Wearing plaid to a party is never a good idea June 16, 2007

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Wearing plaid to a party is never a good idea What do we want? Ice cream! When do we want it? Now! How’re we going to get it? Umm… Yeah… apparently Ben & Jerry’s free cone day is today. Unfortunately, the closest shop is in Georgetown. You can punch me in the face and call me Sally if you think I’m going set foot in that part of town without a better incentive than that. Seriously, I’m not a fan of the area. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it (other than the fact that it’s full of pretentious yuppies who think they’re better than everybody else) and nothing traumatizing happened to me there (other than being blinded by the sight of multiple men in pink polos with popped collars on multiple occasions). I just don’t like the place. Honestly, I’ve never had anything good come from my infrequent forays there and the overall impression I get of the people gives me all the more reason to argue for mass sterilization. No one who wears leggings over a baggy hippie shirt with sunglasses that look like they could devour their face should be allowed to procreate. I know it may be in fashion, but there’s a big difference between having fashion and having style. Fashion is when you pay $100+ for the latest trend just so that you can flash your name-brand, ugly-ass bauble around and proclaim your yuppie entitlement to the world. Style, on the other hand, is a bit different. Style is when you can take your Target-boutique jewelry, pair it with a hand-me-dwon dress that used to belong to your friend, and show up to a party with more class than anyone else.  In the words of my friend, Johnny, whose party I had the pleasure of attending this weekend, “Who is this guy wearing a plaid shirt at my cocktail party?” That guy obviously had neither style, nor fashion. Maybe he was from my hometown. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to hate on the good people of the midwest. I don’t hate, I stimulate.  Plaid shirts aside, there are several important points you should take away from this blogging: - Georgetown sucks. I don’t care how much free ice cream they have – I’m not going. - Plaid is never a good idea, no matter where in the country you live. - Leggings are also never a good idea unless you’re me at age 8 and you don’t know any better. - People should throw more parties and invite me because, as we all know, I am awesome. (btw – I’m throwing one of my own either the last weekend of May or the first weekend of June, so mark your calendars)

Dating at its finest, part deux June 16, 2007

 

“I’m no longer afraid that men will kill me. I am just scared that they will bore me.”

I stole that from one of the many other blogs I frequent. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Although, I find it difficult to be cynical about dating lately b/c I’ve just started seeing someone who I find myself liking more and more each and every time. Current situation aside, I feel a special blogpost is in order. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present you with “Dating at its Finest,” part deux (Part I available in archives if you feel like searching)

* Disclaimer – No dates, no names. These are not in order. If it’s you, I do apologize. Rest assured, it’s nothing personal. If it were, I wouldn’t be blogging about it.

1) Yes, I’m new here. You? Not so much, huh? That’s okay. I moved here for work. You work on the Hill. Maybe after you’re done with the all of the name-dropping you can try to impress me more with you liberal stance on budget reform. Then later, after all of the cliche politico-speak, you can buy me my very own blue dress and we’ll play House; I’ll be the intern. You try to come off as a straight down the middle everyman, but really I can see that your motivations are as crooked as your skinny little dick. (woops… did I say that? tsk tsk… )

2) I met you online. No, I’m not afraid to admit it. You were funny on instant messenger, but in real life you’re barely more intriguing than my friend’s cat, Muffy. I don’t like cats. Your outfit suggests that your mother still buys your clothes. The subject turns to fashion. You admit that yes, your mother did indeed buy that lovely plaid shirt. Somehow, I sustain enough will power to remain in my seat and not leave right this instant. You were one of the kids who was still suckling at 4, weren’t you? Flashback. Oh, God. I’m on a date with the guy my brother will turn into 10 years from now. Where’s Marty McFly? I’ve got to stop this before it happens.

3) You’re good-looking. I’m good-looking. We make a good-looking couple. I like you. We’ve been going out for awhile now. You have an off-beat sense of humor, but you’re a bigger nerd than I am and I find that oddly sexy. It took some time for you to invite me back to your place. I can see why. Yes, we’ve both seen the movie. Now, I’m wondering why you still have all those action figures on display in your living room. The fact that you used to play DDR says it all. I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was the one to deflower you. A first for me, btw, but something to add to my growing list of accomplishments. What did surprise me though, was the fact that you were one of the best. Bravo. But, some things just aren’t meant to be. I can’t stand the cat pee smell that invades your apartment or the fact that I’m always grasping at straws for something to talk to you about. You not only seem uncomfortable in your own skin, you make me uncomfortable too. This just isn’t working for me. But we can still get it on, right?

4) You are a sad, sad man. You only call me when you’re drunk. I’ve only seen you once sober and it was not not all sunshine and sparkles. I like you better when you’re drinking. At least then your self-depricating humor comes off as somewhat funny… though not by much. You like to brag about your job, but you hold one of the most reviled positions out there. You’re not special just because you get to carry a firearm. No, I don’t want to see what you’re packing tonight. I’m hanging up now, goodbye.

5) I thought I could do it. I thought that since I used to be fat that I could get over the fact that your hulking mass of flab causes the table to shift slightly in my direction at dinner. I was wrong. The way you leer at me makes me puke a little in my mouth. You’re a nice guy. I’m a nice girl. I don’t want to be mean, so I agree to go out with you again. Big mistake. And I mean big in every sense of the word. I don’t think I could ever be attracted to someone who eats more in one meal than I eat in an entire day. I do appreciate the attention, yes. You do have a nice car too. But, honestly, you should have just gotten a Ford and spent the extra on gastric bypass. I’m a horribly superficial person, but at least I can enjoy my leftovers without having to worry that you’ll steal them when I’m not looking.

6) You are hot – by far the most gorgeous man that I’ve ever gone out with. I don’t give out my number to guys at bars anymore, but you were the exception. I was amazed that you called. It doesn’t even matter that you got the wrong name. You can call me whatever you want. As I sit here staring into your dreamy blue eyes I begin to imagine how beautiful our child would be. The kid would be so sexy that he and Branjelina’s child would be inevitably drawn to each other and they’d mate to create a new race of superhuman beauty. What was that you were saying? You’re bi? Sonofabitch. I knew it had to be something. Well… I can’t get with a guy who digs guys. The last place his mouth may have been is another man’s ass. I don’t care how gorgeous you are; that image is definitely not kosher. Swing and miss.

This blog is dedicated to all my single lady-friends. It’s a rough time trying to sift through the drab and drivel, I know. Every once in awhile, you’ll find someone to make it worth it. Keep on truckin’.

Crazy monkey sex noises June 16, 2007

What? What was that? Did I hear you correctly? Did you just say ROAD TRIP?! Yeeaahhh, that’s right. I would’ve blogged about this sooner, but the little science gremlins at the office had me sequestered for most of the week in what shall herein be referred to as WFH 1.0 (Week From Hell, part I) and I actually had to work while I was at work. Go figure. But, last weekend’s festivities were just too good to let pass without a word, so a-blogging we go. I got invited to be a wedding date at the last minute. My friend, Kevin, had been having some relationship difficulties with the now ex-gf and I subbed in because, really, I am the most fun person to have around for road trips. The wedding was down in Fredericksburg. It very well could have been back in IL, considering all of the plaid shirts, jeans, and southern twangs. I’m suprised there wasn’t anyone there with a can of Skoal. It was not the most back-country wedding I’ve ever been to, but it certainly came close. Here’s the running commentary of what I was thinking as the day progressed: Wow, this thing sure is out in the boonies. What? It’s in the backyard? What yard? All I see is a mud pit with a pvc pipe running from underneath the house. Why, oh why did I wear heels? Everyone else is in jeans or very poorly fitting Wal-Mart garb. I should really have listened when Kevin said to dress down. Damn, there are a lot of kids here. Baby mama drama. How many of those belong to the bride-to-be? Only 2? Hmm… Wait, the pastor dude’s an hour late. This is beginning to suck. Oh, good. He’s here. No chairs, where should I stand? Doesn’t matter, huh. Guess not since they’ve already started. Is that a prom dress she’s wearing? Why does her smile look so pained? Well, if I was marrying that  guy, I’d probably be in pain too. Wait, did that kid just run out in the middle of the ceremony? There goes another one. That’s what kid leashes are for. Seriously, if they’re not going to close the gate, they should at least tie them up to keep them from interrupting this sorry excuse for a wedding. I know, I know. Some people like it low-key, but this is more than low-key. This is low-class. Okay, it’s over. Can we leave now? No, wait… the bride’s going to take a trip around the yard in her ATV. Yeah, that’s classy. I might understand if it were before the ceremony and she was trying to run away, but who ever heard of taking a celebratory lap on a four-wheeler after a wedding? Time for food. Oh no they did not. Someone put bbq sauce in the potatoe salad. I need to leave. Now. Needless to say, it was not the most romantic or enjoyable get-together I’ve ever been too, but it was interesting to see how other people do things. It also adds to my list of things not to do when I get marrried. All-in-all, it really wasn’t that bad. It was cool to meet some of Kevin’s pals and get out of town. After it was through we decided to head down to Richmond to visit our friend, Char. No road trip would be complete without a peremptory stop at the ABC store and the WaWa. Good stuff. Made it down to Richmond and hung out. It was a lot of fun. I think Char’s giant gallon-sized bottle of wine may have made it even moreso. A few things that may or may not have happened that evening: -someone repeating that they’re “warm and fuzzy” – Kevin mentioning, “I’ve got something warm and fuzzy”, crazy monkey-sex noises, lots of hilarity, apples2apples, the police being called, getting in trouble by the po’s for being too loud (not to mention warm and fuzzy), good times. So yeah… my weekends always turn out pretty damn good. How could it not be good when there’s road-trippin’ involved? Ten-four, over and out.

Crack for the soul June 16, 2007

Monday, March 19, 2007

The future of science is in dire straights. It’s sad. I helped to judge the Arlington Regional Science Fair this weekend. If the projects I saw were any indication of the current state of science education, then America could possibly be overtaken by an army of of French people (b/c we all know that the French are stupid). Better yet, we could be taken over by an army of French who work for Macy’s (if you don’t get the reference, then you need to read the backlog). How humiliating would that be? They would win the science fair and look stylish, at the same time as overtaking the country. Case in point: one project asked the question, “Does fertilizer help plants grow?” Their results were unsurprising, to say the least. Really? Fertilizer helps plants? Wow, and your great grandfather’s second cousin’s ex-boyfriend knew Einstein? Must be genetic – a conclusion that someone working at Macy’s would infer. That’s not to say that some of the projects weren’t decent. It just surprised me that a few of them made it all the way to the Regional section. But hey, at least they had time to practice saying “Would you like fries with that?” as they waited for for their “honorable mention” sticker. In totally unrelated news… I had a great weekend. Saturday was a very un- St. Patrick’s day. No green beer was consumed. No flashing green clovers worn on various articles of clothing. That’s not to say that good times weren’t had; they most definitely were. One observation: I need to turn my phone off on nights when drunken texts and voicemails from friends are unavoidable. As much as I do enjoy them, sometimes there are other matters to attend to. I went to IKEA on Sunday. I was up in Maryland for brunch and it was on my way back. That store is like crack. No other place could convince me that I not only want, but desperately need $200 worth of crap that will sit in my apartment and collect dust. Would I like a box of wine glasses for $2.99? Nevermind the fact that the only time I drink is when I’m out with people. Sure. How about a new bathmat for $7.99? I already have two, but for that price, how could I not? New sheets? No one wants to sleep on bedding that’s so old it should have come with its own blacklight and bleach pen - most definitely time for a new set.  They sell everything there. I think I saw a shelf labeled “Crap - 0.99.” It was empty. I even saw a woman breastfeeding on one of the couches in the furniture department. Nothing says, “Buy this couch” like breast milk stains. Way to be progressive. Now, my apartment looks like an advertisement; I’m considering taking photos and sending them into the catalog dept. to see if I they’ll publish them. I should at least get a free plastic bag for my efforts. (If you haven’t heard, they’ve started charging for them.) That’s right. I deserve it. Hey, maybe they’ll even give me my soul back if I take a picture of the receipt that I’ve put in my new barely pronouncible Finlir frame. Good times.

That’s just how I roll with it June 16, 2007

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

It’s 82 degrees out. I’m sitting in my office blogging. I’m wearing sunglasses because I’m cool like that. The sun is pouring through my window as I listen to Third Eye Blind on the radio and prop my feet up on my desk. If someone in the apartments across the street had binoculars they could probably see up my skirt right about now. I don’t care because that’s just how I roll with it. Life is sweet. I can taste it in my spit. Or maybe that’s just because I finally gave in and had ColdStone for lunch today. Either way…     I may have found a new roomie. Sure, it means I will no longer be able to walk around the apartment in various states of undress. It also means that I won’t have anymore blogging fodder about the psycho for your entertainment. But if it means not having to put up with her OCD tendencies and random bitchery, then it’s worth it.   I’m already planning the party for when she leaves. We’re going to make paper plate decorations and hang them all around. There won’t be any talking during the party. Instead, everyone will be issued their own Post-It notepad and we’ll all write messages to each other. Each and every note must end with a large exclamation point, regardless of whether or not it’s needed. If you break the no-talking rule you’ll be yelled at and compared to a crack whore. We’ll be playing games. One is called the “I work for Macy’s” spelling game. To win, you just have to have an IQ greater than that of a houseplant or a small rock. We’ll also be playing the passive-aggressive game in which you’ll see just how much you can piss someone off without doing anything directly to them. One example would be taking the last hors devour before your friend has even had one and then later mentioning (on the Post-It, of course) how delicious the food was. Another example would be stealing their chair when they’re not looking and then putting it back later when they don’t need it anymore. We’ll even have special hand towels in the bathroom. The red ones will be for douching only. Any other suggestions? It’s gonna be kickass!   Kickball season is coming up. I registered. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. My team’s playing in the DC Federal league this time. It’s on the other side of the Mall. This is good. It mean two less metro stops on the way there and also a brand new bar in which to puke. Good times ahead. I would highly recommend it. Kicking balls and taking names – that’s what WAKA’s all about.   My computer at home is having difficulties. It’s on the rag I think. Smacking it around didn’t help and neither did yelling. It decided to just breakdown one day last week and only comes back when I promise to buy it nice things. I’m going to invest some time this weekend to try to sweet talk it a little more.   Still gymming. I make faces at myself in the mirror when I do the weights. It’s not intentional. I didn’t even really notice that I was doing it until the other day when I saw someone else making faces in the mirror. Their arms were about the thickness of dowel rods or the wide end of a pool cue. They were trying to do lats with lift a 50 lb dumbbell in each hand. I stifled a chuckle, brandishing my 20 lb. set, secure in my wuss status. “At least I can do that without looking that stupid,” I thought. So I proceeded with my lats (Where you stand straight arms at your side with weights in hand, and slowly lift them from your side, keeping your arms straight, until they’re at shoulder-height… Jesus pose) and glanced at my face while I was doing them. Definitely made uncontrollable weird faces. It was somewhere in between a grimace and a look of intense concentration. Reminded me of the way my roomie looks when I use words that are too big for her to understand.   Enough for now. I’ve got to get back to saving the world. Peace out, my people.

Passive-aggressive isn’t just her middle name – it’s her way of life June 16, 2007

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I swear to God, the bitch is crazy. I walk into the apartment after getting home from work yesterday and it’s back. That’s right, the furniture that she had moved out on Friday is back. She took it just so that I wouldn’t be able to use it for my party on Saturday. Since I already bought some stuff to replace it (because I had no idea she was taking it, much less planning on bringing it back), there’s no room for it. The coffee table and bench are sitting in the corner of the living room, behind the door. And now there are boxes piled on top of the kitchen table, too. What’s more, she took down the curtain rod that I had hung my curtains on, just so I wouldn’t be able to use it. I put them back up with my own curtain hooks. Seriously, I didn’t think she could get any more passive-aggressive. I bet I’m going to wake up tomorrow and the shower curtain will be gone. She’s already taken the ugly fuzzy toilet seat cover. Do you think I should start hoarding the TP? I’m not even dignifying her actions with a response. No good can come of it. I’ve posted an ad on CL to try to find someone not psycho. I especially like the header, “$750 Non-crazy roomate wanted to share LARGE 2 br. apartment.” Check it out http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/sub/289239333.html And if you know anybody who’s looking, send ‘em my way.

Tucker Max is going to hell… and so am I June 16, 2007

And we now return to our regularly scheduled program. When we last left our heroine she was dealing with some serious BS. Like all episodic dilemmas in this, your most favorite blog, it’s all smiles and sunshine in the end.

I went to HH on Friday. Saturday afternoon I woke up in my room, still fully clothed, with my giant metal hair-thingy firmly indented into my skull (from sleeping on it all night). I guess it’s better than waking up without your clothes and a metal implement wedged somewhere else. Although, I do believe I’ve heard that story from someone before and they didn’t sound as traumatized as I might have imagined. Hmmm…  So, I later had a conversation with one of my good friends about that night. It went something like this:

Me: Lord, I don’t know why I feel so asstastic this morning. I only had four! (This was over a period of about 6 hours)

Friend: Yeah, but then you had that shot with me.

Me: (smacking my head in realization) Holy shit – the shots! That’s what did it.

So, yes. I did in fact have a valid reason for being extremely hungover. Multiple shots of tequilla will tend to do that. I know it was a good night because I didn’t puke - not in a red plastic solo cup or anywhere else for that matter. And… though I’d pretty much given up on meeting guys at bars, I ended up giving out my number to one guy. My thought was, “It doesn’t matter – he won’t call anyway.” But surprise, surprise – he did, and I just may be meeting up with him later on this week. Good times, indeed.

Once I finally dragged my ass out of bed on Saturday afternoon it was a mad dash to get ready for my lil shindig I was hosting that night. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the previous evening I had arrived home from work to a plundered apartment. The roomie, apparently in an attempt to win the award for All Supreme Bitch, decided to raid the apartment. Even though she’s not moving out until May, she took all of her furniture out of the place without telling me she was going to. Granted, it’s her ugly-ass shit and she can do what she wants with it, but it would be nice to have a friggin’ couch for people to sit on at my party. No worries, though. Liz is not only a superhero, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now (because, really, could a normal person put up with all this crap without stabbing someone?), she is also able to make the best of a bad situation. So, yes. Got a few pieces of furniture and was finally able to decorate the apartment and make it my own. No more hideous candleabras. It finally feels like I live there and I love it. My only fear is that I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and the shower curtain will be missing. Now, that would be bitchy.   

Anyway, on to the party. It was a wine thing. Someone brought beer. Ha. It was definitely fun times. As the evening wore on, one of the things that came up in conversation was Mr. Tucker Max, author of “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.” Now, many of you may not have heard of this dude. Those of you who have either love him or hate him. I think he’s absolutely hilarious – the biggest douchbag on the planet, but a funny one. This guy is also a genius. He had a blog, and it got turned into a book. In this way, he’s my hero. Not because of his douchbaggery, but because he was able to get people to pay money for what would otherwise be free. So, if Tucker Max is going to hell, I probably am too. I have a shitload of stories that may not be quite on-par with TM, but they certainly do make a valient effort.

All in all, it was a lovely evening and one that I’ll probably be repeating fairly shortly. Til then, keep it real.

Mondays may not be the best way to spend 1/7 of your life, but this one’s not too bad at all.

Life can’t always be smiles and sunshine June 16, 2007

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Maturity. Sometimes it comes with age. Sometimes it comes from a particularly sobering situation. Some people have it. Some people don’t. A lot of people, when they first meet me, notice how young I look and write me off as being one of those who lack it, one of Them, one of the pretty yet vapid 20-somethings out there who link maturity with stodginess and advanced age. However, I’m not one of Them. Ive been told, on more than one occasion and by multiple different sources, that I have a sense of maturity – even a certain clarity of mind – that most people don’t. When people realize this, it sometimes surprises them. It shouldn’t. I think there’s a certain acceptance in our society of immaturity that has become so ingrained that it makes people who exercise restraint and good judgement seem out-of-place. This is sad. What’s even more sad is that I’ve recently had to confront a situation where my own maturity was called into question. This was done by someone who I considered a friend and who, upon seeing the situation play itself out, appears to lack this same maturity that was called into question. I’m not going to go into details, because – honestly – I hate the drama and I don’t want this to turn into something for people to gossip about within the circle of friends. However, I feel the need to justify myself in a forum that I can control. So here it is, in the least amount of specificity as possible: Something happened. Extenutating circumstances that will not be discussed, because it’s not my place to discuss them. My friend, whose presence and involvement had been planned months in advance, backed out of something that was very important to me. No worries. I can handle it on my own. However, I felt it was rude and personally insulting to back out of this thing so last minute (less than a week’s notice). I told them so, in a fairly unpleasant email. They replied, in kind, with a similarly unfriendly message. A bit of back-and-forth escalated and, not wanting to burn any bridges, I tried to make light of the situation and said we should chill and that we would probably laugh about it in the future. My friend called and left an unpleasant message saying that I was “certifiably insane” if I thought we would be laughing about this later on. I called to clear the air and try to mend things, fully intending to apologize if there were some misunderstanding of the situation and reasoning. I was hung-up on. Not very mature, if you ask me. I called back and left a message, again trying to clear the air. A day or two later I came to notice that I had been un-friended from the shared virtual spaces that we both were on, as well as been un-invited to certain events that I was looking forward to. These actions are not only petty  and spiteful, but they are extremely immature. I find it ironic that this person found it necessary to question my maturity and then went on to do these things. This so-called friend even had the audacity to tell me I shouldn’t blog about this. And, honestly, I wasn’t planning to – that is, until they went and took it to the next level. Come on – are we in high school? This is ridiculous. I’ve sent one last email, imploring them to take a step back and chill the f- out (albeit, not in quite the same phrasing), so we’ll see what happens. My disappointment in my friend is seriously unnerving, and I’m not one who takes disappointment lightly. I know I have people who have my back and I think it’s clear that I’ve done all I can to remedy this situation. What goes around comes around, and I have karma on my side. Sorry this wasn’t the most uplifting or funny post. I know I try to keep it light most times, but every once in awhile I have to be serious when I have things on my mind. It’s good to have an outlet. Smiles and sunshine – keep it real, my peeps.

No tiny gay men for you June 16, 2007

Monday, February 26, 2007

More drama than Anna Nicole More crazy stories than the National Enquirer And more eagerly anticipated than Britney Spears’ next faux pas in life (poor girl)… No, I’m not talking about your mom. I’m talking about my return to blogging. I know, I know. I was gone for awhile, but now I’m back. Over a week in SF and then another week to catch up with everything. Unfortunately, keeping up with the ol’ myspace ranks right up there with watering the fake plants and combing out the fringe on the rug – just not at the top of my list at the moment. So sorry to deprive you. But, since I now have been hit with a whopping case of insomnia and I’ve already done everything I can think of short of any actual physical activity to try to tire myself, a-blogging a shall do. So, San-Francisco. Where do I begin. Needless to say, it was wonderful. The last night of the trip I hit up the PunchLine comedy club. Pretty well-known place and now I know why. Their people are more hilarious than watching George Bush try to say something intelligible. Here’s a joke that I totally stole from one of the guys: “Hey, good to be here. Thanks. Yeah… so my birthday was last week and my roomie gave me a really gay gift. (long pause)  Yeah… it was a blowjob. You know, that’s not really my thing. I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just don’t swing that wat. But, ya know, now that I think about it – it was the perfect present. It’s one that I’m sure to NEVER regift.” Much better told in real life. Hilarity, and oh-so-appropriate for SF. No, while I was in the city I did not eat any rice, nor did I confiscate any cute gay guys to come back and be my personal stylist (as if I need any help). I did however, do some amazing things: 1) I went on a helicopter ride for the first time ever. It was amazing. We flew out over the city, the bay, Sausalito, etc. for over 45 min. Absolutely breath-taking scenery and it was beautiful weather. The pilot even swooped down under the Golden Gate Bridge. Talk about amazing. Photos on Snapfish coming soon. 2) I jogged from Chinatown down to the Wharf one morning (easier going down than coming back up – whew!). The streets were pracitcally deserted because everything was closed so early in the morning. It was breathtaking. That same day, I walked to the Fine Arts Palace which is further down by the bridge. I  got there and was literally sitting on a bench in shorts and a t-shirt sunning myself in February. Doesn’t get any better than that. 3) Did the tour cruise thing. Fed some seagulls from the back of the boat and one almost bit my hand off. I’m a wuss, so no rabid birds for me – after that I was done. My dad (who came out to visit while I was there),  still fed them though and I got some cool pics. 4) I saw a necklace that was selling for over a million dollars in one of the stores down by Union Station. The necklace that I ended up getting was only $89. Not quite as glamorous, but I like it. It’s made from 2,000 yr-old Roman glass. Neat-o 5) Being in SF, I missed the huge winter storm back in DC. All the more reason to love it there. 6) Oh… and the conference. Yeah – I almost forgot that I was there for work. The conference was really good. I went to a lot of workshops, did a lot of networking, and even judged the AAAS poster competition. The catering was amazing, as were some of the research projects I heard about. It was one of the best work-related experiences I’ve ever had and I think I got a lot out of it. All-in-all it was a damn good excuse to go to SF. 7) And the most unbelievable thing ever – I didn’t miss a flight and none were delayed long enough to screw up my schedule. How awesome is that?! Yes, much much more that I haven’t mentioned, but it will have to wait ’til some other time. Lots of drama upon my return. Seriously, things just fall apart when I’m not around, huh? No worries. Most of the drama revolves around other people than myself. Some just like to make things seem like a bigger deal than they actually are. I mean, c’mon – paper plates?  (A story for another time) And facebook trashing? Who does that? I won’t even go into some of the other things that have been popping up, but I can guarentee that I will have none of it. I stick with my girl, Missy, on this one and proudly proclaim, “No more drama.” Peace out, my people.

Leaving on a jet plane June 16, 2007

Friday, February 09, 2007

I have been ridiculously busy the past couple weeks. Granted, I’d rather be busy than bored, but I never thought I’d get to a point where I’d have to turn down invitations to go out because I imagine that if I slept any less I’d start hallucinating that I’m a superhero or something. Hmm… too late, I guess. Not only has this week been a busy one at work with me trying to cram in two week’s worth of work into two day’s time (chalk it up to my impending trip to San Francisco and my 2nd Master’s class), but my personal time has been riddled with drama. You know how much I hate the drama. Whatever could it be, you ask? What else? – the only thing that sucks out here (in more ways than one, I’m sure) is the roomie situation. And so the saga continues… After the roomie’s rude, yet predicatable, behavior at my dinner party of sorts which I hosted at my place a couple of weeks ago, I left a lil note (very pleasant, giving her no excuse to get upset with me) requesting an audience. Days passed – no reply. So I called the bitch. She let it go to voicemail, so I left a message saying basically the same thing; “We need to talk.” I laid it all out on the line and threw in the white flag. I said I realized we both were not happy and I was willing to move, etc. I know she purposefully didn’t pick up the phone to talk to me b/c less than 5 minutes later she texted back. How do you spell passive-agressive? S-T-A-C-Y. Regardless, we eventually settled on a day to chat. The day comes and I started to say, “So…” And before I could go any further she interuppted and said in her wanna-be valley girl condescending tone, “Before you even say anything, I was already planning on moving out.” Greeeattt. And she just wasn’t going to tell me? WTF. Anyways, it turns out she’s moving sometime in mid-April and will be completely out by May 1st. As soon as the convo was over I went back to my room and proceeded to jump up and down and do a little happy dance. It was awesome. Now, as many of you may know – since I do tend to enjoy telling stories - the situation with the roomie has been a bit tense. Many of you didn’t believe my stories at first. But, after the party I believe all doubt was put to rest by the witnesses. I’ve been contemplating alternative living situations and have been entertaining some options. Now, it seems, I can actually start figuring things out. Not quite yet though, but soon enough. I’m taking my little business vacation next week to chill and put all of the drama aside. Speaking of my trip. In case you haven’t heard, I’m going to San Francisco for the AAAS annual meeting next week. I took a few extra days for myself, and my dad’s coming out to spend some time. No, I’m not planning on being a fag-hag or eating a bunch of rice, but I certainly do plan on making the most of it. We’re going on a helicopter tour over the Bay and renting a car to drive to San Jose and Sausilito. Fun times. It will be a much needed and well-deserved break. So if I’m MIA for longer than usual on here, never fear. I’ll have a ton of stories to share when I get back. Cheers!