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Wednesday, May 31, 2006

The story of my life

Well first a few housekeeping items, which I try to avoid but tend to be inevitable:

  1. Y’all are some needy people. I’m here. Look. Wheeeee! I missed you too.
  2. Do I even still have readers?
  3. We shall discuss R&R and my future prospects at clamming tomorrow
  4. How long is the standard time to keep a laptop? I’ve had mine for almost five years and it still runs perfectly fine, but I don’t want to be embarrassed at BlogHer. Thoughts? Also if you really feel it's high time for me to get rid of the thing, do you suggest a PC or a Mac? I know that I've finally fallen into geekdom because when I saw the new Macbook, I almost wet myself.


…Moving on now…


“When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion.” ~Dale Carnegie

The story of my life, apart from that whole “I was born on a cold winter night in upstate NY in 1983. We didn’t have a car, my mother had to walk to the hospital and I spent a week in a drawer…” (Actually a good chunk of that is false…), aside from that there’s the very elephant in the room that is my less than stellar sense of self. I also have an uncanny ability to project things and will automatically assume that everyone and their brother hates me. All of that peppered with the occasional person pretty much telling me that I should throw myself from a building, and you pretty much get moi. Sad, but true.


There’s nothing better than starting off a day dry heaving and hyperventilating in your car for 20 minutes, because you basically feel worthless. But then again, that’s just more projection and may or may not be true. Then of course something semi-good occurs which makes it a little less likely that I will be propelling myself from any edifices. Which is always a plus.


Anyway, that’s just how it goes and the likelihood of it changing is slim to none and I’m really ok with crying to my mother every once in awhile, because that’s her job. I’m also perfectly ok with bitching to you all because right now I’m feeling like that’s the only thing I’m even doing remotely correct. So I’ll take my wins where I can and move on from that.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Emmaus

After wowing you all with my first greatest hits post, I decided to bring it back, because 5 days is a really long time…

If my first greatest hits album would be named This Isn’t Education, I find that the follow up would be called Emmaus. Emmaus is a place and I’m not going to go into further detail about it because it’s a complicated and complex story, but one that I’m sure I will share later.

As before, for those of you who have already read these, then my sincerest apologies and for you newbies, well again, I apologize:

  1. I'd rather be driving a titleist
  2. The Reverend Al said it best
  3. This screams 'Best Seller'
  4. One day, I shall slay the enemy
  5. It will kill us all
  6. Sadly, they help drive the economy
  7. McPleasestoptalking
  8. Love, Love, Love
  9. BofA sucks, enough said
  10. But really, I love him
  11. At least I'll have my cats
  12. Brightness

Sonrisa

“If you smile when no one else is around, you really mean it.” ~Andy Rooney

The reason I am hesitant to show off pictures of me smiling is because I quite resemble a squirrel on crack. I have ridiculously puffy cheeks when I smile and my eyes hardly seem open. An ex-lovah* of mine used to amuse himself endlessly by pinching my cheeks. At the time it was endearing now the thought makes me contemplate punching him in the nose on those rare trips home.

Though I’m tempted to show you a picture that Jorge took on his visit (It’s a picture of me with a little bubble that says “I say the c-word like it’s my job”, much to Kris’ dismay), I figure I’ll save that for when I’m looking for true personal embarrassment and besides, who really wants to see a squirrel on crack anyway? (don’t answer that)

I say this now because today I’m in a genuinely smiley type of mood. I’ve just printed out my boarding pass for my flight in the morning to Martha’s Vineyard. I’m stoked, like beyond stoked and in desperate need of a vacation like whoa. Not to mention that it’s several days with the madre, whom I haven’t spent an entire week alone with since Reagan was president and I totally wish I was kidding about that. And the lovely woman who has also expressed interest in shoe shopping and giving me money (!!!!!!!!!!) because I don’t ask for money. And we totally won’t mention how I bought a ticket to San Jose with her AmEx yesterday. Nope, won’t go there. Just think happy thoughts kids, like shoes…espadrilles.

*Before y’all get your hopes up about a possible long lost love, this was the 6th grade. Me and Jason Stewart who my father referred to as ‘metal mouth’. Kid would likely set off a metal detector I would say. He was one of those kids who desperately needed puberty to come and pronto.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The entitlement clause

“Rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength.” ~Eric Hoffer


Early this morning, after spending a solid hour debating whether or not to go to the gym (not) and whether or not to go to the dry cleaner given that nudity isn’t allowed in the work place, I stumbled to the dry cleaner clad in shorts and my
Oregon sweatshirt. That fresh out of bed look does quite well for me, thankyouverymuch.

From outside of my dry cleaner, I noticed the woman who I should say has always been quite kind to me, waving her hands around and speaking loudly to the man in front of me. He looked like an average white male, nothing remotely special about him, I would say. Anyway, the two were having a loud back and forth between each other which almost tempted me to renege on that nudity prohibition. The man would scream louder at the woman about how he wanted his money back or he would no longer be visiting that particular dry cleaner. The woman tried as best she could in broken English to explain that she and her sister treat the man very well because he is “a very important man” but then went on to say that he had no manners, despite that she sat down to write him a check for $130 to replace the shirt that he lost a year ago. A freaking year ago.

I had no idea who the man was and was more appalled at his behavior at 7AM more than anything. She had him write down his name and I was unable to view it. So I moved closer to catch a glimpse of the name on the receipts…Indeed it was “a very important man**” with great clout and many followers. This is a man that I also happen to despise with the fury of a thousand fiery suns and really it didn’t shock me that he would be rude to someone doing a service for him.

At the time, I recoiled and was shocked and while he tried to give me the ‘you feel me’ look, I contemplated outing him to a cast of hundreds, but really that doesn’t matter. The point is that there are people, politicians no less, in this area who apparently feel that because they are in power that they have the god given right to do whatever the hell they please and treat others in a way that is incredibly rude and uncalled for and frankly I don’t get it. Is it ok to hit people’s cars with your gaudy Lexus? Is it seen as appropriate to yell at the woman who does your dry cleaning because you’re upset about a shirt that had been lost (over a year ago, with no proof I might add)? I think not.

I’m starting to tire of people around here that seem to think that they are God’s gift to the free world just because they happen to have a seat in Congress or happen to be BFF with George Bush, worse yet, those that seem to think they are infallible or omnipotent based on their ever decreasing majority. I just don’t get it and I may or may not be the only one but I am highly displeased and the fact that I already didn’t enjoy the aforementioned offenders’ politics in the first place, now I also can add that they are generally mean spirited people.



**I've since reneged on not naming the culprit...

Monday, May 22, 2006

Horrification

“The first thing in the human personality that dissolves in alcohol is dignity.” ~Author Unknown

It had been a perfectly acceptable evening spent with Marci and Roary, traipsing through Adam’s Morgan and then to Dupont. I even – quite literally – jumped for joy at the sight of Ms. Cookie. And I had finally gotten over that which was the uber exclusive Fly, which is an excellent place to go for good music and if you don’t mind losing a toe. I mean really, you’ve got nine more.

So, evening? Good. As I walked to the metro – therefore totally defying Roary – I found that my hips were hurting me even more than they had earlier. I felt like the Tin Man and that my joints needed some oiling before I even thought about prancing around for a new heart. I was walking funny…a strange little limp of some sort I suppose. Anyway, as I was walking – nay hobbling – to the metro a man walked up to me. A man, that I had never seen in my life came up to me out of the blue, while I was semi inebriated and in pain to comment on my gait. Not only to comment but he actually said to me “look at you twisting like that (I wasn’t twisting, but whatever), Go on girl, look at you walking with your big ass.” And of course, said with a smile.

Now, what does one do in this situation?

(A) Do a round house kick and karate chop to the little fucker

(B) Do an impressive half nelson maneuver that had been learned in seventh grade

(C) Castrate the motherfucker and then explain to the police why there is so much black on black crime

(D) Become overwhelmingly horrified and then walk faster to the metro while covering your “big ass” with a skimpy wrislet

(E) Bust out my nine and pray that I have good aim


I decided to go with ‘D’ and just thank God that no one was there to witness. Sunday morning I ran my ass off and then walked the two miles to and from Gallery Place and tried to subsist on an apple and orange juice for the day because I HAVE A BIG ASS!


Ok, that’s a lie I don’t have a big ass. And even if I did, it’s an ass that is now 17 lbs lighter and in dire need of some new jeans. So take that drunk, homeless man and be happy you still have your baby making parts, asshole.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Turbulence

“Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people.” ~André Dubus


Contrary to popular belief I’m not gregarious in fact I would be the complete antithesis and would call myself painfully, nausea inducing, shy. Why is probably why I’ve managed to hone in on my misanthropic skills and have managed to remain single for all of these years.


Let’s just say another stellar example of my bashful tendencies occurred last evening during a book signing party for the wonderful, non-extrovert Marcos Salazar. In fact Marcos had invited me to his book signing completely out of the blue and I responded because (a) I should get out of the house once in awhile and (b) it’s hard to turn down someone who had once been featured on Daily Candy (if any other daily candy peeps who are avid readers of this prosaic crap would like to give me anything, call me). So, Marcos invited, I accepted and then I also gladly accepted a free (!) copy of the book.


Here is where I pimp Marcos’ book. Pimpage is fun: The Turbulent Twenties Survival Guide, just so happens to be right up my alley. Whereas I look at my twenties from a purely narcissistic standpoint, he looks at his twenties from a psychological point of view, which is significantly less tiring than ‘me, me, me’ every damn day. From what I gathered, Marcos is also considerably smarter and more adjusted than I and so hopefully the reading will do me some good.


Here is where I point out my awful misanthropy: I attended the party – at La Tasca no less – for a grand total of 23 minutes. 23!! I became so overcome by my nervousness that I couldn’t even stay long enough to finish my sangria and instead ran like a little bitch upstairs to continuously text my best friend and cop free drinks off of the bartender that I went to college with. Little. Bitch. I. Am.


To reward myself for spending a whole 23 minutes at the party, I purchased a shirt from Urban Outfitters. Baby steps people, baby steps. I bet some psychology would be good for me though.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Holy incompetent one

“Common sense is not so common.” ~Voltaire

I have compassion and the ability to be nice. Really, I do. I can also be sympathetic and/or empathetic and feel for my common man. But if there’s one thing that bugs the shit out of me, it’s incompetence. Grown ass people who don’t understand the most basic things and then look (or respond) quizzically like it’s so fucking difficult to find out the name of a room. Really, it’s not. Promise.


At this point I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with incompetence covered in bullshit and I’m just a tad bit irritated to say the least. And though I try to be nice, it’s always met with more stupidity. Sometimes I want to grab people by the shoulders, give them a good shake and maybe speak a little louder, then maybe, just maybe all will be understood and I will not have to go home to pick pieces of ham off of my pizza after waiting for it for 45 damn minutes*.


Maybe this is just more pot/kettle/black action, because lord knows that I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. But what I would enjoy more than anything, is to ask for something and then receive without an eye roll and receive it at the time specified and not at a pace determined by a…I don’t know…a snail perhaps? Is there anything that can go slower than a person who works at the dreaded BofA? I think not**.


Either way it’s annoying and frustrating and I’m apparently quite worked up about it. Now I shall bang my head onto my desk because this folks has been my morning.

*I ended up getting my pizza for free and a new pizza delivered. But I’m still pissed

** Wait, spoke too soon, TSA, those motherfuckers move like you’re obviously at an airport for your health and not to catch a plane!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Everyday

"There's a period of life when we swallow a knowledge of ourselves and it becomes either good or sour inside. " ~Pearl Bailey

I think that if I had taken up Marine Biology or Economic History as originally planned, I would have something much more interesting to say.


Don’t get me wrong, I love what decisions I’ve made in that regard, but my daily life isn’t nearly as enthralling as feeding a baby penguin might be or delving into laissez-faire capitalism.


What’s key, is wording. Something enticing…something that makes people say “wow” when you talk to them. Though on a normal basis, I can have that affect, but I would say that it’s more stunned silence and thoughts of “but you seem like such an idiot…” Duly noted. And thank you for having such confidence in me, because my self esteem hadn’t hit rock bottom quite yet. I don’t really find myself to be terribly fascinating person. I kind of just go about my day and random shit happens and then I go home and watch an inordinate amount of television and contemplate living in seclusion.


In a meeting a few weeks ago, I was asked what I do on a daily basis. Like from sun up to sun down. I looked quizzically at the asker and wondered whether or not it is really possible to bore someone to death. I mean it varies and depends on my ever changing mood. There’s no complaining it just is what it is and I’ve learned to accept that and move on. While speaking with Chase a few weeks ago, we were both equally fascinated by each other’s day to day life. She noted (I was too drunk to note anything) that people are always more intrigued by other’s lives than they are about their own. Which is entirely true and I would say human nature. It doesn’t mean that one is unhappy with one’s own life, but one gets so used to the day to day things, that it all just becomes routine.


Por ejemplo, today, if I began a rundown of the exciting things that I’ve done today (gave the new intern a tour! Watched Monster in Law! Contemplated what to do with myself this evening given that I don’t think I have to baby-sit! Researched The Deer Hunter and how to make a Hugh Laurie-Taylor Hicks hybrid! Wheeeeeee!), you’d probably have me lynched and thrown in the
Anacostia River.


Come to think of it, I like how routine things have become. It’s funny how the everyday things can make or break a mood. And I take great pride in the fact that I’ve molded myself into a person- nay woman – who can finally enjoy things the way that they are. That, my friends, is key.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Gas issues

“Common sense is instinct. Enough of it is genius.” ~George Bernard Shaw

Once again, I am breaking the rules to bring you this awesome episode into my perpetual stupidity.

You’re welcome.

Having actually left my house this morning at the appointed time, in order to stop and get gas, I was feeling very much in control, which I thoroughly enjoy. I was clad in a recently returned from the dry cleaners outfit and wearing flip flops (Vineyard Vines, if you must know) when I headed into the gas station.

I pumped, removed some garbage and awaited my fate. I had put the little clippy thing down, so that I could remove debris (seriously, there was a fucking tomato piece in my car. Possibly from chipotle. Yeah, I can drive and eat a burrito but only semi-successfully). When I hit about $45 for gas, I decided that that would be enough. Actually my paltry bank account decided that that would be enough. Which is when I made the oh so brilliant decision to yank. YANK - the gas nozzle from the tank, of course forgetting that it was still pumping given that I had put the little clip down

Gas. Everywhere. On my pants, my shirt, the shirt I was wearing under my other shirt, my hand, my feet. Fucking everywhere. And in complete shock over my brilliance, I kind of just stood there bewildered. Maybe even thinking about a stray match or ash that might come swooping over and blow my ass up to kingdom come.

I can see the headlines now “22 Year old DC resident, blown to bits after spilling a gallon of gasoline all over her stupid, stupid self. Witnesses say that it was a ‘spectacular event’” It would’ve been like fucking Helios going across the morning sky.

Common sense, I never knew ye.


edit to add: Because everyone loves to hear about consumerism; I spent a grand total of $53 on gas this morning, which probably included what was wasted on my favorite Anthropologie shirt. I drive a fucking sable. Last I checked, a sable isn't an H3, but I could be wrong.

Monday, May 15, 2006

PMS

"To give vent now and then to his feelings, whether of pleasure or discontent, is a great ease to a man's heart." ~Francesco Guicciardini

On more than one occasion last week, I teared up over the tritest bullshit ever. Which seems to be a tiring trend as of late and I’m growing more exasperated by the minute. Both circumstances can be remedied with much ease, but alas God forbid something not go my way lest you want to deal with the force of nature that is my perpetually disgruntle mood.

Thankfully a little something called ‘perspective’ decides to drop in and helps me to control my inner (or maybe outer) petulant child. Perspective likes to yell and give a shout every once in awhile and call me a pissy bitch. On occasion it has been known to give me good smack upside the head, which is surely needed at times.

Even better is the knowledge that I’m not the only one who has been and who is PMSing. Actually it came to my attention that a few hundred people are in a bad place at the present moment, though hopefully feeling considerably better at this time. And here’s to hoping this go round will be considerably better.

Like I said, perspective people, perspective. A Midol doesn’t hurt either.

Friday, May 12, 2006

One of them

“The best style is the style you don't notice.” ~Somerset Maugham

Before I go about blatantly breaking one of Kathryn’s (dear, sweet, wonderful, social butterfly that she is) rules, I should say that if I want to go about telling you all how dreadfully boring I am and that I just burned the shit out of my tongue, then it’s my God given right to do so. Especially if telling you the boring, keeps me from divulging the good. See that? I’m turning into one of those people with some good to share, but isn’t willing to share it. Something so good, that on Wednesday night I threw Noah in the air and called him “my pretty baby”. Then I wanted to punch myself in the face because really? Who the hell says shit like that? Commence with the eye rolling if you will.


Oh speaking of Wednesday, we really need to have a very long chat about some very important recent events. Unfortunately we can’t have this chat until I’m fully caught up and then can make an informed hypothesis about recent craziness. But I will just give you this: Hanso Foundation.


Now don’t start throwing things at me and booing and hissing and wondering why I’ve been under a rock for the past two years (or, trapped on an island. Ha!). I know. I KNOW! And now I’m doing my due diligence to play catch up and become a better person. Promise.


And really that’s all. This weekend? A kegger. A freaking kegger. I truly believe that graduation was just a formality and that I’m allowed to behave like a 19 year old, for as long as I want. So there. Have a splendid one.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

R&R

"A vacation is what you take when you can no longer take what you've been taking." ~Earl Wilson

Five days.

Five mother fucking days.

Five days in which I cannot use the phrase ‘mother fucker’.

But that’s ok, because a certain pretty person who has only threatened about 20 times that since “she brought me into this world, she’ll take me out”, is allowing me the use of her picturesque home in Martha’s Vineyard (there’s a porch! With a swing! And bikes!) for FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Even better, she’ll be there too. This means five whole days of free-loading and offered things like free meals and shoes and ice cream. This is what I have always pictured Heaven to be like; me, living as a spoiled brat, with a mother who will entertain the idea of wine tastings. HA! I made her appreciate wine tastings (and soon the world will be mine!)

So we’ll stop with the hyperbolic dreary pablum that has spewed forth from these fingers and instead go for something delicious and wonderful like pan seared spicy tuna, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh clams with bellies to boot.

Anyway, I think we can all agree that I’ve been a petulant child as of late with a penchant for malaise and tears. Ok, let’s just call me a bitch and leave it at that (the first step towards recovery is admitting that you have a problem). And we won’t speak of the very bad thing that my procrastination has led to because that will cause me to cry into my diet coke and there will be A LOT of groveling. Nope. Won’t go there. Instead, we’ll only speak of beaches and sun and the days after Martha’s Vineyard when Dear Old Peg will be gracing the nation’s capital with her presence, which means Acadiana (or perhaps Oceanaire, maybe Filomena? 1789 if I feel like getting hit by a bitch with a popped collar and a beemer). More ‘whee!’ and less tears would be greatly appreciated.

Some days, it’s nice to look forward to the good rather than dwell on the bad. Or at least, that’s the plan for today and if we’re lucky, for the next two weeks as well.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Cause and Effect

"It is easy to ignore responsibility when one is only an intermediate link in a chain of action." ~Stanley Milgram

The sable is currently covered in bird poop because it’s parked under a tree. It’s parked under a tree because I have yet to register my car in the District of Columbia. It’s only a minor detail that I’ve been driving in this district of ours for the past four years and that I have yet to get actual DC car insurance. I’m not all that keen on the whole insurance thing because it seems mighty complicated, I like to keep things as uncomplicated as possible. I can’t get registered (A) because of the car insurance and (B) because I actually owe the District roughly $60 in parking tickets. The parking tickets are as a result of being parked in a zone over the 2 hour time limit without the proper zoning sticker, which I don’t have because I’m not registered because of the aforementioned insurance issue.

Terrible with the paying of the parking tickets, would be an understatement. Sure, I know that I have the ticket, I can see it, I post it up on the bulletin board of me, right next to a captivating picture of me and Bill Cosby. I look at the bored, admire my former thin self and then a shiny object catches my eye and I forget about the parking tickets. But hey! At least I’m trying. It’s entirely better than before when I would freely allow myself to be towed and then cry about it to a parent (whichever parent less likely to hang up on me at the present moment) and have the ticket taken care of. I too am considerably shocked by the amount of responsibility I have. This, for you all playing at home, would be a big fat ZERO.

The other predicament is that I find myself lost in the traffic camera – snail mail space/time continuum. In which the amount of time that lapses between getting caught running a yellow light and the time that the ticket arrives to my mother’s house and the time which she notifies me to tell me that I have received said ticket and questions what I will be doing about it, is about 30 days. We’ll place 50% of the blame on me and my poor driving skills and 50% of the blame on my mother who doesn’t deem it all too necessary to actually open the mail once it’s received. Hell, I’m still not too sure that she actually goes to the mailbox daily, but that all is a different story entirely and we do not say bad things about Peg on this blog.

So for all I know, I could owe the district of Columbia upwards of $160 in parking tickets, which actually may have doubled by now because of the aforementioned great displays of otiose behavior. I’m on a roll here kids…quite literally a roll.

Monday, May 08, 2006

C'est la vie

“My life has a superb cast but I can't figure out the plot.” ~Ashleigh Brilliant

I’m intrinsically pretty type A. So as I sat munching away at carrots and laughing cow cheese, I realized how uncharacteristic of my usual self that I have been. Not that I’m normally happy go lucky all is well or some such bullshit, but on the whole, if things are ‘fine’ then I am ‘fine’ and will respond as such. That is unless I’m terribly depressed – which has happened before – but that’s usually marked by random disappearances and self inflected injuries, capped off with 2+ years in therapy.

Anyway, I’ve been wholly unmotivated lately, to the point where my bedroom looks like Hiroshima (or Nagasaki or the Atlantic after the Titanic sank, whatever) and my sleeping pattern can be likened to a newborn at best, with the waking up every two hours at night, but not being soothed by a caring parent. I’ve also been driven to tears by pure ridiculousness of my own manifestation. Other highlights include: crying because I couldn’t find the Gap on South Street and holy hell there should be a Gap every-fucking-where; being flipped off and yelled at at the Exxon in Northeast by some large burly black man; crying during the credits of the West Wing which was remedied by my mother calling CJ Cregg a Bitch. So as you can see, I’ve been nothing but a ball of laughs lately and I just can’t shake it.

Beyond packing my shit up and driving a uhaul to Jackson Hole and/or hold a party for Kris, without whom I would never recognize the lamey, lameness of others, which completely trumps my own, and/or holding a party for the wonderful congresswoman from FL, without which no one would ever read my blog and I’d be equally as lame and/or just ahhhh…I’m also having a bit of a shit time with realizing that the past five years have fucking flown by and yet I’m feeling wholly inadequate with a headache to boot.

Re-reading that last part, I’m just a lady in waiting: Waiting for things to start making sense again so I can just get on with it. Impatient is the first word that comes to mind.

New and Improved

With more shamless pimpage to boot


"The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us. When the world seems familiar, when one has got used to existence, one has become an adult." ~Eugene Ionesco

This morning I did my usual Monday self torture. Wherein, I awake an hour late considerably enough to skip the gym and then I seriously contemplate getting up. Is it really that necessary to remove oneself from under a blanket? The best was awaking to a bedroom that ever so slightly resembled the aftermath of Hiroshima. Or more like Gap/J.Crew/Anthropologie decided to throw shit around my room. At any rate, it made getting dressed that much more difficult; finding my raincoat in my bottom drawer, not withstanding.

Meanwhile, in my head, I’m making great strides at recalling the weekend. Sure I remember the off color Klan jokes while driving through southeastern Pennsylvania at 10:45 PM on Saturday evening. Oxford, PA had a little bit of a children of the corn thing going on. Most assuredly, I’m able to remember when I started drinking at 4PM on Friday and stopped somewhere around 1 at a Playboy themed party in Tenleytown, finally ending my evening at Steak n’ Egg. Saturday was the aforementioned trip to Pennsylvania and a night cap at Indebleu, because nothing says ‘I love my roommate’ like free grey goose and tonics.

A few weeks ago, I had lamented to my mother that everyday is the same. I wake up, make a half ass attempt at going to the gym, I go home, pretend to give two shits about my outfit, go to work for like many hours, go home; wash, rinse and repeat. Repeat for the next 40 something years. Which looking at it now, sounds so freaking awesome that I just can’t handle it. Even better? My mother deciding to call and remind me that it’s been a year ago (one year today) that I graduated from college, which is like being reminded that you’re turning 34 but with added head bashing and possibly a few cathartic tears into one’s Special K.

There’s also the sad realization that everything is different and yet the same from last year. Except now with less money, more snark and copious amounts of alcohol. The next 45 years should be awesome, like a frying pan to the head awesome.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Just Do It

I can do as much shameless pimping as my little heart desires...


“Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday.” ~Don Marquis

I have a little problem. Actually I have many problems, too enumerable to name right this second, but I digress. I, Heather Barmore, am a serial procrastinator. To make matters worse, my middle initial should be ‘I’ for 'indolence'. Thereby making me an indolent, procrastinator with a penchant for pessimism and malaise; I bet you really want to be my friend now.

For instance at this very second, I need to send out an email to my nearest and dearest to fundraise for the Race for the Cure, I also need to fix my resume as it had been ripped a new asshole (via red pen) last Saturday. Since that fateful day, looking at it throws me into convulsions. I should also be doing obvious work type things and my desk looks like the 3M Corporation threw up all over it. Instead, I’m watching CNN – the only reason I switched over to CNN from MTV’s non stop showing of MSSS and Tiara Girls was because TRL was on and I hate TRL, with vehement passion and all. So now, CNN and am enjoying a snack of Triscuits and laughing cow cheese.

And did I mention the tapeworm? Ye old tapeworm has decided to bear it’s ugly head once again and I really must say that Indian food, a waffle and a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch are not the best dinner.

So, you know that’s where I’m at right now. Slightly spastic and my nose is doing this weird thing where too much air gets in. I’m upset because I’m using too much oxygen.

Holy hell, why do I bother writing, nay breathing some days?

Also, because I’m going through these really difficult times of consuming too much of the air in my office building and contemplating a membership to Overeaters Anonymous, I found this at Jurgen’s site (Su boredom es mi boredom). So feel free to share, or not (my answers are in bold):


1. What is the ONE blog you couldn't live without, the one that you would choose if you could only read just one per day. And by 'ONE' she means 'TWO'. Amalah. I’m not a girl, not yet a wino.

2. I realized yesterday that I had been sucking my water through a moldy straw. I know. What is the worst thing you can remember eating, either on purpose or accidentally? Ok, that first part didn’t happen to me, but I did once eat an ant. On purpose. And once a spider, accidentally on purpose to freak my mother out.

3. The Tom thing brings up an interesting question for me. What two celebrities - male and female - would you choose to permanently disable their vocal cords so they would fade far, far away into obscurity where they belong? Britney Spears and George W. Bush

4. What is your "guilty pleasure" food and TV show? Cinnabons (first runner up: McDonald’s fish fillets) and A Baby Story.

5. How long do you think you'll be blogging? Do you think it's just a passing interest or do you see this sticking with you? At least until August 8th as that is my blogiversary, but the way things are going now, maybe Monday.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

About Town

Now, with shameless pimpage!


"You've got Bush and Gore headed to the Supreme Court. You've got George W. Bush's intelligence will be pitted against Al Gore's honesty. This is more like a case for small claims court. " ~Jay Leno

Moving here almost five years ago was mostly because I wanted to meet and intern for Hillary Clinton. And if that never happened, I was pretty sure that I would die and be miserable for the rest of my life. ::insert eye roll here:: The thought of close proximity to real life members of congress made me giddy, because as we all know, meeting a Kennedy may possibly be the best thing ever in life…right up there with sex! ::double eye roll:: Now would also be a fantastic time to mention that watching the first session of a new congress sometimes makes me tear up a bit, but if you were to ask me that point blank, I’d just have to tell you that allergies can occur in January, so there.

The first member of congress that I encountered was none other than the illustrious Orrin Hatch. Considering that I know people from Provo who couldn’t pick the man out of a line up, I was quite impressed with my awesome skills of Senator reorganization and he totally said hi to me and then I may have died (and then I went home and wrote HB+OH=Luv and 14 Kids 4-EVER). Anyway, since then I’ve met and randomly seen the other 535 members and it’s kind of like walking through LA and possibly spotting a celebrity, they’re freaking everywhere (Patty Murray – for all you Seattleites – lives down the street from me.) And it’s really no big deal. So, whatever.

I should also mention that despite my love affair with congress there are probably a few that I just don’t like, wholly based on their indiscretions and generally unpleasant (or so I’ve heard) demeanor. But not one of them irks me as much as Katharine Harris. Let’s just say, I can hold a grudge and I’ll be holding this grudge until 2008 and I have no intention of ever letting up on it. We’ve encountered each other before (there were dueling swords), she was unassuming and I was bout ready to innocently trip her so that she would fall into the baked goods case at Starbucks.

Well last evening, I drove home from work because I had to babysit. And while I was driving I happened upon a very nice convertible Lexus, attempting to parallel park in a very tiny spot, in which said Lexus wouldn’t have fit in the first place, but whatever. The driver hit the car in front and then the car behind multiple times over. While this was happening, I laughed and watched in awe and then lamented on the fact that there are so many brilliant people in DC and they all drive for shit (present company included). As I get closer to the offending Lexus, I spot a 'Harris for Senate' bumper sticker on the back, which caused more eye rolling (it just happens, I swear.) And when I went past the car and turned to see who the asshat driving? It was none other than the Congresswoman from Florida, Katharine Harris. At which point I scrambled to find the camera phone and when unable to reach for my phone and keep from hitting the car in front of me, I parked – albeit illegally – and ran back down the (one way) street that I had last seen her on and she had vanished.

But had I taken a picture of Ms. Harris, you would’ve seen a frustrated red faced woman in a lovely silver Lexus, hitting a Camry and BMW repeatedly. I also would’ve posted that shit faster than you could say “Hanging chad” and probably sent an anonymous email to Wonkette and Drudge. Know this…if you are a member of congress, people can recognize you. Also be aware that it is a bad idea to hit other people’s cars at free will, because you just have to have your precious Lexus in a perfect spot. Also know, that if I have a long standing grudge against you and I catch you doing something stupid, I have no choice but to take a picture and or tell the internet that you are in fact one of the dumbest people a live. You know, in case they didn’t realize that already. All I have to say is "I am watching you" ::insert Jack Byrnes hand movements here::

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

20/20

"To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward." ~Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender

If I remember it correctly, our last night started off with 2 Euro white wine and quickly moved on to red wine, sangria and finally a champagne toast. That last glass of sangria is what truly did me in and caused the sudden flow of tears and drunk dancing that ensued. But of course nothing goes better with drunk dancing than an 80 euro bottle of vodka, which is ok because I had to get rid of the last bit of them. Through out the night we reminisced of the evening before…the incident when Stephanie had her giant bag stolen from under our feet at Maoz in Sol. After the reminiscing and the dancing there was the puking.

Managing to empty the contents of my stomach all over my host mother’s pristine bathroom floor was surely no easy feat. First of all, I had eaten tortilla and I would cut off of my thumb for the deliciousness that is tortilla. Second, I didn’t dislike her that much. Though we disagreed at times and she was adamant about me eating rabbit though I am a vegetarian, I didn’t dislike her strongly. But I will admit the shear frustration of trying to conjugate verbs with a large glass of wine in my hand to tell her to please not iron my underwear. There was also the time that she yelled at me for taking much too long in the shower and for smoking out of my bedroom window. She was also meticulous about cleaning and once apologized because had it not been for a pesky doctor’s appointment and a hacking cough, she would’ve gotten around to cleaning. Lucky for her, I forgave her.

The flight home was a blur with crying and snot and customs. Munich has a lovely airport and you can smoke anywhere you want. It’s funny because at the time, I relished in the fact that I could smoke and drink anytime any place and no one gave a shit. On my walk to work this morning I damn near passed out from smelling smoke. Who smokes at 8:15 AM? But beyond the smoking and drinking, there were a solid 8 hours of Phantom of the Opera, which lead to the jet lag from hell and questioning what the hell “this shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S” means.

And that was it. Everything after is a blur, including a graduation ceremony featuring Daniel Akaka, during which I was only semi-conscious. Though I realize that all of these events occurred a year ago, it’s hard not to be nostalgic right now. It’s hard not to look back and remember how happy yet dreadful I felt. Most importantly scared and very broke.

I cannot even begin to recall the number of people that told me not to worry and how fucking awesome their 20’s were and that this was the best time of my life and all the general bullshit that was spewed, while I seriously contemplated moving to Canada or worse Albany because insurance is fucking ridiculous. But I don’t remember a single person telling me that it was ok to be worried or freaked the hell out, just a lot of patronizing and “there, there, COBRA payments aren’t that high.”

In the end, I would’ve much preferred honesty rather than lofty talk as to how wonderful everything would be. And in the end, I’m glad that I’ve been pretty honest with myself as to how trying things have been and know that things went relatively well, hell, better than expected. In hindsight I know that I’ve been really fucking lucky and that things – though often trying – will only get better.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Blocked

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment. " ~Hart Crane

10 AM is way too early for ice chewing. There’s nothing to be tense about at 10 AM, nothing has happened and getting into why I’ve become an ice chewing connoisseur brings out 14 theories, including my personal favorite, that I am sexually frustrated. But that is neither here nor there as I believe that for today, I’m chewing so early because I’m feeling overwhelmed, which is an intrinsic trait, especially being overwhelmed by anything that may or may not come in the future.

Actually the most perfect thing occurred on Sunday, yet every time I sit down to write it, I am unable to get past the first paragraph. We’re coming down to the wire here with this little project of mine and while I’ve realized the crux of my neuroses over the past year, I’m left with that dreaded feeling of ‘what now?’ Though I wish there was more to be said right now, I can’t get past that first paragraph, but I have a sneaking suspicion that that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And I’m sure that you all are waiting with baited breath for the rest of this tale.

In the meantime, let’s play “What the Hell was this Girl thinking when she got dressed this morning?” also known as, create your own caption.


Monday, May 01, 2006

I Scream

“Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos.” ~Don Kardong


Having recently spent more time than necessary at Ben and Jerry’s (also, having recently gained 45.3 lbs from spending so much time there) I have witnessed some behavior that has driven me batshit, I might as well scoop that crap myself, crazy. While these things should be needless to point out, I feel as though it’s my service to my fellow man and ice cream lovers, to point out glimpses in asshat-ry that seem to arise when getting ice cream. Though it should be fairly straightforward, sometimes it is not and seriously one day I might jump over the counter and get my own damn The Last Straw.

  1. I’m all for small children getting ice cream, because hyper five year olds are fun akin to being hit over the head with a baseball bat. I’m also all for literacy and teaching junior how to properly pronounce “motherfucker” but when you feel it necessary for junior to pick out his own ice cream when there’s a line out the fucking store behind him, then? There’s a problem. Please don’t stand there and have him take 14 hours to sound out “New York Super Fudge Chunk”. While scoop shops aren't necessarily violent places, I cannot be held responsible for what I might do if your child takes an hour to order.

  1. Free Cone Day is tantamount to Christmas. It comes just once a year and then with a snap, it’s over. That said, I’d like to enjoy my little foray out of my cave to get some ice cream. I also realize the popularity of the day so I try to be amicable and not think about punching people. But I swear on my life, if you are in front of me and already in line and then your family of 14 and your dog, show up to get in line with you, I will (at first) gently tell you that 14 people aren’t about to get in front of me, as there is a line around the damn block. If you so much as fight me on this, I’ll have no choice but to physically remove them myself. Free Cone day is no joke and I’m sure the 343 people behind me would not be too keen on your loved ones just jumping ahead.

  1. While we’re on the subject of free cone day and long lines, I should send a shout out to those who work in scoop shops. Particularly the young man who served me on Wednesday. I asked him for a cup holder for my milkshakes and he replied with “We don’t got none” and then he went on to tell his coworker how taking the ninth grade English exam was “dumb shit” and that he shouldn’t have to take it. Now, I’m no grammar whiz, in fact I suck at it and I managed to get through many an AP English class, but I’m fairly certain that saying “we don’t got none” is improper English and maybe this young man should think a little more about retaking the 8th grade English exam. I’m just sayin…


So those are the rules though subject to change depending on how nice I’m feeling and/or how desperate I am for a cone.

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