You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
Its taken me a little while to de-frau-ify this time, but I’m almost there.
Made it across the pond. Sat next to a priest and a convert on the flight over. We had an interesting conversation for the first four hours until they realized that I one, thought that hurting women and children was far worse crime than homosexual acts which I don’t find to be sinful at all and two, the catholic view of contraception was crap especially after the convert told me he had five children before he left his wife, but he won’t actually divorce her because its against his religion. Huh.
The clincher was actually over homosexual acts. I think it was when I said that I was sure that ninety percent of the straight men on the flight had had anal sex and I was pretty sure ninety percent of the women could attest to this that they brought out their bibles and allowed me to finish watching Hairspray. I don’t know, I assume everyone has anal at some point. A glass of wine and some lube and its really not a big deal. Certainally not something to burn in eternity over. Am I wrong?
After the flight, my dad picked me up and I met up with the wondertwins. They spent the first 10 minutes shoving me back and forth between them. I am now technically smaller than both of them and they love having superior physical power. My brother wasted no time in stuffing me down the space between his bed and his desk. I’m 35 and my brother is stuffing me down holes. Nice.
Living with three boys. Jeff, Steve and Tom. All very sweet and all very messy. I feel like Wendy and the lost boys to a certain extent. I had to pull out a guilt card to get them to empty a dishwasher. So that is what it is. Living with three guys kind of sucks in that way, but I suppose it could be worse.
Finally got my hair done. It’s funny how something as simple as that can be so freeing. Not to mention that my dad showed up and surprised me by paying for it. My hair looks fabu. I FEEL fabu. And really, when was the last time I got a free hair appointment? I think I was 16. It made a great do, better. Thanks Daddy.
So the biggest thing I’ve done since coming back is the lasik surgery. I’ve always dreamed of waking up and being able to see without the searing pain associated with falling asleep with contacts on. So I signed up for lasik. Lasik is when they peel your cornea off your eyeball and vaporize the stuff below with a laser so you can see. It worked. I can see… without glasses. I can see 20/20 at 80% healed. I might even make it to 20/15.
The only iffy part was when they put a suction ring on my eyeball and cut the cornea. It was terrifying because one little slip, one cup too many of the morning java and a shakey hand and I could have been blind. Trust me I thought of all the bad things that could happen and kept the staff laughing as I listed them off. That they laughed I thought was a good sign. No sense in pissing off they guy with the knife to your eye.
So I’ve spent too much money on non-fat lattes with splenda. I bought a pair of insanely expensive boots that I’ll probably take back and I cleaned out Victoria’s Secret once I found a bra that can make my now C cups look young and luscious again. Then I bought a deep scoop neck tee to show them off. Old habits die hard. I’ve lost another jeans size since being here and it’s making shopping difficult. I can’t find a pair of jeans that actually fit, but I now have a new belt so I can keep my old jeans from falling off my ass.
I’m driving the truck again, thanks to my step-dad. It’s raised and kind of bad ass. I can see over everyone and I don’t tend to drive too fast because, well, its a truck and unlike a BMW, you actually feel every mile per hour. This is a good thing as living in Krautland has given me the need for speed. The CHP doesn’t really care that you spend the majority of your autobahn driving at 120 miles an hour so you have the experience needed to drive that fast. They aslo don’t give a rats ass that you technically live in Germany and this is totally accpetable there and for just a few minutes you forgot that its not legal in Cali. It’s a good thing I bought those bras and tee shirt.
So that’s whats going on out here. I’m spending the day inside. I’m a bit dizzy. Oh, the surgery was yesterday. Yesterday I woke up not being able to see without my glasses. I woke up this morning being able to see everything. Everything. I just can’t believe it. Jeff is so tired of me asking him to point out signs to read. He is so tired of me jumping up and down and saying things like “I can see. I can see. ” Jeff and Mim won in the genetic lottery of our DNA. Perfect eyesight and perfect teeth without braces, the bastards.
When I get the pictures, I’ll post them. Jeff got one of my eyeball ala Clockwork Orange. It’s pretty.
Later gators.
Last weekend, T-bone and I channeled our inner rap star by drinking gin and juice. Well, as close as two women in their mid-thirties get to juice (think of the calories!). It was really pink lemonade flavored Crystal Light, but hey, it was dope. I think I’ll let Snoop know.
You know when Tatiana and I first became friends, coffee was the strongest drink we indulged in. A few months later, we’d add a bit of Bailey’s to that mix.
Then we moved on to Cosmos. Cosmos were delish until we ran out of vodka late one night and Cosmon’s were born. (Subsitute rum for vodka)
Now? Now, our gloves are off. We know each other’s deep dark secrets and we talk all night long like its our 25th hour. There is no beef between our gangs (The Cats vs The Kids). No problems between East Coast and West (West Coast for life, baby). Not since the youngest member of her gang, Pebbles, dropped it like it’s hot the floor and meowed. Scrunchy took the peace offering and allowed Pebbles to touch him.
I think we’ll move into the video biz. I hear all you need to do is spend $100,000 on cars and $900,000 on hos. All we need is a backer. Anyone interested? We got this game down.
Let me tell you, we could hang with the homies.
Another day, another quiz.
You’re 1984!
by George Orwell
You have this uncanny feeling that you’re always being watched. Thus
life has become a bit of a show as you try to portray yourself as much more reputable
than you actually are. All around you, people seem to accept an unending stream of lies
and propaganda without flinching. Your only hope may be a star-crossed love affair, but
pain seems stonger than love. If you have any older brothers, be very wary of
them.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
You Should Be a Politician |
 Confident, assertive, and dedicated - you know what you want in life and how to get it. Stubborn and opinionated, you can stand your ground… even if it’s unpopular. And while you have strong views, you never overwhelm people with your opinions. A true charmer, you subtly influence people into seeing things your way.You do best when you: - Work according to your own rules You would also be a good lawyer or talk show host. |
Me: Those computer guys piss me off so much. I have a total short fuse when it comes to dealing with those assholes.
Sparky: I noticed. They really are idiots over there.
Me: I just can’t stand it anymore. What difference does it matter, if we bought a worldwide warranty, if they send it to me in the UK or the US or Germany. They have to send the piece of shit to the UK anyway.
…I might having a bit of a mood swing.
Sparky: No shit. Slamming your drawers and screaming “Pricks!” into the phone gave me a clue. Its one hell of a swing. Hahahaha
Me: Maaaaybe… (death stare)
Sparky: …I shouldn’t comment on your mood swing?
Me: Yeah…
I woke up this morning with Fergie singing in my head. Yes, I am a big girl now and big girls don’t cry, but I am not like a child missing their blanket. I’m a grown woman sad that sleep was interrupted by inane lyrics. Maybe I should find some Center… Clarity… Peace… Serenity.
When this song first came out, I had to explain the concept of a blankie to Sparky. He had no idea that kids bonded with objects - stuffed animals, yes, but blankets were odd to him. This continued on to Michael Jackson’s kid named Blanket. I couldn’t really explain that one.
I had a blanket and I still mourn its loss, but my grandma knitted me an Afghan that is similar in feel. She loves me that way. Did I mention she did this for me when I was 24 because I was still whining about it.
I have a week and a day left before I leave for SF for six weeks. I’m in that state where I know I have a lot to do, but no real idea. It hasn’t quite hit me yet. And I have to be Hamburg this week and Dresden this weekend. And the airport on Tuesday.
I won’t be there though. I simply cannot get everything I know I need to do done. And I’m in Hamburg starting tomorrow.
I’m leaving for six weeks and I have to be away from my kitties this week. All I can say is a certain someone at my office is being a rat bastard. My boundaries have been crossed. What I don’t understand is how people can be in positions of power and not think strategically. Lose one day here and gain five free days there. Push my ass in a corner I don’t want to be in and, buddy, watch out. Your life gets infinitely harder.
So to that end, I’m going to go listen to some Timbaland and get that damn song out of my head. Or I’ll go serenade a sleeping Sparky. Its better to pass these things on, isn’t it?
It started off as such a sweet love affair. I was naive and following a familial pattern. I had no idea when it started out how dangerous it would end up being. He haunts my days and sometimes my nights.
He has many incarnations, all with the same vampiric allure of that guy you wanted to date with the pack of smokes and motorcycle. The one your mother would never let you go out with if he ever asked you out. The one that smelled of fire and leather. The one with the promise of fantastic silent sex that he would never acknowledge with more than a secret smile as he passed you in hall.
Sparky knows and understands. He is encouraging and supports me when I fail and have to pay the price. Since I started working again, I have been extremely vigilant in avoiding him because when I don’t, he ruins my day and sometimes I get so sick I can’t concentrate and end up in the bathroom regretting my weakness.
He has many names and many forms, but I know his essence. He is… Carbohydrate.
Carb and I go way back. He taunts me with taste and comfort. He used to be my “Go To” man for all life’s problems. However, in my quest to lose weight, I have had to cut him off. I had to replace him with the uptight debate team guy, who, while sort of satisfying in a long term sort of way, never really scratches that itch, if you know what I mean. I am healthier without him, my body is happier, but my soul… my soul yearns for him.
I have 18 pounds left. Eighteen pounds of pure hell.
Carb is like Timbaland these days and likes me the way I am (I can’t write “are”, sorry) and he is begging me for one last dance. However, since I eat so few carbs these days, the moment I do, I start a sick cycle carousel that takes me a day to end. It’s the hypoglycemic roller-coaster. I eat a carb and my blood sugar sky rockets. Then it plunges down, down, down until I have a reaction which includes loss of concentration, shakiness, cold sweats and stomach problems. Then I have to eat something with sugar to come back up, but then it drops again and the day continues as such until I’m so physically and mentally exhausted I fall asleep.
The good part is every day is a new day and I can start fresh with only numbers on the scale reminding me of the day before.
Today I failed. I had ordered in breakfast for the company and it included bagels, muffins, fruit salad and fresh juice. I invited him into the building. I was totally on the spot to eat and I was only too happy to indulge. I mean really, bagels, a work function, people asking if I was going to eat? I couldn’t possibly have said no. My normal response is “No thanks. I smoke.” I know it makes almost no sense, but I can only do one. Eat or smoke and since I’m not eating the cigarettes, the betrayer I call my body, senses no real caloric intake and thus is forced to rely on its fat stores. Take that metabolism.
However, half a bagel just about killed me. It lead to the sugar shock and then I had to have 4 mini snickers to make up for it. Then when the snickers wore off I had one mini Santa and now I think I’m okay again which is good because I’m off to go drinking with some colleagues from work. I hear alcohol has no sugar whatsoever. ARGHHHHHH.
Now before anyone gets their panties in a knot, I do eat and I am healthy and I am under a doctor and an obsessive husband’s supervision. I take my Flintstones and drink my protein shakes and eat in restaurants, but I don’t eat carbs. I have learned to totally skip the pasta section of menus. I don’t even look because there is sure to be a creamy delish pasta I would kill to have. So I don’t look. Candy? Not a problem if I cut it out completely. I can’t have a single bite and I’m good to go. Let’s not talk about bagels.
Going back over my life recently, I figured out I was 22 years old when I met my true love. I was wounded and working in a shit job with a lot of tough teamsters. I know, repetitive - tough teamsters, but until you know teamsters up close and personal, you don’t know tough.
Anyway, my love was dark and bitter and that spoke to me in ways others had but could never maintain. He had a staying power nothing else could match. If I had known him first, there are many others I never would have bothered with.
My true love is coffee.
He has been there for me in good times and bad. Fat times and Skinny Bitch times. From the concrete streets of San Francisco to the cobbled streets of Europe, coffee has been a close companion. Just like doggy style, globalization allows me my Stabucks fix and assures me that satisfaction, a guaranteed O.
He doesn’t care if I smoke a cigarette and adores chocolate. He accompanies me in his sweet travel mug on the road. If I’m having a hard talk with someone, he’s there lending me his strength. When I visit my mother-in-law, he is always right beside me and doesn’t go to the bathroom four times leaving me to discuss the weather while in my head all I can think about is how she should have used corporal punishment because it might have made my life easier. Coffee agrees.
Coffee introduced me to that cute bearish barista long ago. Can’t remember his name, but he was hot and we went out a few times. Coffee gave us conversation when there was none, filling in the gaps between, uh, deep and meaningful, uh, talks.
I wake up in the morning thinking about coffee. If that’s not a sure sign, I don’t know what is. As I kick my own ass to lose this last 20 pounds before a plastic surgeon will even discuss the loads of money I’m planning to spend, coffee is my bestest friend in the whole entire fucking world (no offense Tat, GBF and Sparky).
Re-reading old journals, I found the following. It was written in 2001 and truthfully, I think my love has just grown stronger.
June 2001
Nothing like scalding hot coffee. I’ve noticed though, if I don’t get it by 6 am, I start to fade away. Coffee is so necessary to my work life, I’m waiting for the surgeon general to outlaw it. I would become a coffee smuggler if that happened. Live life on the lam, from one cup to the next. I would start the Java train. An underground railroad for coffee lovers. I would peddle on the streets. Mothers would shoo their children away from the strung out looking coffee pusher. I would sell to children to get them hooked in hopes of a better future through addicted future politicians. I become one of the 10 most wanted for my trips to south America for the bean…
Pardon me, coffee and , uh, we have to go talk.
