:30! Mom is here to visit, which means the kids are in Vegas. Actually, it means we're all in Vegas. She treats every day like a vacation, which is awesome when you're 2...and 3. It's not so awesome when you're pushing 40 and trying to shed the last glimpse of baby weight. But hell, life is short. Today we're hitting up a buffet at a nearby hotel (see....Vegas) and I plan to eat at least 3 homemade donuts and one of their famous egg white, spinach and feta omlettes. The egg whites are in the mix because they taste good when doused with feta. Not because of the nutritional value. Only live once.
My brother came by last night to join us for dinner. He brought me 2 scratch tickets. Before you rush to judgement here, you should know that they were $10 tickets (woah) and that i had (note passed tense) a little gaming habit a few weeks back. Remember that outrageous MegaMillions jackpot about a month ago? Well, former-colleague-so-&-so convinced me that I should buy one. "Only takes one" he says, just before revealing that he spends $10 on numbers games every week. I could not believe my ears (or eyes, since this revelation was delivered via email). I did what all weak-minded teens would do and I told myself "if he does it, so should I.". And that MegaMillions ticket proved to be the gateway drug that Mom warned me about. I won $9. I spent $8. Most people would see this as a $1 win, but not a weak minded teen. I rolled the $8 "profit" into some other games, then stayed up half the night cursing that the lottery pulls are no longer televised (budget cuts, I have since learned), but that the website isn't updated in real time. The first night this seemed like an outrage. How does the public stand for this?, I thought. Then I slept for a few hours and it became clear that most members of the public are not degenerate gamblers like me. long story short, I schlepped to the corner store three or four times over the next two weeks for more entries. Thankfully, I never won. Case closed. The gaming addiction became more work than fun. If someone can show me a mother in hot pursuit of more work, I'll consider buying another ticket. In the meantime, Im rehabilitated. Good thing I lost on the Mothers Day scratchies.
Now, i mentioned catching up on my own blog. I love reading my own blog posts. Why is this fun, you ask? Because I like finding mentions of Alan Thicke when i'm meaning to reference Peter Funt (of Candid Camera, of course). While the hell would I be looking for Alan Thicke or thinking about Growing Pains when finding myself in a puzzling state of coincidence? I'm sure these random mistakes leave my reader (note singular) scratching their head, but my re-reading them, only to realize that I've repeated that verbally 30 times in the last week (thinking myself especially clever of course) just makes me laugh.
Off to the buffet. Only. Live. Once.
Happy Mommy Day!
Thursday, May 3, 2012
This has been a brutal week (yes, again). However, I am doing my best not to complain because Thursday is actually my Friday. So here's my best attempt at not complaining.
I spent this week running from building to building all across this fine City. Far too much exercise for me. I seemed to step off of every staircase at the exact moment that the skies opened up and started to downpour. I spent the week looking like a drowned rat in heels. The only thing good about this picture is that I wasn't wearing flats. Phew!
I don't even own an umbrella. I think I had a Coach umbrella once, but since I spend most days trying not to go outside, I have no idea where it could be. Which is probably for the best. I nearly took out an eye when I borrowed one from a colleague this week. The metal spear came out of its doo-hickey-holder and poked some woman in the face. Whoopsie. I could have been sued and wound up soaked anyway. See! Umbrellas are so not worth it.
Socks on the other hand...Socks are worth it. I am apparently too lazy to slip into some trouser socks during my morning routine and now every toe on both feet (um, that would be all 10) are blistered to the high heaven. The bottoms of each foot are covered with giant blisters. Gorgeous additions to the orange spray tanned corns that I've been sporting since last week. Why exactly did spray tanning seem like a good idea? Who knows. But it's time to work trouser socks back into the morning routine. Maybe I can swap out something else to make room. Teeth brushing? Hair combing? Eyeliner application? I'll figure this out sooner or later.
I am a gem. It's remarkable that Husband hasn't left me yet. After today's two giant slices of cake, my ass is likely to blow up to be the size of Texas by morning. Now that is sure to be his last straw. I should start packing.
Hopefully this rain will stop soon so I can go back to the hot rollered Farrah-Fawcett-wannabe that he signed up for. Like he bought me at a silent auction or something. Ha. He wishes. It would have been cheaper than dating me, I'm sure of that.
It's time to call it a week.
I spent this week running from building to building all across this fine City. Far too much exercise for me. I seemed to step off of every staircase at the exact moment that the skies opened up and started to downpour. I spent the week looking like a drowned rat in heels. The only thing good about this picture is that I wasn't wearing flats. Phew!
I don't even own an umbrella. I think I had a Coach umbrella once, but since I spend most days trying not to go outside, I have no idea where it could be. Which is probably for the best. I nearly took out an eye when I borrowed one from a colleague this week. The metal spear came out of its doo-hickey-holder and poked some woman in the face. Whoopsie. I could have been sued and wound up soaked anyway. See! Umbrellas are so not worth it.
Socks on the other hand...Socks are worth it. I am apparently too lazy to slip into some trouser socks during my morning routine and now every toe on both feet (um, that would be all 10) are blistered to the high heaven. The bottoms of each foot are covered with giant blisters. Gorgeous additions to the orange spray tanned corns that I've been sporting since last week. Why exactly did spray tanning seem like a good idea? Who knows. But it's time to work trouser socks back into the morning routine. Maybe I can swap out something else to make room. Teeth brushing? Hair combing? Eyeliner application? I'll figure this out sooner or later.
I am a gem. It's remarkable that Husband hasn't left me yet. After today's two giant slices of cake, my ass is likely to blow up to be the size of Texas by morning. Now that is sure to be his last straw. I should start packing.
Hopefully this rain will stop soon so I can go back to the hot rollered Farrah-Fawcett-wannabe that he signed up for. Like he bought me at a silent auction or something. Ha. He wishes. It would have been cheaper than dating me, I'm sure of that.
It's time to call it a week.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
The Price of Good Health & Sanity
I am being stalked by a team of 7 loud talkers. It's true. It started at 11:00 am when they entered my downward bound elevator on Floor 17 and all started shouting at each other at once. It was very similar to watching an episode of Animal Planet. I am confident that they were speaking in my native tongue, but the sound-barrier-breaking pitches were prohibiting me from translating the words. This is a common tactic used by stalking operatives to throw off their victims. Picture a group of 7 middle-aged, frumpily-dressed folks close-talking in a tight herd at the loudest register feasible for the human body. In fact, they may have broken loudness records.
I was excited when the elevator landed at 1 and the doors opened. However the herd stopped immediately in front of the elevator doors so I couldn't get out. Another common tactic to trap their victim in a confined space. Panic started to set in and I thought momentarily about taking another ride up in this same elevator car just to make the noise stop (a form of torture, ya know), but I was on a tight schedule...so I busted through the herd and made my way toward the fresh air. Ahhhh...free!
After my appointment in a neighboring building, I had all but forgotten about the stalking heard. But then I ran into them again in the hallway. What are the odds of that? Pretty good for stalkers. They were still traveling in a tightly packed herd and shouting at very high pitches. I'll give it to them, they are remarkably fast walkers (except when near elevators). I got past them and again retreated to the solace of open air. Ahhh.
Once outside, I stopped for a very brief chat with a former colleague on the sidewalk. I couldn't believe my eyes when the same herd appeared on the sidewalk in front of me and was headed in my direction. How was this even possible? I began looking around for Alan Thicke. I swear that some of them were frothing around the mouth. Could these be signs of an unfortunate addiction to speed? Or an outbreak of rabies in my building? Judging by the crap flying out of the radiator vents in my office, it's likely the latter.
I'm back on the 21st floor on lock down in my office now and feeling a little more safe and secure. Though I'm taking shallow breaths to avoid contracting whatever illness is being spread by these damn radiators. The near-death experience has got me plotting my departure from this job - for safety sake of course. Who can risk getting infected by rabies laden loud talkers? That's a career killer if I've ever seen one. Forget about low cut blouses and too much perfume.
It looks like my quitting will involve a yard sale to resell all of my family's material goods and sentimental items, joining CouponSuzy and cancelling cable tv (I know Bravo, this hurts me too). This sounds extreme, but can you really put a price on good health and sanity? For the record: Husband is not buying that one either.
I was excited when the elevator landed at 1 and the doors opened. However the herd stopped immediately in front of the elevator doors so I couldn't get out. Another common tactic to trap their victim in a confined space. Panic started to set in and I thought momentarily about taking another ride up in this same elevator car just to make the noise stop (a form of torture, ya know), but I was on a tight schedule...so I busted through the herd and made my way toward the fresh air. Ahhhh...free!
After my appointment in a neighboring building, I had all but forgotten about the stalking heard. But then I ran into them again in the hallway. What are the odds of that? Pretty good for stalkers. They were still traveling in a tightly packed herd and shouting at very high pitches. I'll give it to them, they are remarkably fast walkers (except when near elevators). I got past them and again retreated to the solace of open air. Ahhh.
Once outside, I stopped for a very brief chat with a former colleague on the sidewalk. I couldn't believe my eyes when the same herd appeared on the sidewalk in front of me and was headed in my direction. How was this even possible? I began looking around for Alan Thicke. I swear that some of them were frothing around the mouth. Could these be signs of an unfortunate addiction to speed? Or an outbreak of rabies in my building? Judging by the crap flying out of the radiator vents in my office, it's likely the latter.
I'm back on the 21st floor on lock down in my office now and feeling a little more safe and secure. Though I'm taking shallow breaths to avoid contracting whatever illness is being spread by these damn radiators. The near-death experience has got me plotting my departure from this job - for safety sake of course. Who can risk getting infected by rabies laden loud talkers? That's a career killer if I've ever seen one. Forget about low cut blouses and too much perfume.
It looks like my quitting will involve a yard sale to resell all of my family's material goods and sentimental items, joining CouponSuzy and cancelling cable tv (I know Bravo, this hurts me too). This sounds extreme, but can you really put a price on good health and sanity? For the record: Husband is not buying that one either.
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