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Wednesday, November 30, 2005


"I have diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to fourteen." ~Abd-El-Raham

Perhaps because I’m wearing Uggs, feet up flipping between Ellen and The Company. Or perhaps I encountered an estrogen surrounded Supreme Court on the way to the office. Ladies laden in pink t-shirts saying “Keep Abortion Legal”-it always brings a smile to my face. Or maybe because I’ve been made aware that there is a bottle of bourbon spiked egg nog with my name on it. Or, the kick ass peanut butter chocolate chip cookies I made. Oh my, I’m a domestic diva. Whatever it is, there is a little bounce in my step this morning.
I’m sitting here with my coffee, catching up on reading the NYT and WaPo (I’ve never denied being a flaming liberal). Then on to making the Christmas list that Peg and el padre have requested (and I have no shame-it will be posted). Loving the fact that when there aren’t 150 people swarming about, I can actually take time to think and coherently do work. Not to mention, Uggs-no matter how fugly- make comfy feet and comfy feet are conducive to a comfy work environment.

Edit to add: I'm now watching Law & Order (the best show ever in life) and I'm having a really difficult time, not imagining Jesse Martin telling Sam Waterston that he'll cover him in 1,000 sweet kisses or that he'd die without him, or that he'd like to go to Santa Fe.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

It feels good...

It's great when someone points out a mistake, which really is fine, that's not the concern. The concern comes in when one points out a mistake to me, and then cc's 145 other people on the email. Because my favorite is having 14 people point out one (tiny) mistake.

Thank God I've never claimed to be perfect. Set the bar low, I say.

Lost and Found

"There are truths on this side of the Pyranees, which are falsehoods on the other. " ~Blaise Pascal

I’ve lost my social security card and my birth certificate. I’ve been in denial about losing both at the same time, but they’re really missing. Though I remember getting them both back a year ago from the Spanish embassy when I got my Visa. And don’t be a Peg and give me shit about not having known where the keys to my identity have been for almost a year. I mean, I still have my passport and my (old) license. Imagine if I had lost either of those; I’d be stuck sober for weeks. That’s a bigger fear than someone possibly having my social security card. At least I can drink myself into a stupor to take my mind off of it. I’ve been going on a rampage (for the past four days) of looking for them. And on the way, I found my map of Amsterdam, that I used to get from Anne Frank’s House back to my hotel, my plane tickets to Morocco, Amsterdam and Barcelona, and my guides to Lisbon and Fatima. While losing my social security card and birth certificate are shitty, they’re replaceable; losing a map to the cheapest and/or best coffee shop* in Amsterdam is not. And that my friends, is called putting things in perspective.

*Yup. Coffee Shop. Oh like you wouldn't go if you had the chance...Whatever.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Diaries of a Misanthrope

"Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone. " ~Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now

It’s funny now, not just because it’s true, but because I’ve learned to appreciate it. The truth is that through the end of elementary school through the 8th grade, I was not the most popular person in the world. Frankly, friends were minimal. I was that annoying girl who talked way too fucking much and religiously shopped at Old Navy unaware that there was such thing as Gap. It was sad really. I wore vests and played the clarinet. I was shunned by the “popular” girls, who I’ve come to determine were nothing but a bunch of bitchy whores (nearing pretentious cunt-dom, but I won’t go that far).I wish I were kidding, but no, they were whores. As a matter of fact one is now the proud owner of a four year old. But I digress. I had no friends, everyone made fun of me and of course it was a complete shit time, but I learned to amuse myself and spend time alone. A quality that came in handy I would say. I learned to have no interest in hanging out with people who so obviously disliked me and made it a point to not go out of my way to be nice to them. By high school, I had friends and had gained some modicum of popularity, but by then I was perfectly content with not forcing myself to be friends with people and just letting it go.

Fast forward to now, a time of alcohol and holy motherfucker, real life friends. What is a xenophobic misanthrope to do? I’m perfectly content being alone (thus the reason for why my pastimes include golf, kayaking, blogging and grocery shopping-no one else is involved). When I had my studio apartment, you couldn’t have paid me enough to come out and actually fraternize with other human beings. Those motherfuckers can be hurtful and mean and well I just don’t like to get dressed. There were weekends, where I’d stay in the entire time that is until LB forced me to come out, but that had to be something I was notified of well in advance and even then the prospect of me coming out was slim to none. Now that I have actual friends, when they call I am expected to call back. When I am invited out, I am expected to attend or at least call/IM to say whether or not I will be attending. While home this past weekend, I had the most difficult time leaving the house for the most part. People wanted me to come see apartments and go downtown to Albany and I was more than content to stay in and get my fill of Spike Lee Joints. All of this while G went out every night and came home every morning with a hangover. Yes, there might be something wrong with me, I don’t like people, especially people who spent the better part of my adolescence calling me names; but I suppose now it might be a little easier with a vodka tonic in hand.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

How to have sex on an ibook

...tell me, in less than 4 1/2 minutes, that I do indeed have a warranty on my ipod and then order me a new one and tell me that it will be in on monday. MONDAY. I might kiss you or possibly have sex with you somewhere near the G5s. What can I say? I'm easy.

Now if only I could get someone to purchase me a new laptop and digital camera. I most certainly wouldn't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind...all over Best Buy that is.


"You can never go home again, but the truth is, you can never leave home, so it's alright"-Maya Angelou

I find that there's nothing more miserable than fighting off a cold. The sniffles aren't a valid excuse for taking a day off of work, and anyway, I'd end up saying to myself "it's only a cold" and exsercising my right to prance around Georgetown for a day. Nope, there will be none of that. Just a lot of me sniffling my way through the remainder of the weekend. Now combine that cold with snow, and you've got a lovely winter here in the capital of the great state of New York.
It's snowing, I have a cold, and I found out the hard way that we don't have a corkscrew in the house. I came thisclose to opening a bottle of wine with my teeth last night. Though despite this trifecta of catastrophic things-right up there with famine, war, and poverty-I feel good. Yup, it's cold, but that's upstate New York for you. A place where four wheel drive is a necessity (thus the fleet of jeeps in my driveway) and where wearing uggs is highly recommended, because holy hell it's cold. A place where no matter what, my mommy still takes care of me, as she made sure all of my cashmere had been dry cleaned and found the receipt with the warranty for my ipod, so I suppose I can forgive the lack of cork screw. I still have my friends and Friendly's and a brother who lets me hug him even though he's 14 times my size and a mother who never lets me hug her but does keep a Precor elliptical machine in the basement and a four year old cousin who can (and will) harlem shake upon request. And that my friends is what going home is all about. Now I'm off to clean off the car. Welcome home.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Who needs alcohol when you've got this?

Peg: I think I'm going to go to Martha's Vineyard tomorrow and then stay overnight

Me: oooh then we can have a party

G: yeah, we can have a party. You clean up the basement. Mom, you'd be really proud of the parties I throw.

Peg: Like that time I found all those beer cans in your room under your bed? And then up on the roof?

G: what cans?

Peg: that time you got mad at me for cleaning your room and I found all that beer...

G: That was last Christmas, and it wasn't from a party. That was from me, Eli, Jack and Jay.

Peg: And y'all had condoms...


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Holiday Help for Asshats:The Stuffing Edition

Dearest Asshat,

You know I love ya right (wayyy deep down inside)? And in the spirit of the holidays and giving, I figured now would be the perfect time to let you in on a little secret, sometimes, no all the time, you fucking suck. I suppose I’ll be nice and tell you about this before you delve further into asshole-dom (or dumbwhore-dom if you’re a female).

Let’s start off with most recently, today that is. The Acela being booked and all meant no quiet car, which, ok fine, I can deal, but since you had been seated in the quiet car prior to it being announced that it would not be a quiet car, means that you probably sat there on purpose. Which means, that most of the people seated in there, were there because they like QUIET. Say it with me now, QUIET. That means shut the fuck up you haggard bitch, because in reality, I do not want to hear about how hungover you are after being forced to drink by “Suave”. I don’t want to hear about it when you tell your mom, Rosemary, your friend Heather, your cousin’s best friend bob, or your Uncle Charlie over at the VA hospital. Really, I don’t care. The same goes for you, woman with the stringy hair who had to call 18 different places in order to find the right number for Marietta; your hairdresser to tell her that you are on the fucking train. I don’t care and I doubt that Marietta cares either.

Moving on now…

To yesterday when you and your cronies saw me walking towards you and instead of moving to one side of the street you all decided to block me as I was walking. I know that you’re in a rush to get to your totally awesome Legislative Assistant jobs on the Hill and write a million and ten constituency letters about why we can’t pull out of Iraq, but seriously, move the fuck out the way. Or next time I’m going to have to punch you then steal your blackberry and you’ll have to explain to the Congressman why your blackberry was found in the Longworth Building toilets.

And then there are the kind words that come from you while I’m running or randomly walking in my running clothes through union station. Here’s a hint, ways to not pick up women…yelling out “Shake it ma”. Also beeping your horn while I’m trying to avoid getting run over. Just don’t do it. Don’t call me “ma”, don’t yell “hey baby”, don’t beep. Don’t do anything, just let me run and/or walk without the added commentary of how great my ass looks.

Lastly, I wouldn’t want you to think that all asshats are strangers, there’s also my younger brother:

HB: I bet you can’t wait to see me
G: I bet I can

There’s true love to be shared around this holiday season. Can you feel it? Asshat, try to heed these words.
Now go forth and enjoy your Thanksgiving and be thankful that I haven’t punched you in the face yet.

Peace motherfuckers,

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Petulent Child

"You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you. " ~Walt Disney

I have a problem. A minor problem until today and only today because this is something that has been bothering me for awhile. But now I must do something about this problem because I might flip the fuck out. That would be bad. I’ve also been told that dealing with this problem would make me more of an adult. I’d rather be a child. Naptimes and all. Sadly though, this problem falls under the purview of things that I could never tell you people about even though I really really want to. And in reality only three things fall under that category.

I am thankful for my $140 an hour therapist. And I am also thankful for Blue Cross/ Blue Shield for covering it. I’m thankful for the Acela and that it will be whisking me away from here. I am also thankful that my mother didn’t break my legs off when she found out I charged my Acela ticket to her credit card. Thankful that there will be stuffing and wine and a much needed break from this bullshit. And most importantly thankful that I do not refer to Albany as 518, the 518,, the Gspot or any other ridiculous name. Because seriously.

Ok I lied. Not only am I a petulent child, or at least have been led to believe that I am such, I am also chicken shit and I will not be dealing with this problem today. Right now, suffering in silence seems like a much better option and no longer will I bother others with this problem. The end.

Now, go thank your first blogger!

Happy Thank Your First Commenter Day

Subtitled: Neil is awesome for giving me something to write about while I think of something clever…therefore this post may be up for a very long time, cause the hits, they’re not coming.

The lovely Neil, in a way to bring together Thanksgiving and Blogging, has thought of Thank Your First Commenter Day, as a way to give thanks to the first person who commented on your blog. How many of us really think about the first person who noticed us and said “hey”? Do you even still acknowledge your first commenter’s presence? Or have they since long gone and left the blogosphere, never to return again?

My first commenter was way back in August* (cause you know August was so freaking long ago, where oh where has the time gone?) by Lady Natasha. The sad thing is though, that I’ve since seen Natasha’s name once or twice around blog world and have only read her blog once, the day she commented. So, me, being the nice person that I am, would like to thank Lady Natasha for the following comment:

Wow, what a great blog- - I’m definitely bookmarking you!
Best wishes,

It really was a very nice comment on my very young blog that has since become the one of the coolest places to be, right up there with Riker’s Island. In all seriousness, thank you Natasha for being my first commenter** and giving this little blog of mine hope.

Now if you too have nothing to post and/or are feeling nice and would like to thank your first commenter, you may participate as well in just four easy steps:

1. Go into your archives and find the first person who ever commented on your blog.
2. Copy the URL and a special thank-you message — and post it either in my comments OR on your own site.
3. If you don’t have any comments yet, don’t feel like a loser. Did the Pilgrims give up? Of course not. They just stole from the Indians. Just write a comment here at "No Pasa Nada" about how much of a loser you are and pretty soon, everyone will come to you, showing pity. In this competitive blogging world, you have to use whatever works.
4. Happy "Thank Your First Commenter Day!"

*If you read that post and then make fun of me, I’ll have to drop kick your ass
** for the record my second commenter was some girl named Lizzie. No clue what happened to her though. Never read her blog either.

Monday, November 21, 2005


It’s been hard to forget (or bleach from my mind) our cheerleading halftime show to Boot Scoot and Boogie and that I had to be in the front doing a fucking split at competition.

“Yeah, heel, toe, docie doe come on baby let's go boot scootinCadilac black jack, baby meet me outback we're gonna boogieOh get down, turn around go to town boot scootin' boogie”

I kid you not, I chose to heel toe docie doe my way through the fifth grade as a member of the Broncos Pop Warner football cheerleading squad. It blew. It blew like a 16 year old girl on prom night. Nothing says kill me now like being in a tiny skirt in November in upstate New York. The only plus were the football hotdogs and hot chocolate and the DC Pizza. Thankfully I had the right mind to quit cheerleading and go into soccer, but many of my friends remained on the job. For example the lovely Mo C who became captain of the varsity cheerleading squad and dated the captain of the football team. I was most proud when she was named Homecoming queen. All of this is shocking I know, but very true.

This isn’t about cheerleading though; well actually it is about a form of cheerleading. As stupid as it all sounds, everyone needs a little morale. Just a little something to keep them going when the shit hits the fan and the score is 36-0 and your quarterback has just been sacked. Everyone just needs someone to listen and cheer them on when the bad stuff happens, even if is your own fault. I hate being sappy more than anything on earth, but having a blog about this, the most shittiest year ever (even worse than the cheerleading year, because at least then I was 10 years old and wasn’t forced to use my own money for anything except for candy), has been quite the therapeutic little undertaking, and considerably cheaper I might add. I don’t know if all of this quarter life neurotic nonsense is normal or not. And I really don’t care, because each and every time I have an inane complaint, you all come up with a comment saying “Yup, been there done that, but it gets better” and if it doesn’t get better, then there’s always alcohol.

So when Random House comes at me with a book offer to write a novella about the most craptastic year ever; I’ll make sure that y’all get a “Holla” on the first page.

Friday, November 18, 2005


"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

...No instead we'll begin with the fact that I've just discovered that my pimp name is (drumroll please) Deacon Dr. H Wicked. Word.

…Let’s begin with the chick walking down Constitution today with her winter coat, Uggs and (wait for it) white linen skirt. Because obviously it’s not November and 45 mother fucking degrees outside. Nope, nice and warm here in our nation’s capital. I wanted to reach out to her and say “Honey, not everyone can be Sienna Miller”. Poor girl.

…Now let’s say you’re a 25 almost 26 year old, only child, who recently lost a job, but then found a new one, and spent all of your money on drinks instead of the electric bill…would you be walking around (at damn near 30) acting like a seven year old and barking at the lovely Zen filled happy person that is your roommate? Or giving your roommate the silent treatment? I’m just wondering if this happens to all people once they get close to 30 or if I’m just really this fortunate to have this extra special person to myself.

…Let’s also say that at random your one year old cell phone keeps randomly powering off and saying that there’s a battery problem, even though you charged the fucking phone last night. So now you are forced to drive to umm Rockville or some crazy shit like that in order to get it fixed.

…And how about being treated like an inept retard everyday, but thankfully you’ve finally gotten over people and their inability to act like human beings. It’s weird, because there was a time when I would’ve gotten all upset but now I kind of just look at people while they’re freaking out and say “ok” then walk away and kind of laugh about it later, because seriously people, nothing is ever that serious.

…Then there’s rampant simony and nepotism and well that’s never something that you can do about that

…And finally, suppose that you have an awesome mother who suggests coming down to beat up the person that you abhor, but since that is illegal in 50 states and the District of Columbia, she suggests a VooDoo doll. She’ll supply the pins.

And this kids, is a reason for why Bitches are Whack. Happy Friday and Happy Weekend.


"Hatred is one long wait." ~René Maran

It was in March, when Garrett told me about Jon’s death. He had been in a car accident in Guilderland. Jon and I had grown up together. I became ever the tomboy when I was around him. Hats and bikes and watching ‘It’. It was Jon who had come up with calling Garrett ‘G’, which he has been called ever since. In seventh grade, Jon was the one who had come up with a God awful name to call me; a name that to this day, 11 years later, I cannot bear to say out loud. Everyone in school called me by this name and for a good year, all I could do was wish that something terrible would happen to him. Not enough to kill him but so that he would go away. I even wished death upon myself. So when he died, I was unable to feel as bad as Garrett did. Shocked? Yes, very. But I knew what I had left behind and he was apart of what I had left. I was ok now, successful for a 21 year old and traveling in Spain. I had gone to a good university and I have always been determined to leave home at home, so instead of crying and being upset that someone my age, whom I had been quite close with, had just died in a terrible accident, I went to see Real Madrid play.

I had never hated someone with such vehemence before. It’s said that it takes more energy to hate someone than to like them, but when someone makes you so miserable that you become physically ill, then there’s a problem. One of my flaws is the amount to which I allow someone to hurt me and make me miserable. It’s come to a point with one person, that I hate this person, to the point where once again, I often hope that s/he will never return, not dead necessarily, but maimed. When I realized how incredibly much I hated this person, I searched to find another person whom I had hated just as much. Jon. Speaking to my mother about it, I told her how much I had hated Jon. He made seventh grade feel like the longest year ever, but obviously I survived it and we both grew out of our 11 year old psyches.

Six months after graduation, I have come to the sad realization that this will be the longest year ever and that though there is someone that I hate, I’ll get through it.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

The Not Quite Quarter Life Crisis

“Who doesn’t want a shortcut to greatness?”-The Contender

Subtitled: holy hell maybe I should have a plan so that I don’t end up finding myself at 34 and losing all ability to buy Tiffany’s and Coach.

There’s either rush to get it or procrastinate the hell out of everything to the point where I’ve fucked myself about 45 times. No happy gray in-between area where I can let things go. Nope. Just go 85mph or put on the brakes. I’m not sure if it’s genetic or not, but that’s how I am and I have to just deal I suppose. How many days can I sit and go on about how slowly everything is going right now? I’m boring myself to bits and what I really need to do is lay out my plans. Even though the best laid plans get blown the fuck up, I like to at least have a reference point. A focus point if you will, so that when the pain gets to me, I’ll have my eyes on the prize. It’s nice to finally have things in place for me to focus on. Like property* and a Prius.

My being goal oriented is nothing new. When I decided to move to DC at the tender age of 11-the same age at which I realized that Congress may quite possibly the coolest thing ever (yeah I said it)-I then began to research school that I would send my ‘yet to be conceived because there was yet to be even remote signs of menstruation’ children to in 30 years. For the record it’s a toss up between Georgetown Day School and Sidwell as I’ve found that Visitation and NCS kids are too fucking obnoxious when it comes to getting their Chipotle. But I’ve digressed; the point is that I’ve been feeling the sting that is, what will be next and I need to be able to plan accordingly. I can’t go around spending frivolously anymore without nary a dollar saved because the padres aren’t to keen on getting “Pretty please I need money” phone calls anymore and then having to save my ass. It’s not fair to them nor is it fair to me to be broke all the time. It leads to uneasiness and a very hurt jaw; I’d prefer to be at ease and not eating puréed vegetables, thank you very much.

I enjoy stability. I enjoy knowing what is going to come next and even if what I had planned to come next doesn’t happen, and then it’s usually because something better and more exciting came my way. And while I’ll never been absolutely sure about what will be next, I do know that this here kids, is the quarter life crises and it’s nice to know that the best is yet to come.

*holy hell, property. PROPERTY. Like a place to live in and establish a permanent residence that doesn’t involve disgruntle damn near 30 former only child roommates who act like they’re seven. Property! As in a mortgage and a hefty down payment. I think someone has replaced my actual brain with one of a real life adult. Motherfuckers.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Shared Pain*

"Going to work for a large company is like getting on a train. Are you going sixty miles an hour or is the train going sixty miles an hour and you're just sitting still?"-J Paul Getty

LK: yeah i mean work is work
LK: i really have no complaints except that being hung over in work clothes and trying to do work sucks
LK: you can't "skip" work like you could w/ class
LK: i feel like a robot like get up go to work
LK: everyday you know
HB: oh I know
LK: haha
HB: trust me I know
LK: but this is what everyone does
LK: unless you want to waitress or something and not eat
LK: well i guess you'd be fed
LK: but not have any nice clothes
LK: and no drinking money

*Holy prolific one batman! This is my 100th post. Ok I'm done with the whole blogging thing now. The end.
Yeah, you got a little hopeful just then didn't you...? Too bad.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Where Snark Rules

"Boredom is an emptiness filled with insistence. " ~Leo Stein

It’s really fucking difficult to be on the phone making an appointment, while fielding IM’s from JB about whether or not I have the wrong bra size (which, for the record, I do), while trying to watch Oprah to figure out how to get my best bra and jean size, while looking at Nordstrom to make an appointment with a bra specialist, while looking at the jeans on Nordstrom, while fielding phone calls from my mother about going home for Happy Stuffing Day (fuck the turkey I want the stuffing), while dealing with a mentally deficient woman on the other end of the phone who thinks I’m speaking too fast, while fielding a phone call from the woman I’m supposed to baby-sit for tomorrow night, while attempting to figure out whether or not it would be beneficial to my dear readers to read about my lack of multitasking talents.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled blog reading…

It would be one thing if I were having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, but I’m not. Nevertheless I feel like being a bitch. I pulled a “drive by” comment today, just because I could and I felt like being mean. What the fuck is up with that? I feel like writing so much but I can’t. I feel like I might have a fucking seizure if these damn fire alarm lights don’t stop. I wish there was something I could put my finger on. Something to hold and say “Look! You see this? It’s pissing me off. Now take it away.” But alas not. There’s something hurting me, but I don’t know what it is or where it’s come from. General stress perhaps? But there’s nothing to be stressed about. Everything is just going smoothly, but then again, I always want more. I’m not going to play “This is the End” and try to convince people to beg me to write something, because this was never about other people. It’s always been about me-Where Narcissism Rules. It’s strange, I know what I want but I can’t get to it fast enough. But right now I have what I wanted before, but on to the next step. Let’s fast forward shall we? It’s always been ‘well? What now?’ And now it’s ‘well? When can I have it?’ Something good is going to come, I can feel that through the craptastic crap (which isn’t really) of my life right now. It’s like knowing that Christmas is going to be here soon, but it doesn’t come fast enough. I’ll just sit and be snarky for the rest of the day, because it’s comforting to know that tomorrow will be a new one. It’s times like this where not just snark rules, but boredom* rules the roost. I’m tempted to change my hair or get another tattoo or piercing.

edit to add: as I write this, my coworkers are doing a motherfucking Operetta. I write this not for you all, but for me to remember this and use as blackmail on them later.

*where are my blog recommendations people? I know you don’t want me to find new blogs to read, but I must, it’s inevitable. We all knew this day would come. And I feel compelled to share the Heather B. love. And no I’m not bored with you all, but there has to be a blog or two or 20,000 that I’ve never read.

Monday, November 14, 2005

About a Monday

…I had an Instant messenger disgruntle argument with my roommate who told me to relax when I asked him politely through instant messenger if he would rather me send in the pepco bill. Relax. Because obviously you can tell the tone of my voice through IM. Apparently one can now feel snark through cyber space.

…My coworker told me that I look better and like I’m in a better place. That’s what losing seven lbs. does to you bitches. Not only was that a very nice comment, but just what I needed in replace of dealing with asshats all day everyday. For the record, by "asshats" I do not mean those that I work with but with the general population of planet earth.

...I almost forgot to mention, I too need to expand my blog horizons (a la Lizzie). It's not that I want to leave all you pretty people but how many times can I read about the Blinding Glare of the Obvious in one day (which, for the record, is about 347 times a day. yeah, whatever I'm a stalker). So give me ideas people...I need new material to feed off of, new people to stalk.

Lead Me Not Into Temptation

"Most people want to be delivered from temptation but would like it to keep in touch. "~Robert Orben

…to sit at my computer and will people to update their blogs or to develop a method to read blogs through osmosis because I have a headache and all this scrolling is going to make me throw up

…to punch and/or trip and/or swear at the gaggle of 16 year olds who ran into the H & M on 5th screaming at the top of their lungs “OH MY GAWWWWD! IT’S SO FREAKING HUGE”. It’s a store ladies, not a penis. Let it go. announce to everyone that when Oprah started I was the ripe old age of two. Two. damn.

…to give my roommate the evil eye when he tells me he didn’t pay the Pepco bill because I didn’t give him the check. A) I left it on the refridgerator B) If I was waiting on a check from someone and didn’t get it on time, I would have probably called that person and said where the fuck is my money dumbass. But no, he didn’t, so now our Pepco bill is late for the second time in a row.

…to eat the bowl of chocolate covered pretzels sitting in front of our office suite. Because I totally will

…to question another’s motives for being hateful fuckers who can kiss my ass

…to cry when all I want to do is here the Scientist and I can’t because stupid ass ipod

…to complain about my ipod once again, because it’s getting annoying for the people that have to read about me bitching about my ipod. But maybe I would stop if my parents would buy me a knew one. Then again, there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than me getting a new ipod before Christmas.

…to spend the very last play money that I have on Marah, Kanye and Oscar Wilde (I think ‘eclectic’ is the word you’re looking for here).

…to weigh myself yet again, because I really do not need to know if it’s 7lbs I’ve lost or 7.5

…to bitch slap my friends from home specifically the one who makes $40,000 working for KPMG and lives with her parents, but still complains. I wish I could live with my parents and make $40,000 to spend on an Xterra and/or new Dior sunglasses.

…to post that Rachel (you all remember Rachel) said that she has a fall out shelter in her basement to protect her from terrorists and/or natural events…but a fall out shelter wouldn’t protect anyone from the second coming of the Lord. One day I will tape record the shit she says, so we can all do a little collective eye rolling/laughing.

…to say “Will Update this later bitches” because calling my readers “bitches” will tempt them to not be my readers

…to write a list in replace of actual sentence structure because I’m lazy like that

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Follow Directions

"We're still not where we're going, but we're not where we were." ~Natash Jasefowitz

What drives us to do the things that we do? Are people that are not driven, just afraid of failure? If they don’t become as successful as they had hoped and dreamed, then they might be disappointed. Without a goal or something to look forward to, they will never experience the act of failure or the sadness that comes with disappointment.

Rachel quit her well paying job at Verizon to go back to school to become a doctor- "go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've always imagined". She’s 34. Six figures gone, just like that. Today she perused the Tiffany’s catalogue whimpering “look at the tea and creamer set. It’s only $750”. She went from buying me mikimotos and Tiffany’s to staying at home and spending her days watching Ellen and the View in between doing her Physics labs. God, I miss that life. The point is she gave up what she had as a tax accountant/auditor to do what she had been discouraged to do years before. She had wanted to attend Hampton University and become an OB/GYN but instead she attended St. John’s University and became an auditor. Yup the pay is good, but ummm, if you can name another good quality give me a ring.

Then there’s the ever gracious Stephanie Klein. No matter what one says about the girl, she’s doing what she’s always wanted to do. There’s that jealousy and envy-ok well I’ve sure as hell have been envious of her. She has this drive, determination and success that I only hope to have one day and has spent her entire life working towards this goal. I sought her out for advice and she was more than willing to help. And damn it she’s nice and sweet too.

Why can’t I have that? I’m comfortable with me and I know what I want, but I always feel like there’s something missing. I feel like I’m not pushing myself enough. I have goals. I guess I’m just impatient. I want things now, not in four years, but in four days. Yeah, we see where my impatience has gotten me. I was impatient to graduate and become an adult. Now I have rent due and $200 in savings and a busted ipod. Patience is a virtue my friends.

All in all, I needed this weekend for my cognitive diarrhea. To have a day alone perusing the city and shopping and seeing Stephanie-which was more like seeing an old friend-and to just think and not worry about having to run around and be here, there and everywhere.
I realize now that I was so excited to come to NY because I needed a weekend away.

And tomorrow I get four hours of me time. Time to think about how that massage yesterday was the most action I’ve gotten in a long long long time and that Monday is the end of a great run of Laguna (I'm tearing up a little as I write this-cause what will I do without LC, Kristen and Jason's dumbass to fill my days?). Yup, just me, a little Kanye, Cinnabon and the wonder of the Jersey turnpike.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

BAWF*: The Wednesday/Thursday Edition

"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

Subtitled: I’ve got a lot of random shit to say, and I’ll be sittin’ pretty in New York City (I rhymed. Awesome) this weekend, so there.

I’m having my first bit of cottage cheese ever. And then I threw up a little bit. You see I have an aversion to poison ivy, silver, and things that are chunky/worm like (linguine) going down my throat. Cottage cheese falls in the ‘things that are chunky’ category. I figured, “hey I’m an adult now, Cottage cheese is good for you”. No it just made me want to vomit. No more cottage cheese. Ever. The end.

This first bit of cottage cheese was had in the middle of an endless amount of work and oh my god I am drowning under excel spreadsheets. Yuck. I’m doing deep breathing exercises and thinking Prague. Pilsner Urquell. Being many many pounds lighter. Happy happy thoughts.

Your girl HB, has been doing some running and hasn’t had a Salt & Vinegar chip (which I miss, oh so very much) in about two weeks. This has led to weight loss. Give her a pat on the back. Go me.

Oh so, 30 seconds ago when I was lamenting on how much I despise Excel…yeah, I’m reneging on that one. What I dislike is my severe ineptness and that I spent an hour trying to figure something out, that really wasn’t all that complicated. This just in Heather B. DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO USE EXCEL.

So I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I am not all that competitive. But there are two areas where I am fiercely competitive: kayaking (I’ll kick your ass in a race), and elections. That said…I will give out my personal congratulations (cause you know they read this) to Governors Kaine and Corzine. Now I will skip along merrily and gloat, because I’m seven.

And finally...the city tomorrow. For some reason I don’t know why I am so excited about going. Maybe because it’s a long weekend and I’m getting new pants and frozen hot chocolate and spending time with my aunt and whew…that was a lot of reasons to be excited. Whatever, I’ll be in the city and away from DC. Thank God.

And I almost forgot about this. In my previous post, I wasn't saying that I am a celebrity because I am a blogger, but yes there are some bloggers who are "blogebrities". But I am not included in this category. I felt like I needed to say that, as there was some confusion.

Edit to Add: This morning, I drove to work, because I’m driving up to NY this evening. So I stop quickly and park, so that I can run and get my dry cleaning (I’ve been wearing the same pants for about three days. I figured it’s time for a change). Anyway, I get back to my car and change (in the middle of constitution avenue) and then head out. Now, the street that I’ve parked on, is one way and the continuation of this street on the other side of an intersection is a do not enter from 6:30 AM to 9:30 AM. You can see the motherfucking sign from 18 miles away. It’s giant and red and says DO NOT ENTER in bold letters. So I’m sitting at the light waiting to left and it turns green, but I must wait for the traffic coming towards me to make their turns before I can turn left. Because this is the way traffic works. Duh. So I’m sitting there and some motherfucking cock sucking bastard comes up behind me in his black ML 350 Benz with Virginia tags with a Virginia Tech license plate holder (if I see this asshole again, I’m running him over); and he starts beeping at me. I’m sitting there still waiting for the other cars to keep going, before I can turn and this asshole keeps beeping at me. Then he decides to speed up and pass me and screams out the window “What the fuck are you doing??” Then proceeds to speed forward into ON COMING TRAFFIC on a ONE WAY STREET. Because apparently he is blind and didn’t see the GIANT SIGN that said DO NOT ENTER 6:30 AM TO 9:30 AM (this was 8:15 AM). I’m like holy craptastic you’re about to die and just stared. Sadly (as I was hoping his stupid ass would get hit) he realized his error and reversed out of the one way street then passes me again and tells me to go fuck myself. Now here’s where my maturity kicks in…I scream out the window “It’s not my fault you’re retarded” and speed away.

Happy Thursday…(why is it always Thursdays when I have to deal with evil spawns of satan and asshats? I don’t get it)

Now VENT people, vent. Or just feel free to tell me how awesome I am.

*BAWF stands for Bitches are Whack Fridays. You can read the first installment here

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

The Fabulous Life of Bloggers

Subtitled: I really couldn’t think of a good title so I came up with that craptastic title above

There was a time, long long ago-ok, whatever, last week-when I hadn’t a care in the world as to how I looked walking around DC drunk and/or dressed like a bag lady who shops at Coach and Gap. The odds of seeing someone, I knew were pretty slim to none, and if I had, so what? They already knew me and knew that I was weird and sometimes I can’t dress myself. Then one day while traipsing around Bethesda, with a giant coffee stain on my shirt talking to myself, I thought of my blog and that people from the Blogosphere live and work in Bethesda and holy hell, what would I do if they saw me? While my blog isn’t anonymous, I have posted my picture once (if you had your picture taken with Alfre Woodward, who also resides on Wisteria Lane, you’d show that shit off as well), but still what if. I’m not all that popular in the blogosphere nor am I all that cool, but still I feared it. Lizzie, touched on this earlier, but more than anything, I fear meeting a possible “blogebrity” in the real world. Will I look good? Do I approach them? Is it the same as seeing a movie or television celebrity? Do you leave them alone?

Last week Amy emailed me (I had emailed her some time ago) asking if I could babysit. Could I say no? Umm no. Because come on now it’s the Queen of Everything*. So is one able to freak out when meeting an awesome blogger? Under most circumstances, I would have, but I didn’t. I was cool and we talked about her boobs and whether or not Noah has a bed time. It was nice, better yet, it was easy because I knew about her and she (kind of) knew about me. You see that’s the plus side of blogging and then meeting your fellow bloggers, they already know so much about you so there’s no need to be nervous and all “what do I say?” You already know my likes and dislikes and that I’m a neurotic freak. There’s no need for the small talk, because I can ask you not just about your brother, but how your brother is doing after the death of his hamster (ok I made that shit up, you get the point).

To be honest, the one thing I forget about bloggers (and I am dead serious here) is that they aren’t-we aren’t-just some people in a computer. We’re real people with real lives who are putting ourselves out there. And it’s nice to know** that people like us and if you were to see one of the non-anonymous ones on the street, please say hi.

Ok, I like to feel special and loved. Shut it.

*The Queen of Everything, was great and Noah man is the cutest freaking thing in the world and the sweetest baby. It was a pleasure babysitting for him and for them. This is a new mom, who trusted me with her baby and she was awesome about it. Not one phone call, except to say that they would be late. Those pictures of Noah do not do that child justice. Oh, and Amy looked good in her suit and is considerably smaller than me and I’ve never had a baby. And Jason is really tall. The End.

**By the way, it's also awesome when you DE-LURK! just a thought there...but seriously think about it.

No Pasa Nada

"I think of life itself now as a wonderful play that I've written for myself, and so my purpose is to have the utmost fun playing my part." ~Shirley MacLaine

I’ve spent so much of my life wanting to be someone or something else; never fully happy with just being me. I wanted so and so’s hair or this person’s smile or that person’s perfect body. Is this a major flaw? I don’t know, doesn’t everyone think that way at some point or another? I would say the answer is yes. We meet and see others and we take apart of them with us. They would never have been noticed, if there hadn’t been something about them to make them stand out. We see something in others that we don’t have in ourselves. The looks, the hair, the popularity, the skills; it’s human nature I suppose. Sad, but true. I can fully admit that I’ve been a culprit as much as the next person.

This is how we find our friends, lovers, and soul mates. They possess qualities that we want, which in turn makes them our better halves. I have friends, whom I know I could never live without because they understand me as I am, and I understand them as they are, the nice part being that we’re able to compliment each other. When I finally found these friends, it was like a breath of fresh air. They understood me and could take me and my bullshit and the (at times) overwhelming depression. All I have to say is thank God for that. Thank God, for them.

It’s taken me a little over 22 years of constant change and stress and just plain old life for me to even remotely come to grips with the person that I am now and the person that I would like to become. I like to do things at my own pace, which includes, realizing what I want out of my life and realizing what really makes me happy, without fear of what others might say. Being alone watching a movie makes me happy. Golfing alone makes me happy. Grocery shopping, yoga, a good run, my favorite turtleneck sweaters, my “fuck me” boots; even my job make me happy. I complain, my God, do I complain. I become neurotic and stressed out, but I am learning how to stop myself from becoming this way and to just go with it. I’ve learned to control and curb my behavior and the bad things that I let in.

The Spanish say “No Pasa Nada”; which means nothing happened; “Hakuna Matata” if you will; it means no worries. It means going through life not worrying about every little thing and just rolling with it. For me, it’s just being myself and not wasting time or energy worrying about every little thing. Not worrying about why I am/cannot be like someone else and instead just being myself.
22 years and I’m finally starting to understand. I like to do things on my own schedule and when it’s right for me. And for the first time ever, my procrastination and my little time table hasn’t come to bite me in the ass. It has finally helped me, be me.

Monday, November 07, 2005

High Low: The Weekend Edition

"Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again? " ~Winnie the Pooh

High: Friday brought the weekend

Low: I fell walking out of my apartment and ripped my favorite jeans.

High: Took myself on a date to Georgetown, that included seeing Shopgirl, Nars lip laquer (from Sephora), and five guys.

Low: Shopgirl made me want to kill myself, because I am ALONE. So alone that I don’t even have a “blip” on the radar screen. Nothing. Nada. Damn.

High: I opened a “play money” checking account at PNC. I’m on my way to financial freedom/a balanced budget.

Low: I lost my check card and Bank of American can kiss my black ass. Why is it that “if you’ve lost something or had it stolen” number 20 on the list of options. Fuckers.

High: My aunt came on Saturday and I got to go grocery shopping at Trader Joe’s. My favorite pastime.

Low: Saturday night, my friend from Spain, Nick, had a party. Nothing like being sober while a bunch of drunk college kids fall down stairs and lose their shoes. Yes, this happened. God, I miss it.

High: I ate at Georgia Brown’s Jazz Brunch. I gained like 15 lbs.

Low: My run was so fucked up because I ate too much and I missed out on golfing.

High: Sunday night tv

Low: Desperate Housewives is starting to blow. Hard.

High: NYC this weekend.

Low: I’m driving up there sans ipod. Apple sucks a whole freaking lot.

High: Laguna Beach is on tonight. Will LC get back with Jason? Will Kristen stop being a dumb bitch? Will Jessica get a grip and find someone else besides Jason to obsess about?

Low (which has nothing to do with Laguna): I’ve turned into the most boring person ever. I need someone or something to shake things up. I’ve hit a wall. A lull if you will in the life of a post-grad. I feel like the next exciting thing to happen won’t be until Prague. Actually this weekend should be fun. Shopping, Serendipity frozen hot chocolate with a very special person (which I will write about later), and Bliss Spa massage.

One more low: I can’t write in anything but random randomness. What happened to my pretty paragraphs and non run-on sentences? There used to be structure to my writing, chaos to my life. Now it’s the opposite. My brain is mush, but I can comprehend the happenings of my life. What the hell is going on with me? Things, they are a-changing.

Conspiracy Theory

*the following has been said, by actual people (not me). I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

“This whole thing with Cheney’s staffer is just a cover up for something much bigger. It’s like a magician ‘see my hand, see my hand. You’re not watching what’s going on behind my back.’ Next thing you know, all blacks will be sent back. Y’all better stay on the right side of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“We’re south of the Mason-Dixon line right now”

“See, you better move on up. Don’t worry, I’ll sneak you across. I’ll be like Harriet Tubman. Let me see if I can get myself a shot gun…You laugh now, but wait, you’ll see. Next thing you know, George Bush will be King ‘Oh, I’ve just made a few minor changes to the constitution’. You’ll see. Blacks sent back and George Bush will be King.”

and later...(in Georgia Browns, which is the happiest place on earth)

"Where are all the black people?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We're going to end up extinct. People won't know what happened to us"

"OOh we'll be on National Geographic"

"I thought you said, that we're going to be enslaved and we're going to be extinct?"

"They'll enslave us and we'll be forced to mate with each other, that's how they'll keep us around. But only for work purposes. You'll see"

Saturday, November 05, 2005

What a Turd

I was going to write a lovely sappy post about how much Sam and Rebecca-the kids that I babysit for-have grown up in the last few years. That is until an hour ago, while putting Sam to bed, I asked him if he wanted me to stay upstairs with him to 'snuggle'

"ummm no, but there's a chair in the hallway"

"A chair?"

"Yes, come look"

(my eyes roll. I can't help it. It just happens. I swear)

"oh, well there's usually a chair out here (in the dark cold hallway without any blankets or lights on or L&O: SVU to keep me company). But it's not here anymore. So come here"


"You can sit here (at his desk, in the hard wooden chair, no light, just sitting and waiting for him to sleep). Or you can sit at the end of the bed. But be careful, I like to move my feet around when I sleep"


(finally he's sleeping and my neck is sore from trying to maneuver myself around the giant Scooby's ass. I decide to 'quietly' sneak downstairs, because he's sleeping. I can hear him snoring. I swear I wasn't hearing things. I mange to make it to the bottom of the stairs)

"Heather (pronounced Hedder) I can hear you leaving, those stairs sure are squeaky. Can I come yell at you if I need some water?"

What a fucking booger. The worst part? I bet I made my babysitters do the same innane things and I bet they too, contemplated tossing me out the window. It's moments like right now 10:10PM on a saturday night, when I regret those times that I was a terror to my babysitters and made them run up and down stairs all night long or forced them to sit in the cold hallway. I am so so sorry.

Friday, November 04, 2005


"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

It’s kind of funny, when you suddenly stop caring about things that used to be important. Because no matter what, people are shitty and really I’m not caring anymore. Life is too short to be worrying about how others are going to react to every little thing that you do. Especially if said people may be uptight shit heads who are more than welcome to kiss my ass (insert loving smile here). But I'll try not to be an evil whore about it and start nodding and smiling.

I’ll also attempt to not be an evil whore who fears carbohydrates. God forbid, there are no cashews or string cheese or cherry tomatoes left. The world may stop and the apocalypse will come. I can feel it, every time I see that the amount of string cheese left is slowly dwindling to none. NONE.

My God was it good to see Peter Gallagher last night. I forgot how much I would miss him. Those eyebrows that sarcasm and wit. In my next life I’ll be Kelly Rowan and I’ll get to make out with him and be an alcoholic. Too bad the latter has already come true.

But no, no it has not, after a successful five days (FIVE) without a drink, I’m still breathing and living and I’ve lost weight. Not like 45 lbs, but more like four. Whatever, baby steps people, baby steps.

Never will I complain about my marathon memorial service again. Because the people in Detroit were there for seven hours. SEVEN. That’s what I sat through, with the hunger and the thirst and the need to pee, plus about three more hours. I also shall not complain, because seriously now, it was Rosa Parks. And a very appreciative black female will go to hell for ever complaining in the presence of Rosa Parks. Because not even she complained and she actually had something to complain about. Kind of makes me feel bad for complaining that someone told me to “shove it” or that I had to get rid of my coach bag, or that my ipod is going to Apple heaven never to be returned again.

What is a BAWF without ipod complaints. It’s dead and never to return again. I didn’t think I would be this upset, but in reality I am. No more Natasha Bedingfield. No more Smokey Robinson. No more ABBA gold album. No more. None. El fin. But sadly with this whole, I’m going to save so I can go to Prague, I can’t afford a new ipod, but maybe a shuffle or something, I don’t know. It’s just devastating.

So I guess that will my last complaint, because I haven’t been arrested for sitting in the front of a fucking bus before, so I have no right to complain. I’ll just do it in silence.

Thursday, November 03, 2005


I’m a god damn bottomless pit. I’ve just shoveled a mini snickers (ok bad heather), a stick of cheese, applesauce, and an apple into my mouth. And nothing. NOTHING. And once I blow this pop stand, there’s nothing standing between me and a mini key lime pie from Firehook. Now I’m watching Lindsay-I used to be a normal sized red head, now I’m an anorexic bottle blonde-Lohan’s new video and realizing that I could never be anorexic, lest I eat my own arm.

It’s gotta be a tapeworm. Either that or I’m pregnant. But since I want no part in either of those things, I hope that I find something to satiate this hunger, before my Chinese food at 8PM. Sadly JB doesn’t know what an hors devours is. It’s like the concept is foreign to her. Maybe I should say it in English. App-e-tiz-er.

*I finally saw Laguna today. And dammmmmmmn it was good. Now let's all hope that LC doesn't go back to Jason.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

And They Said It Couldn't Be Done

"When I have money, I get rid of it quickly, lest it find a way into my heart. " ~John Wesley

Prior to turning 16, my mother went away for a business trip and left my brother and I in the hands of our aunt. She hadn’t spent the night the evening before-not that we really needed her to-and G and I were left alone. I can’t recall now, where G had gone, but I was home alone for the afternoon. Me and the keys to the minivan parked outside. Having taken some sort of driving lessons before hand I knew how to maneuver a vehicle. But the point wasn’t about driving. I was also left alone with our “treat jar”. A giant jar filled with coins. This was just when coin star machines had been imbedded in grocery stores. Can you see where this story is going? With a jar full of money (it turned out to be $150) and a car, I set out to spend every fucking cent in that thing. The one thing I remember purchasing is a t-shirt from Abercrombie, that I actually still have and maybe some stuff from Bath and body works. When I returned home after my long day of shopping, my aunt was there waiting for me and the car. Needless to say, Peg was told and I was banned from driving for two weeks and reprimanded, severely, for spending every cent I found.

For my 19th birthday, my mother gave me a platinum credit card “For emergencies Heather. Emergencies”. It was bolded and highlighted, with stars and shit. “Emergencies” turned out to be an infatuation with lucky brand jeans and a personal goal to spend every cent I had at Woodbury Commons. I mean, seriously, there’s a Coah and Lucky brand outlet (two pairs for $50). I think spending $800 a month on my mother’s card, was the one time that she really contemplated shooting me and where to put my body.

The above isn’t uncharacteristic of me. I’ve grown out of sneaking out to drive, but not out of spending every cent in sight. It’s a major character flaw that I am slowly, actually I have finally learned to curb. It’s only taken 22 years and 350 emergency phone calls to my parents to let them know that their precious daughter whom they love so much, has once again run out of money. I can’t even recall the number of times I have called them from Europe, telling them that I need a deposit. I learned the hard way that $250 here and there, adds up quickly and that I blew through about $4000 in the four months I was there. This isn’t adding into the fact that, upon my return I had no money either and lived off of my parents and graduation money for six weeks. Now you can see why I was so desperate to work. I needed it.

There’s something in me that says “I see $10, now spend it” but frankly I’m getting quite tired of being desperate and never having money. And now thinks to umm common sense, I’ve learned to save and (holy shit!) budget. I gave up my fucking coach, because I couldn’t afford it. This is serious. Yesterday, when I got my security deposit back, I sat and thought about the million and one ways to spend it. I could go back to anthropologie and get all the clothes I wanted and get my fuck me bag back from coach. But careful consideration, told me that what I really would want and need is to get the fuck out of Washington and escape from life and work for a week. With that, I finally have an incentive to save. I’m going to Prague in May. PRAGUE, mother fuckers. I need to repeat that PRAGUE. I’m paying the plane ticket (holy hell) and since my mother was already planning on going, she’ll pay for the hotel, but I’ll need to purchase a new digital camera. But dude, I’m SAVING for something. A trip. To Prague.

See this, this is what being an adult is about, realizing that after a while, I’ll need to regain my sanity and to get the fuck out of Washington and there’s no better way to do it, than with a mug full of Pilsner Urquell. IN PRAGUE.

A Neurotic, Alcoholic, Smoker with a Severe Case of TMJ

Let's say today has been super holy mother fucking shitty ass crap.
Karma is a bitch.

the end.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

There is No Food and I have yet to see Laguna

The first thing I received when I walked into work today (besides the typical standing ovation, because Hello! I am awesome) was a check from Gables Residential to me, for $550. This was by far the best thing to ever happen to me. Even better than I suspect having children or finding my soul mate could ever be, because, now I can pay the lovely people of Pepco. God is good. Last night after my whirl wind day of Marathon funeral-ing, I received Washingtonian and a refund check from Verizon.

I’m of the mindset that little things can make me happy or sad. I let them affect my mood and really I’m not caring too much anymore. But whatever, this isn’t a time for seriousness, this is time for me to ramble, because I’m so fucking busy with work, that I only have time for incessant rambling (even though I do have a cache of posts to use, I’d prefer to have “cognitive diarrhea”-my new favorite phrase).

Now watch me jinx myself. Things at work are getting better. Not that they were bad in the first place, I’m just such a neurotic freak that I blow things way out of proportion. I haven’t cried in about two weeks. And haven’t had a cigarette in about three weeks. Now you may pat me on the back. I’ve actually learned to semi stay on top of things and do things without being asked. I think we can agree that this was a common goal for me and my coworkers. It has almost been achieved.

Speaking of work and coworkers, we’re big on snacks here. As in, God forbid that you’ve run out of snacks before 6 PM. The apocalypse will come true. Hell hath no fury like a woman without snacks. I kid you not, I will kill you for that piece of chocolate. I just had a 20 minute conversation about what would be better than the fucking cashews right now. Like, a pizza, a burrito, chips and guacamole, chocolate mousse, the chocolate fountain with the endless dippers. But no, here I sit with cashews and I’ve just inhaled a bag of cherry tomatoes. I need some fucking food. The only thing I have to look forward to right now is the pumpkin spice latte I’m treating myself to. I just got a check for $50, I deserve a pumpkin spice latte to salute verizon.

At what point do one’s eyes seriously get stuck in the back of one’s head? I’m trying to figure this out because oh my God Lumbergh man. Just Lumbergh. That’s all I’m saying on the matter.

Why the fuck is Wicked sold out until 2006? I have tickets for February. But sadly in place of seeing Wicked in NY (oh I’m going to the city-I can say “the city” because I am from NY and there is no other city-for shits and giggles) I will be getting serviced at Bliss Spa. So in reality I wasn’t forced to make such a huge decision. We all know what happens when I’m forced to make decisions. I mean recall, the Coach incident, in which I had REAL tears.

And finally, because I know that you’re anxiously awaiting an end to this shit. Meeting (and I hate this word) “blogebrities” is only cool to other bloggers and JB, because she can be as ri-cock-ulous as I am. Peg doesn’t care. Peg only thinks that these people (read: YOU PEOPLE) may kill me one day. But oh, that’s sweet; she really doesn’t want to get rid of me.
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