Thursday, May 28, 2009

4 p.m. hangovers = The Best

Today was my company picnic, which anyone who reads this snarky excuse for a blog knows means one thing, and one thing only: ALCOHOL. If there was no alcohol, no one would come to the picnic, or if we did, we would simply eat our "barbecue," (a term I use loosely in this instance) and then leave.


We'd received various emails letting us know how fun the picnic was going to be. Fun = let's start drinking at 11 a.m. So we did. Some people played sports. I watched and gossiped. It was a welcome break from what I normally do at 2 p.m. on a weekday. The downside to starting to drink at 11 a.m. is that by 3 p.m. I had a gnarly headache. By 4:30 p.m. I'd gotten home, popped a couple excedrin, iced my head and passed out on the couch. Daytime hangover has been dealt with.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Cheating death

So today I totally stabbed myself in the foot while I was making dinner. Jeopardy question: THINGS ONLY IDIOTS DO! How, you may wonder, did I stab myself in the foot while making dinner, presumably on the counter and not the floor? Well the knife fell off the counter, and being very clever, I danced out of the way with one foot and left the other foot where it was, approximately 42 miles away from the knife, but the knife still flew, point first, toward my heel, and stabbed me. I bled. It was no big deal though.

Knives today were really the least of my worries. I was having a very "Final Destination" kind of day. You know that movie where this group of friends avoids death because one of them has a premonition that their plane is going to crash? Except that really pisses off Death and they start dying in all sorts of gnarly ways? I totally did not see that movie, woulda had nightmares because I am very impressionable and still am having trouble with "I Am Legend," which most people agree is a very lame thing to have nightmares about.

Anyway the reason I was having a Final Destination kind of day is that I totally cheated death while I was driving to the hospital to see Diane's baby today. I was going quite fast, as I tend to do, in the right lane on Montague, and some douchebag in a red BMW in a lane to the left of me decided to make a right turn in front of me. You know, like he realized he needed to turn right at the light but he was not actually in the right lane, I was. I almost creamed his ass all over San Jose and Milpitas. And then that motherfucker had the nerve to give me the stinkeye after I very politely tore half the rubber off my tires stopping my car to avoid killing him, and possibly myself. I yelled "SHIT!" while I was braking. And then when he gave me the stinkeye, I was like, "You dumb motherfucker." Don't mess with me. I am hella gangsta.

So then on the way BACK from the hospital (I am getting to the baby part, hold on to your knickers!) some crazy bitch started driving toward me, going the completely wrong way. She almost creamed me all over San Jose and Cupertino. Here's me: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY YOU CRAZY BITCHAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I managed to make it out of that situation alive. She amazingly did not hit anyone and no one even honked, I think we were all so baffled and trying to take evasive action, there was no time.

And then the knife tried to cut off my foot. Final Destination, man!!!

So the baby! Elise. Not Craplicker, thank goodness! 7 lbs, 7 oz, 19 inches of perfection. I thanked her mother, Diane, for being my surrogate and then left with the baby. She's asleep in her bassinet at the moment. KIDDING. But that child is so cute and tiny I just want to bite her. It's a strange reaction, I am aware.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

I know, right?

So there are many reasons why I didn't blog a lick last week. As one unit each, the reasons did not equal enough to prevent me from blogging. Together, it was like a huge clusterfuck in my head and I couldn't make it happen. I know. I am swearing terribly. Anyway, here is what happened.

1. I DID blog, mofos! I blogged on Monday. I blogged about how we are having a pest control issue at home and how Hubs was more concerned about our wasps and carpenter ants than I was. It was darn funny. And then Hubs left a comment on it that made it clear to me that he was not amused about being the butt of my joke. Which annoyed me. How dare he not want me to publicly lambast him on my blog every week?! I decided I needed to take the blog down because if I couldn't slander my husband, then I really had nothing to talk about. I deleted the post. I almost deleted my blog. I decided I suck.

2. I entered the Red Tent, and it was All Bad. I haven't had a period this bad in years. I felt like shit every day last week.

3. I was planning my mom's surprise birthday party, which was held on Wednesday, and for some reason this made me want to vomit. My dad decided two weeks before her birthday that it was time to have a surprise birthday party for her since the last one we had was 15 years ago. So because I am the way I am and because my dad was going to be the person to take her to dinner before the party, it fell on me to organize it. It reminded me of the couple of days leading up to my wedding, when I could barely eat, I felt so nauseated from nerves. And believe me, I am not one of these people who stops eating due to their emotions. Typically, I eat in response to every emotion there is: Anger, sadness, happiness, boredom, you name it. Anyway I have no idea why I was spazzing so hard on this party, but whatever it was, it was freaking me out and I could barely focus.

4. Red Tent and party planning made me effing tired. By Thursday I was SO DONE. And work has been a major bitch lately, so no rest for me during the day.

That is all. I have no other excuses other than feeling abnormally tired and irritable. Many things are irritating me, especially myself and my own lack of motivation to do anything.

So in other news, my friend Diane is in labor and may give birth to her baby girl today. She's one of these folks who doesn't tell anyone what the baby's name is going to be until it is born and lying in her arms. That way, no one can help but say, "Ophelia? That is the perfect name for this little gem." How can you help it? It could be the most jacked up name you've ever heard, but if you walk into the room and you're introduced to a person named Craplicker, it's just too late for you to argue about Craplicker's name. You've already met Craplicker and seen his face and your mind has already told you: "When you see that face, know that you are looking at Craplicker." You cannot suggest Craplicker's mother rename him something more appropriate. Not that Diane would ever name her child something as offensive as Craplicker, but she does have some mighty opinionated relatives and, besides, I think she likes keeping us all in suspense. More to follow on that later!

Speaking of children, my husband is telling everyone we know that we are going to start trying to have a baby in December. This is something we discussed a while ago while I held him at knife point in our family room and explained to him that I didn't like this any more than he did but that I have a certain number of years as a fertile woman and that I'd prefer to try for kids before age 35, which doctors seem to think is some evil turning point that causes baby fetuses to turn into gremlins. After I threatened him with his life, we agreed we would finish out this year and at that point discuss if we are physically and emotionally ready for me to stop taking the pill. We agreed we would not discuss this with anyone. And then Hubs told everyone we know. So now I am telling the Internet. Some day I will try to have a child. I know this is shocking. Please try not to fall out of your chair. The simple fact is, if I do not procreate, my mother is going to go ballistic and adopt a pregnant teenager just so that she can be a grandmother. Just kidding. I am not going to have a kid just for her, although she puts the pressure on like Mike Tyson.

So happy Faux Monday. Happy Tuesday-After-Memorial-Day. Happy Short Week. Let's try to keep it together.

Friday, May 15, 2009

The Law of Threes

They say that deaths come in threes, and I have to say, I think "they" are right. Without going into detail (because it's depressing and who needs to read more boo hoo entries about how lives -- astoundingly -- continue to end every day?) I will say three people died this week who I've never met but who affected me in some way. One can never know how much one's actions, even in death, may affect others.

And that's enough about that!

Today I ate dinner with my parents at a new joint in SJ called Mama's Curry whose only fault is that they use styrofoam plates & other containers, which I simply think is environmental murder at this point. My parents discovered this place yesterday and liked it so much they wanted to take me there today. This is their first real foray into Indian food and they're finding they like it quite a bit. My dad had trouble learning that naan is pronounced NON and not NANE like Maine, but he'll get it someday.

Today I began using what will heretofore become part of my everyday vocabulary, thanks to Tina Fey. And that is: "S that D. Shut it down." Dear Tina Fey, please adopt me and let me follow you around with a notebook and comb your hair and clean your eyeglasses. Also, I will be saying, "Dealbreaker," probably more often than anyone wants to hear it.

Today I watched a group of middle school kids put on a musical and it struck me how much potential some of these mini adults have. I wonder if all teachers see the light shining brighter in some students and not so much in others, as terrible as that may sound.

Today I left the lunch I brought to work in the fridge and went out instead.

Today I overslept by an hour and 15 minutes and was late to work.

Today I offered my condolences to two people who lost family members close to them.

Today I laughed easily in spite of hardships.

Happy Friday. S that D. Shut it down.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

How not cooking dinner came back to bite me in the ass

I'll be the first to admit I'm no happy homemaker. I rarely clean, hardly ever cook, and can't seem to motivate myself to decorate my house so that it feels more like a home.
And Hubs is essentially the same way. Which is why we ended up eating dinner at Panera last night.
Which is how we ran into a chick that Hubs "went out with" several years ago. It could even have been like 8 or 9 years ago. NONETHELESS.
Here's now it went down. We ordered the food and Hubs went to fill our drinks while I chose a booth to sit in. Hubs walked toward me. He glanced at someone sitting in the booth right next to ours and, in hindsight, I saw a flash of panic.
"Hey!" the blonde person in the booth said.
I listened to them exchange pleasantries and overheard them mention a company they'd both worked at. Knowing my husband had "gone out with" a cougar from this particular place of business, I began to wonder if this was she.
I was eventually introduced to the cougar and her friend, and pretended I was just Clueless Wifey. We said our good-byes and sat down.

"Was that?..." I asked.
Hubs just gave me a look that said it was.

So my appetite was sort of ruined because now my mind was skipping off into the bad place, where husbands "go out with" women with mannish faces. We listened to the Cougar and her friend giggle in the next booth. I imagined their conversation and it irritated me.

In all fairness to Hubs, his tryst with the Mannish Cougar occurred shortly after a nasty breakup between us. We've both done "things" we're not proud of on the rebound, and the Mannish Cougar happens to be one them, and she definitely reared her ugly head last night.

Today I am trying to decide if it would be better or worse if the Mannish Cougar were actually hot. On one hand, if she were hot, then at least I could hardly blame Hubs for "going out" with her. On the other hand, I know for sure if she were hot I would have started feeling majorly insecure. As it stands right now, I know with 1000% certainty that I am hotter than the Mannish Cougar. So it's probably best that she is as mannish as she is.

And lest ye think I should not be blogging about this due to Hubs' delicate feelings, he has been fairly warned, as immediately after noting his guilty look in answer to my question of whether the Mannish Cougar was, indeed, who I suspected she was, I stated, "I get to blog about this."

And we will be eating dinner at home tonight.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Oh, the horror!

I know this is still along the lines of "I ate a chicken sandwich and I shouldn't be telling you this boring shit" but ...

Would you like to know what I ate yesterday? Here it is:

-granola bar
-nonfat latte

-Small piece of chocolate

-Fried (I left that part off yesterday didn't I?!) chicken sandwich
-Chips & salsa

Iced tea
Giant cookie

-Innumerable slices of pizza
-2 beers

Ice cream

Approximate calories? 4,000. Am I joking? Sadly, no.

How do I feel today? Like a bloated whale. Today I'm trying to regain control. It's completely INSANE to eat that much food. After lunch yesterday, I would have been satisfied for the rest of the day, BUT NO. I had to KEEP EATING as though my life depended on it.

I was given this body to carry me around for my lifetime and instead of caring for it like the precious vessel it is, I abuse the shit out of it every day. I'm just pissing myself off, that's all!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Blogger's paradise

I wanted to post yesterday but when I got home from work, someone stabbed me in the eye. At least that's what it felt like. Thank God for Excedrin. I popped two of those puppies, iced my head, and felt almost normal for the rest of the evening.

I've been in Blogger Purgatory for a couple of weeks, paying for trying to be clever when other bloggers are much (MUCH) more clever and I am here telling you poor souls about how I got a headache last night. Perhaps you'd like to know what I had for lunch? A chicken sandwich. HOW COULD IT GET MORE INTERESTING?

I have no focus. And I've been reading this other blog called That's What She Said, and not only is the blogger much more clever and entertaining, I am 100% certain she is hot. Which, hello? Writers are not allowed to be hot. Clever and hot do not go together. It's not allowed, dude. I can only hope it's an ugly clever guy pretending to be a hot chick. Anyway, I really enjoy her blog. She's single and dating and talks about how awful dating is and how her old dog farts and how she pretended to be a lesbian for free plane tickets (it's a long story but now aren't you intrigued?). So I tried to check her blog yesterday and it asked me to log in. "WTF?" I thought. And try as I might, I could not access her blog. I was told by Blogger that I had not been invited to read her blog. I was sad. How will I ever find out about Wednesday night's date?! I wondered. I considered commenting on her friend Single Grrrl's blog to see if she'd tell me why her friend decided to privatize her blog and could I be invited to read, but decided that was a little too desperate.

Then today I tried again. SUCCESS! Wednesday's date was a flop. She compared it to lame oral sex. Such a fantastic comparison!!

So it was a small victory today, but greatly overshadowed by news of another blogger's actual death last night. A young mother, Monica, battled cancer that spread throughout her entire body and at the end it very quickly took her life. It is so disheartening. I'd spoken to God about her and said, "If ever there were a time for a miracle, isn't this it?" I imagined Monica awakening one morning and feeling terrific. She'd go to the doctor and, baffled, they would conduct tests, only to discover there was no trace of the cancer.

Now her husband is updating her blog, and saying he's not sure how to tell their young son, who still doesn't know his mom is gone.

I believe everything happens for a reason, but when things like this occur, it's very difficult to understand.

So I'm trying to blog with purpose, instead of telling you about headaches and chicken sandwiches, although it could be argued that reading about such things might be a welcome escape from, say, filling in spreadsheets at one's job. Here's to focusing, even if it's only on surviving the week.

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Feeling a little "Deliverance"

We had Hubs' deceased grandmother's mail forwarded to our house, since she's obviously no longer living in hers, and someone else soon will be. So far we've been getting a plethora of old-lady mail. She renewed Reader's Digest and TV Guide until the end of time, so we're pretty much set there. Occasionally we receive some of that shitty mail meant to trick old people into donating money to nutty causes, when it's really some fucking thief who should be killed. Immediately.

On Monday we received a wedding invitation for Grandma from some Vermont relatives who, as Hubs said, "didn't get the memo" about Grandma passing away (which, by the way, she's been gone for about 10 months). The invitation included a photo of the bride-to-be and her groom. The groom was wearing a John Deere hat and the bride had long 70s hippie hair. The invite stated that there would be a pig roast following the ceremony, and that it would be BYOB. Seriously. A wedding invitation that tells guests to bring their own beer!

Hubs joked that we should check the box "No," that Grandma would not be attending, and enclose a copy of her death certificate with the RSVP. We found this to be hilarious and laughed uproariously for a good couple minutes. We are only a little morbid.

We also got a graduation announcement from, presumably, the bride's little sister. We'd never heard of any of these people. We surmise that the bride is Hubs' grandfather's sister's kid's kid. A second cousin or something. After his grandmother passed away in June last year, he and his father did their best to notify all of the family members for whom they could find contact information. Some were in Vermont, some were in Oregon. They counted on those folks to notify the rest of the pack, but there appears to be some outliers who, maybe, aren't in close contact with the rest of the family.

Hubs decided to try to find his cousins on Facebook, which elicited a big "pshaw!" from me. As if people who look like that go anywhere near the Internet! As predicted, neither of them are on Facebook, but they do have Myspace accounts. He emailed each girl and let them know their great aunt has passed away. We haven't heard back yet.

Much has developed on the Grandma house front. We finished cleaning it out -- a day I never thought I'd live to see -- and paid other people to finish the rest (carpet, paint, electrical, yard work, etc). And we now have tenants set to move in to it, which means that, shortly, we are set to become landlords.

It's a crazy little world.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Scumps, scumps, a toast to this night!

Golfing Friday was pure hilarity, if you consider drunk grownups attempting to golf in the rain hilarious. I'd stolen Hubs' windbreaker and wrapped myself up like a burrito before heading out on the course, driver held threateningly in both hands. Here are the drinks I remember drinking: 1 beer, 1 rum punch, 1 rum cider, 1 shot of pineapple infused vodka & 1 glass of wine. At one point my team posed with a larger-than-life statue of Captain Morgan. Throughout the day we referred to one male member of our team as "Nancy." My partner and I spoke in British accents for about four hours, probably causing our invitees to swear never to invite us to another event. We also swore our undying love to each other. We ate dinner and at one point I was utterly baffled by a large pan of mashed potatoes, as if I'd never seen nor eaten such things in my life.

I popped Excedrin and a gallon of water when I got home and slept it off, awaking fresh and read to repeat. Which I did! That evening, following dinner at Casa Lupe, Hubs and I threw our own intimate party, which included one bottle of Kalyra Riesling (delicious) and one bottle of Alpen Cellars Gewurztraminer (also delicious), and a few hours of Rock Band. I'd also had a glass of sangria at CL. I mostly sang and Hubs mostly played guitar. We are pretty much rock stars. We should probably buy curtains.

Friday, May 01, 2009

There's a ghost in me who wants to say I'm sorry

Brief post today because I have to go golfing shortly. I know. What the fuck, right? I don't golf but for some reason our vendors think it's a great idea to get all of the managers sloshed every year and watch them repeatedly miss the ball while swinging over and over. To say I don't golf is actually an understatement. I fucking hate golf. It is, like, the worst fucking sport ever.

So the reason I'm feeling so salty this morning is Hubs and went to the Ladytron/The Faint concert last night and I didn't get to bed til 1-ish. Then had to roll out of bed at 6. Guuuhhh I am hurting. Our friend with swine flu showed up, not to mention hordes of unwashed masses were also there (I don't think these alternative types shampoo), so I am pretty much a ticking time bomb.

The Faint fucking rocked it. They were badass. I am sort of in love with one of the guitarists, he reminded me of Adam Lambert of American Idol in a slightly less gay way.

But Ladytron? My ladies? Of Ladytron? What the fuck, girls? Need a new sound tech, much? All I heard was bass and drums. It was bloody terrible, I'm sorry to say. I consoled myself by listening to the CD on the way to work this morning. I was sorely, sorely disappointed with last night's performance. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the ladies' physical performance was about as exciting as watching grass grow. If I wanted to watch two wooden marionettes twist knobs for an hour and a half I'd ... well, fuck, I don't know, I'd watch "Pinocchio" or something.

So anyway, Happy Friday interwebs. Here's to hitting balls with sticks!