Today is the first day of school. And I have been dreading it like I was on the sixth grade. I guess I'm not a real student, no instead I'm a graduate student going for a rather pointless degree in a dieing field, so that was smart of me. See what 7 extra years of school can do? I know lots of people go to school for 7 years, and no I'm not a doctor.
But as I was walking across campus at way to early in the morning I saw the coolest celebrity sighting ever. If there is one person everyone would want to run into it's this guy. Yep that's right I saw Pat Sajak.
I wanted to run up to him and scream, "I'd like to buy a vowel!" But I held myself back. Sure I stalked him across the campus, trying to think up something witty to say like, "So are you taking a spin around the campus?" or "Can I show you some Before & After pics of me, I used to have a different face?" ok that one was stretching it but I still think its a good conversation starter.
I used to have the Wheel of Fortune board game when I was little, and I wanted to be Vanna White (best job ever). But I grew up and realized that Vanna had sold her soul to the devil so that she would never age and therefore the position would never be open. Oh and I'm not a tall, beautiful blonde, dammit!
But sadly after getting closer to him it wasn't Mr. Sajak at all and instead an uncanny doppelganger. Oh well I think it was probably for the best.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Fun with power tools
I have puny arms. I mean they are proportionate to the rest of my body so I’m not complaining. But I am rather weak. I admit it. It seems to be the trade off for never gaining weight, so it’s one that I can live with. My sister is really weak as well so we are guessing it’s a genetic thing (although weirdly our mom is freakishly strong).
But it was rather frustrating trying to put together one stupid little ikea table. I could not get the screws in for the life of me. For a week the Swedish, wooden puzzle pieces mocked me from their jumbled heap on the floor. Everyday I would try to get the screws a little farther in, like maybe today I was a tad bit stronger or that the wood maybe would have given up its vice like hold, but to no avail.
But yesterday I brought back with me the great equalizer — power tools. Suddenly what was a week’s worth of frustration turned into ten, fun-filled, minutes of me just hitting a button and bam, it’s put together. And not even the tiniest bit of sweat was involved.
Now I’m thinking of putting up shelves and building a small ark. Thanks to electricity and tiny motors I have the ability to make anything.
So thank you power tools and fire arms for evening out the playing field.
But it was rather frustrating trying to put together one stupid little ikea table. I could not get the screws in for the life of me. For a week the Swedish, wooden puzzle pieces mocked me from their jumbled heap on the floor. Everyday I would try to get the screws a little farther in, like maybe today I was a tad bit stronger or that the wood maybe would have given up its vice like hold, but to no avail.
But yesterday I brought back with me the great equalizer — power tools. Suddenly what was a week’s worth of frustration turned into ten, fun-filled, minutes of me just hitting a button and bam, it’s put together. And not even the tiniest bit of sweat was involved.
Now I’m thinking of putting up shelves and building a small ark. Thanks to electricity and tiny motors I have the ability to make anything.
So thank you power tools and fire arms for evening out the playing field.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I can feel you judging me
I met some friends downtown last evening. It was going to be a chill night as we started late and I was kind of tired.
As I first left my building I ran into a coworker. We talked for a few minutes and then said bye. I headed to the bar and forgot about him.
Fast forward about 9 hours. When I walked into work with only 3 hours of sleep under my belt, no makeup, hair kind of messy (I was just hoping everyone would think I was trying something new), no purse and wearing the clothes I was wearing the night before. No problem they weren’t wrinkly, I took a shower so I didn’t smell, but dammit, I forgot about the coworker.
The minute he sees me he breaks into a huge knowing smile and starts kind of giggling to himself. My boss walks over so I shake my head at my coworker and go over to talk to my boss.
Later he comes over, “I can’t help but notice that you are wearing the same clothes you wore last night. And you are looking a little haggard — have a good night?”
I have to go do an interview with him so I get mocked for a bit in the car, but at least he stopped by my place so I could brush my teeth.
Damn, for a big freakin city I seem to run into everyone just when I don’t want to.
As I first left my building I ran into a coworker. We talked for a few minutes and then said bye. I headed to the bar and forgot about him.
Fast forward about 9 hours. When I walked into work with only 3 hours of sleep under my belt, no makeup, hair kind of messy (I was just hoping everyone would think I was trying something new), no purse and wearing the clothes I was wearing the night before. No problem they weren’t wrinkly, I took a shower so I didn’t smell, but dammit, I forgot about the coworker.
The minute he sees me he breaks into a huge knowing smile and starts kind of giggling to himself. My boss walks over so I shake my head at my coworker and go over to talk to my boss.
Later he comes over, “I can’t help but notice that you are wearing the same clothes you wore last night. And you are looking a little haggard — have a good night?”
I have to go do an interview with him so I get mocked for a bit in the car, but at least he stopped by my place so I could brush my teeth.
Damn, for a big freakin city I seem to run into everyone just when I don’t want to.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I'm not hungry, thanks
It was another weird day; I seem to have a lot of them.
I went with one of the photographers to this quaint little grocery store so he could photograph the owner for a profile we’re doing. When we get there the owner doesn’t want to be photographed because “he’s still in hiding.” Dude has owned this place for like fifty years and his name is everywhere. Sir, you are doing it wrong.
Then (profile has already been written) he proceeds to take us around his store, and goes on a fifteen-minute lecture about how he disposes of his fruits and vegetables. As he takes us over to the bin of discarded stuff, he starts throwing, a smidge-past-ripe fruit at us, telling us it’s tasty. Do I look like I haven’t showered in weeks? Are there funny stains that can’t be identified anywhere on my outfit? Am I wearing a tinfoil hat? No! So stop throwing food at me that comes from the garbage, I am not going to eat it.
But apparently everyone was obsessed with feeding me today.
After work I went to get a manicure, because I can be girly damnit. While the manicurist had one of my hands gripped tightly and the other soaking in tepid water, another worker lady came in with a plate of sushi from next door. She comes and sits by us and while talking to the other worker crams a deep fried rainbow roll in my mouth. I have to swallow or choke, so I choose the former. I guess it’s a full service kind of place.
Kind of awkward.
Thankfully I know the restaurant she got them from isn’t sketchy.
I went with one of the photographers to this quaint little grocery store so he could photograph the owner for a profile we’re doing. When we get there the owner doesn’t want to be photographed because “he’s still in hiding.” Dude has owned this place for like fifty years and his name is everywhere. Sir, you are doing it wrong.
Then (profile has already been written) he proceeds to take us around his store, and goes on a fifteen-minute lecture about how he disposes of his fruits and vegetables. As he takes us over to the bin of discarded stuff, he starts throwing, a smidge-past-ripe fruit at us, telling us it’s tasty. Do I look like I haven’t showered in weeks? Are there funny stains that can’t be identified anywhere on my outfit? Am I wearing a tinfoil hat? No! So stop throwing food at me that comes from the garbage, I am not going to eat it.
But apparently everyone was obsessed with feeding me today.
After work I went to get a manicure, because I can be girly damnit. While the manicurist had one of my hands gripped tightly and the other soaking in tepid water, another worker lady came in with a plate of sushi from next door. She comes and sits by us and while talking to the other worker crams a deep fried rainbow roll in my mouth. I have to swallow or choke, so I choose the former. I guess it’s a full service kind of place.
Kind of awkward.
Thankfully I know the restaurant she got them from isn’t sketchy.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Must learn to not talk to strangers
Last week I had to go to the mall. I hate the mall. But I bravely entered the fourth circle of hell and tried to go about my errand.
Sadly I got stopped at one of the makeup counters. A very perky girl with shiny hair asked me if she could put some makeup on me. She looked so earnest and eager that I just didn’t have the heart to say no.
Twenty minutes and five pounds of glitter later I emerge looking like I got hit in the face by two bedazzled baseballs. She had a penchant for black and purple eye shadow that was used heavily to circle both of my eyes.
I dutifully told her it looked lovely and that this would be my look for forever more.
Now I have to walk around the mall looking like a rabid raccoon.
The day continued in this lovely way, when as I was walking home (right past city hall) this rusty green, Chevy Astro Van jumps the curb next to me and comes to a stop. The driver rolls down his window.
“Look what you made me do … cause you’re so purty.”
“Gee thanks.” Vehicular manslaughter is such a turn on.
Now I’m quickly backing away because I’m pretty sure that at any minute the side door is going to roll open and ninjas are going to jump out and attack me and then pull me into the van. Because I know that ninjas drive around San Jose in old beat up vans looking for random people to accost, that’s just what they do.
This doesn’t happen.
Instead he yells after me, “Where you going?”
I run across the street and into my building, locking the door behind me.
Sadly I got stopped at one of the makeup counters. A very perky girl with shiny hair asked me if she could put some makeup on me. She looked so earnest and eager that I just didn’t have the heart to say no.
Twenty minutes and five pounds of glitter later I emerge looking like I got hit in the face by two bedazzled baseballs. She had a penchant for black and purple eye shadow that was used heavily to circle both of my eyes.
I dutifully told her it looked lovely and that this would be my look for forever more.
Now I have to walk around the mall looking like a rabid raccoon.
The day continued in this lovely way, when as I was walking home (right past city hall) this rusty green, Chevy Astro Van jumps the curb next to me and comes to a stop. The driver rolls down his window.
“Look what you made me do … cause you’re so purty.”
“Gee thanks.” Vehicular manslaughter is such a turn on.
Now I’m quickly backing away because I’m pretty sure that at any minute the side door is going to roll open and ninjas are going to jump out and attack me and then pull me into the van. Because I know that ninjas drive around San Jose in old beat up vans looking for random people to accost, that’s just what they do.
This doesn’t happen.
Instead he yells after me, “Where you going?”
I run across the street and into my building, locking the door behind me.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Mulligan
Yesterday was just one of those days where you wish you could have a do over.
First off my boss calls me at 8 a.m. OK I’m not usually up by then, so I have to pretend to be awake and that I understand what he was saying. I know you corporate types are already in the office, blah blah blah. But I don’t roll in to work until 10 and that means I usually wake up at 9:30 and don’t actually get to work until almost 11 (very understanding boss).
Anyhoo he wanted to me to go with some of the advertisers to a meeting in Mt. View so I could then interview the person they were talking to. Good times.
I get to their office (in a different building then ours) and there they are, we’ll call them Advertiser B and Advertiser K because I’m not that creative, sucking down cigarettes like soon they would be illegal (which in our city I wouldn’t be that surprised), and they had to get as many into their atrophied lungs as possible in a five minute period. Anyway the old guy, Advertiser B, tries to tell me how I should write my little profile so that they could sell more advertising, and I was like, “Excuse me, but this is my story and I will write it as I see fit without any interference from the advertising department.”
Or that’s what I would have said if I had integrity. Instead I more or less mumble, “Thanks for the suggestion.”
So we head over to the clients which is twenty minutes away and the two guys get into the world’s most boring conversation about their large sells last week. We get there and they both suck down another cigarette before lighting another one up for the 500-yard hike to the office.
To make a really great impression we were 30 minutes late. Which then advertiser K gets in an argument with the client about how no they weren’t late and she must have had the time wrong. She says no I called and emailed you, he then pulls out his phone to prove she didn’t. About five minutes of this going back and forth, good times.
Finally we get in to the presentation where Advertiser K is told he has only 10 minutes to make his spiel and so he flies through it (it actually wasn’t too bad). And I find I was basically brought along as a selling point (mistaken for a whore again). But then after all that hard work we find that this woman is not the woman to talk to and instead they needed to talk to her boss who was not available right now. And she had to go and she was definitely not the person to talk to me. Lovely.
So I wasted two hours of my day, when I’m on deadline, 40 minutes of those spent in a car that smelled like old salami and I got nothing. Yeah!
After that I went home, and got ready to meet up with the ex before he moves 300 miles away (that’s right chased a guy 300 miles away, I’ve got talent).
So I get to dinner and he’s looking good, the bastard. Lost weight, tanner, new clothes. Since I was the one that broke up with him I had decided that I shouldn’t try to dress up, because well I’m cute enough to begin with don’t need to rub it in (by cute I mean most guys don’t throw up when they see me).
So I sit down and we get to talking, everything is very amicable. When all of the sudden, “You got your hair cut, it looks like crap.”
Too long of a pause, “Just kidding. It’s not that bad.” Looks at my hair again, “Well its got a kind of funny poof to it on one side.”
Well played sir, well played. I’ll give you that round.
I now hate my haircut.
I went home and drank — heavily.
First off my boss calls me at 8 a.m. OK I’m not usually up by then, so I have to pretend to be awake and that I understand what he was saying. I know you corporate types are already in the office, blah blah blah. But I don’t roll in to work until 10 and that means I usually wake up at 9:30 and don’t actually get to work until almost 11 (very understanding boss).
Anyhoo he wanted to me to go with some of the advertisers to a meeting in Mt. View so I could then interview the person they were talking to. Good times.
I get to their office (in a different building then ours) and there they are, we’ll call them Advertiser B and Advertiser K because I’m not that creative, sucking down cigarettes like soon they would be illegal (which in our city I wouldn’t be that surprised), and they had to get as many into their atrophied lungs as possible in a five minute period. Anyway the old guy, Advertiser B, tries to tell me how I should write my little profile so that they could sell more advertising, and I was like, “Excuse me, but this is my story and I will write it as I see fit without any interference from the advertising department.”
Or that’s what I would have said if I had integrity. Instead I more or less mumble, “Thanks for the suggestion.”
So we head over to the clients which is twenty minutes away and the two guys get into the world’s most boring conversation about their large sells last week. We get there and they both suck down another cigarette before lighting another one up for the 500-yard hike to the office.
To make a really great impression we were 30 minutes late. Which then advertiser K gets in an argument with the client about how no they weren’t late and she must have had the time wrong. She says no I called and emailed you, he then pulls out his phone to prove she didn’t. About five minutes of this going back and forth, good times.
Finally we get in to the presentation where Advertiser K is told he has only 10 minutes to make his spiel and so he flies through it (it actually wasn’t too bad). And I find I was basically brought along as a selling point (mistaken for a whore again). But then after all that hard work we find that this woman is not the woman to talk to and instead they needed to talk to her boss who was not available right now. And she had to go and she was definitely not the person to talk to me. Lovely.
So I wasted two hours of my day, when I’m on deadline, 40 minutes of those spent in a car that smelled like old salami and I got nothing. Yeah!
After that I went home, and got ready to meet up with the ex before he moves 300 miles away (that’s right chased a guy 300 miles away, I’ve got talent).
So I get to dinner and he’s looking good, the bastard. Lost weight, tanner, new clothes. Since I was the one that broke up with him I had decided that I shouldn’t try to dress up, because well I’m cute enough to begin with don’t need to rub it in (by cute I mean most guys don’t throw up when they see me).
So I sit down and we get to talking, everything is very amicable. When all of the sudden, “You got your hair cut, it looks like crap.”
Too long of a pause, “Just kidding. It’s not that bad.” Looks at my hair again, “Well its got a kind of funny poof to it on one side.”
Well played sir, well played. I’ll give you that round.
I now hate my haircut.
I went home and drank — heavily.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sharp objects
Now I’ve been trawling the Internet for years. I love all the hate and snarkiness. One of my favorite comments on forums is about skinny girls and their sharp knees. Bag of antlers is another favorite. I don’t know who came up with it but it’s great, have you seen those scrawny bitches? They really do look like a big skin colored bag was pulled over a plethora of antlers.
I like making fun of people that probably have eating disorders.
And this makes me quite the hypocrite. Because I’m 5’7” and barely over 100 lbs. I’ve always been tiny, but never thought of myself as a bag of antlers.
That is until this last week when proof was given to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt that in fact I am not a human female and instead I truly am a bag of sharp, pointy antlers.
I came to this conclusion because I don’t have any furniture, so I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress (yep I’ve been basically camping in the new place) and every night it deflates at least four times. My coworker, sick of me bitching about it, dragged my lazy ass to the bike shop and made me buy a patch kit. That was last Tuesday.
The mattress is now so covered with black patches it looks like it has the bubonic plague. And I’ve used up all the glue. I think I might have to switch to silvery, magical duct tape, because that fixes everything.
And still every night there has been a new freaking hole. So that means that at night some needle sharp appendage of mine punctures the mattress sending me slowly to the floor.
Every night.
Hence: bag of antlers. But I hear that look is hot so I’m good.
I like making fun of people that probably have eating disorders.
And this makes me quite the hypocrite. Because I’m 5’7” and barely over 100 lbs. I’ve always been tiny, but never thought of myself as a bag of antlers.
That is until this last week when proof was given to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt that in fact I am not a human female and instead I truly am a bag of sharp, pointy antlers.
I came to this conclusion because I don’t have any furniture, so I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress (yep I’ve been basically camping in the new place) and every night it deflates at least four times. My coworker, sick of me bitching about it, dragged my lazy ass to the bike shop and made me buy a patch kit. That was last Tuesday.
The mattress is now so covered with black patches it looks like it has the bubonic plague. And I’ve used up all the glue. I think I might have to switch to silvery, magical duct tape, because that fixes everything.
And still every night there has been a new freaking hole. So that means that at night some needle sharp appendage of mine punctures the mattress sending me slowly to the floor.
Every night.
Hence: bag of antlers. But I hear that look is hot so I’m good.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Mating habits of automobiles
For some reason I just haven’t been having the best of luck with cars this year. Maybe life is telling me I should ride a bike or take the bus. But within the last year I got stranded on the freeway at 2 a.m. (in complete zombie make up and no it wasn’t Halloween, why?) because something in the transmission sheared off and destroyed the drive shaft, killed the battery, I totaled my car (on the freeway yet again and they had to stop all four lanes of traffic too), bought a slightly sketchy used car, had the engine light turn on the next day, and got a flat on the freeway (for which I had no jack, I really seem to love these freeways).
So today as I’m headed to work I wasn’t totally shocked to see that my bumper was about three inches lower than it should be. It looked about ready to fall off; if I had some duct tape I would have used it. I’m guessing from the paint scratches on top of the bumper that some big truck or SUV tried to mount my little Honda in a fit of lust and proceeded to bang the bumper off.
So instead of buying shoes that fit I’m off to get my car repaired … again.
So today as I’m headed to work I wasn’t totally shocked to see that my bumper was about three inches lower than it should be. It looked about ready to fall off; if I had some duct tape I would have used it. I’m guessing from the paint scratches on top of the bumper that some big truck or SUV tried to mount my little Honda in a fit of lust and proceeded to bang the bumper off.
So instead of buying shoes that fit I’m off to get my car repaired … again.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Who came up with line dancing anyways?
I went out with a couple of friends on Saturday night. They wanted to go country dancing and the only place even remotely in the area is the Saddle Rack (twenty minutes away, which means I have to drive, and can’t drink, much, which makes the country bar lame). It’s actually quite huge with two dance floors, a billiards room, two bars, a beer station and an oxygen bar (because when I think cowboy I think oxygen bar).
For about two years in high school I went through a country faze so I knew about every seventh song, but none of the synchronized dances. Although they did have the electric slide, which thanks to many weddings and school functions I still know. And the floor was packed, for some odd reason it was short person night so when I glanced around it was a sea of bad highlights and cheap cowboy hats. I got many glares because I have ADD and got bored with the electric slide about two steps in and just started twirling (towards freedom). This is not the thing to do, people their take their electric sliding very seriously.
The other thing about the bar was that they play slow songs, which sucks because then people ask you to dance. I had to turn down at least three AARP card carrying members, one of which I’m pretty sure was wheeling around his oxygen tank with him, as well as a guy that came up to my waist. A friend later said I was cold to do this, but I saw those guys going around to every girl in the joint with a pulse, I wasn’t special to them, and I’m looking for something meaningful not just once around the dance floor (total lie).
It did feel more like a high school dance than other clubs. When Footloose came on everyone ran onto the dance floor and proceeded to jump around all landing on my feet. Old Time Rock n' Roll was another favorite as was Ring of Fire, seriously people got extremely excited for badly sung Johnny Cash covers, I mean I think one guy was screaming and crying at one point. Everyone in there was part of a birthday/bachelorette/bachelor party, I have never seen so many sashes sans swim suit contest in one night.
The age range in the place was different than most places. There were people in their early 20s to late 80s (yep those were the bastards trawling for chicks too) there. I got ran over by some old man in his wheel chair on the dance floor. As I checked out the tread marks on my back I swear I heard him yell, “Get off my lawn!”
For about two years in high school I went through a country faze so I knew about every seventh song, but none of the synchronized dances. Although they did have the electric slide, which thanks to many weddings and school functions I still know. And the floor was packed, for some odd reason it was short person night so when I glanced around it was a sea of bad highlights and cheap cowboy hats. I got many glares because I have ADD and got bored with the electric slide about two steps in and just started twirling (towards freedom). This is not the thing to do, people their take their electric sliding very seriously.
The other thing about the bar was that they play slow songs, which sucks because then people ask you to dance. I had to turn down at least three AARP card carrying members, one of which I’m pretty sure was wheeling around his oxygen tank with him, as well as a guy that came up to my waist. A friend later said I was cold to do this, but I saw those guys going around to every girl in the joint with a pulse, I wasn’t special to them, and I’m looking for something meaningful not just once around the dance floor (total lie).
It did feel more like a high school dance than other clubs. When Footloose came on everyone ran onto the dance floor and proceeded to jump around all landing on my feet. Old Time Rock n' Roll was another favorite as was Ring of Fire, seriously people got extremely excited for badly sung Johnny Cash covers, I mean I think one guy was screaming and crying at one point. Everyone in there was part of a birthday/bachelorette/bachelor party, I have never seen so many sashes sans swim suit contest in one night.
The age range in the place was different than most places. There were people in their early 20s to late 80s (yep those were the bastards trawling for chicks too) there. I got ran over by some old man in his wheel chair on the dance floor. As I checked out the tread marks on my back I swear I heard him yell, “Get off my lawn!”
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Tolerance and shoes
It’s official I have lost my once amazing alcohol tolerance. And by amazing I mean back in college I could put back a whole six pack (yep that’s right be amazed) within 6 hours and not feel ill the next day.
I recently found I couldn’t do that anymore. The other night I went out with a friend, I had one gin and tonic and another beer and a half, in the span of five hours and I was spinning. And the next morning I awoke to a pounding head and rolling stomach. What the hell?
But I’ve decided instead of getting upset about this and drinking myself into oblivion (half a beer), I will take this as my body’s way of trying to save money. No longer will I have to buy a bunch of beers to get a good buzz, nope instead I can just smell my friends’ beverage and be on my merry way.
Anyways on to the night of my pathetic showing. We started out at a rather trendy bar near my place, where a strong gin and tonic had me kind of wobbly (or it was the shoes that are smidge too big but super cute). We didn’t stay there long.
Then we were on to one of two decent English pubs in San Jose. The service there is horrible, but at least it’s consistently horrible every time we go and sadly I think it’s my favorite place in SJ. And I’m pissed because we saw what was the beginning of a good row, but had to move to the back because there was an open table and you can’t just pass up prime real estate at a crowded pub, and I’ve already mentioned that my shoes were too big.
Anyways we sat down and were joined by another friend, and then another and then by the band that didn’t open for the band that played music in the park but that was the second band to play, and then by the girl that goes around the country to different festivals doing henna tattoos, and finally by a really gay man that seemed to be hitting on every women there.
I was kind of stuck in the corner, and therefore couldn’t get away. Stuck in the corner across from the pseudo-gay man who kept talking about his art and how capitalism is ruining it for everyone and would I like to see pictures of some of his work? Dear God NO! I’d rather stick this hot-curry drenched fork in my eye and swirl it around.
“Um, OK” Wait what? That was not what I meant to say.
I mean who brings their portfolio to a bar anyways? So now I’m leafing through what seems to be a five year old’s finger paintings with wires stuck through them at random intervals.
“That one is a memorial to Sept. 11.” Pointing to what looks to be puked up blueberry jello and a butterfly. What the fuck was with the butterfly?
At this point I realize I’m about to start screaming, so I stand on the bench and vault over it just to get away. I give myself a 7.5 for creativity but I just couldn’t stick the landing (shoes again, not my balance). I’m not always that subtle. But realizing that might seem kind of mean I turn and say.
“Um, I need to find my friend.” Yes because that will fool him, what with the acrobatics and everything. Ok actually he’s an idiot and probably thought nothing of it.
Finally we left that den of retardedness and headed to more of a dive. Here there were a bunch of rockabilly chicks trying to look hard, hot and anti-establishment all at the same time while basically only pulling off the I-have-cleavage-please-stare-at-it look and the oh-so-popular no-that’s-not-a-tattoo-I-just-haven’t-showered-in-a-couple-of-days (yay hyphens!).
Then we headed home. At this part of the night I became very wobbly, I think my shoes were actually getting bigger. I finally made it home but I fell out of my shoes twice, I swear they basically fit when I left.
I recently found I couldn’t do that anymore. The other night I went out with a friend, I had one gin and tonic and another beer and a half, in the span of five hours and I was spinning. And the next morning I awoke to a pounding head and rolling stomach. What the hell?
But I’ve decided instead of getting upset about this and drinking myself into oblivion (half a beer), I will take this as my body’s way of trying to save money. No longer will I have to buy a bunch of beers to get a good buzz, nope instead I can just smell my friends’ beverage and be on my merry way.
Anyways on to the night of my pathetic showing. We started out at a rather trendy bar near my place, where a strong gin and tonic had me kind of wobbly (or it was the shoes that are smidge too big but super cute). We didn’t stay there long.
Then we were on to one of two decent English pubs in San Jose. The service there is horrible, but at least it’s consistently horrible every time we go and sadly I think it’s my favorite place in SJ. And I’m pissed because we saw what was the beginning of a good row, but had to move to the back because there was an open table and you can’t just pass up prime real estate at a crowded pub, and I’ve already mentioned that my shoes were too big.
Anyways we sat down and were joined by another friend, and then another and then by the band that didn’t open for the band that played music in the park but that was the second band to play, and then by the girl that goes around the country to different festivals doing henna tattoos, and finally by a really gay man that seemed to be hitting on every women there.
I was kind of stuck in the corner, and therefore couldn’t get away. Stuck in the corner across from the pseudo-gay man who kept talking about his art and how capitalism is ruining it for everyone and would I like to see pictures of some of his work? Dear God NO! I’d rather stick this hot-curry drenched fork in my eye and swirl it around.
“Um, OK” Wait what? That was not what I meant to say.
I mean who brings their portfolio to a bar anyways? So now I’m leafing through what seems to be a five year old’s finger paintings with wires stuck through them at random intervals.
“That one is a memorial to Sept. 11.” Pointing to what looks to be puked up blueberry jello and a butterfly. What the fuck was with the butterfly?
At this point I realize I’m about to start screaming, so I stand on the bench and vault over it just to get away. I give myself a 7.5 for creativity but I just couldn’t stick the landing (shoes again, not my balance). I’m not always that subtle. But realizing that might seem kind of mean I turn and say.
“Um, I need to find my friend.” Yes because that will fool him, what with the acrobatics and everything. Ok actually he’s an idiot and probably thought nothing of it.
Finally we left that den of retardedness and headed to more of a dive. Here there were a bunch of rockabilly chicks trying to look hard, hot and anti-establishment all at the same time while basically only pulling off the I-have-cleavage-please-stare-at-it look and the oh-so-popular no-that’s-not-a-tattoo-I-just-haven’t-showered-in-a-couple-of-days (yay hyphens!).
Then we headed home. At this part of the night I became very wobbly, I think my shoes were actually getting bigger. I finally made it home but I fell out of my shoes twice, I swear they basically fit when I left.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Downtown crazies
I’ve become crazy (ok a few of you might say the become part is redundant), but it’s out of necessity.
Living and working downtown I’ve gotten a lot more attention than I’m used to or that I want. It’s not that I’m anything special (no I’m special but it takes getting to know me to realize just how “special” I am), I think every woman that has stepped foot downtown gets it be she wearing a burlap sack or fishnet body suit. During the middle of the day I get catcalls or guys stopping their cars asking if I can join them. Ok that last one is only in a certain part of town where I was informed a lot of prostitutes hang out, but I mean what kind of prostitutes solicits guys on the street in business casual? Although yeah me on being mistaken for a whore!
The thing is I’m not really good at just ignoring people. If they talk to/email/call me I have to reply back, it’s this horrible need within me. So I’ll get a, “Hey gorgeous, how you doin?” and I’ll of course answer.
“I’m good, except I didn’t sleep so well last night because my air mattress keeps deflating so I have to wake up five times a night and refill it, but I haven’t found a bed yet and I don’t want to just go buy one because I’ll have it for awhile. How are you?” Wrong question to ask.
I had one guy say (in a deep rather disturbing voice, that sounded like he was about to have an orgasm) “Ooh yeah just keep talking, uh huh, oh yeah. Talk to me baby that’s right.” I had to go home and take a scalding shower I felt so dirty.
So I’ve finally found a way around this. I talk to myself. Whenever I see someone coming near I start to babble incoherently to myself, I also gesticulate wildly so it looks like I’m having a loud epileptic fit. Seems to work. I still get looks but now I find people walk a little faster to get past me and they don’t stop to chitchat.
Sure I’m now adding to the loonies found downtown but it’s kind of fun.
Living and working downtown I’ve gotten a lot more attention than I’m used to or that I want. It’s not that I’m anything special (no I’m special but it takes getting to know me to realize just how “special” I am), I think every woman that has stepped foot downtown gets it be she wearing a burlap sack or fishnet body suit. During the middle of the day I get catcalls or guys stopping their cars asking if I can join them. Ok that last one is only in a certain part of town where I was informed a lot of prostitutes hang out, but I mean what kind of prostitutes solicits guys on the street in business casual? Although yeah me on being mistaken for a whore!
The thing is I’m not really good at just ignoring people. If they talk to/email/call me I have to reply back, it’s this horrible need within me. So I’ll get a, “Hey gorgeous, how you doin?” and I’ll of course answer.
“I’m good, except I didn’t sleep so well last night because my air mattress keeps deflating so I have to wake up five times a night and refill it, but I haven’t found a bed yet and I don’t want to just go buy one because I’ll have it for awhile. How are you?” Wrong question to ask.
I had one guy say (in a deep rather disturbing voice, that sounded like he was about to have an orgasm) “Ooh yeah just keep talking, uh huh, oh yeah. Talk to me baby that’s right.” I had to go home and take a scalding shower I felt so dirty.
So I’ve finally found a way around this. I talk to myself. Whenever I see someone coming near I start to babble incoherently to myself, I also gesticulate wildly so it looks like I’m having a loud epileptic fit. Seems to work. I still get looks but now I find people walk a little faster to get past me and they don’t stop to chitchat.
Sure I’m now adding to the loonies found downtown but it’s kind of fun.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Snippets from the week
So this has been a rather weird week for me.
First off I learned that my x is moving back to Santa Barbara. This hit me a little harder than I thought it would and I ended up crying in the bathroom at work. But my eyes turn a bright green when I cry, much prettier than their normal hazel, although sadly people usually only notice the blotchy red face. And I ran into a wall on my way to the bathroom because I was trying to hide my face and I couldn’t see. Yelling “Aw fuck!” after making a banging noise against a brick wall does not lead to inconspicuousness.
Then, reunion boy who I haven’t spoken to in about two weeks asks me out. Feeling confused about everything I said yes. I got home late so we went to a brewery since that was the only place still serving food. Now when I get upset (I had been upset for a couple of days now) I can’t eat. Don’t know why I just can’t. So I tried to eat dinner but I mainly just pushed things around.
So when he suggested drinks afterwards I probably should have said no, but having had a few at the brewery I said sure. Once at the bar we switched to Patron and the night was basically over for me. I technically didn’t drink that much but mixing a few different beers and tequila on an empty stomach is never a bright move. Don’t think I made the best impression but meh, oh well. Previously I had thought he was rather boring, but on that night he was really fun and I had a good time.
Also I found that he subscribes to the Economist, one of my favorite magazines (I can’t afford it). I’m kind of a magazine snob so depending on what subscriptions you have kind of raises or lowers you in my opinion. He had a stack of different magazines on his coffee table and some were pretty decent.
Anyways I woke up with quite a hangover. Which was just dandy as I had to go over to A’s and remove the rest of my stuff. I think that’s basically karma: moving all the little pieces of a life you spent eight years building up (and which you knocked down in a day), feeling like you are going to puke at any second while thousands of tiny little men are banging away at railroad ties in your head, and the guy you hurt looks on. Ah good times.
The worst part is that it was so great hanging out with him. I didn’t want to leave. So yep I’m confused.
Monday I basically went bar hopping with a friend. We did quiz night and got 11 right out of 20 (shut up, highest score was only 15 so if you curve it we came out with a B), waited a good hour for food and decided that our bartender might just be the dumbest person in San Jose (and that is saying a lot).
We moved to another local bar to play some pool, but the table was taken so after a drink we moved on again. Now the third spot has a broken pool table so it’s free and PBR for only $2 (I know why didn’t we come here first?). But there is also always some drama going on. When we walk in the bartender, who’s smoking a cigar, immediately looks up and says “You guys aren’t cops right?”
Later in the evening two guys come in and start yelling at the obviously inebriated bartender, we guess they are management or something. Well it almost looks like something physical is about to happen, but sadly nothing does. But they kick everyone out of the bar anyways.
So since the night isn’t over we switch gears and head to the nearby “Ultra Lounge” which I’ve never been in. Karaoke was in full swing, and everyone looked like a tool. We stayed for a bit while every once in awhile every single patron in the place would join in on the chorus of some Shania Twain song or something equally lame.
I went home and fell asleep to the sounds of my neighbors’ loud, but very boring conversation about some party they had both attended, yay.
First off I learned that my x is moving back to Santa Barbara. This hit me a little harder than I thought it would and I ended up crying in the bathroom at work. But my eyes turn a bright green when I cry, much prettier than their normal hazel, although sadly people usually only notice the blotchy red face. And I ran into a wall on my way to the bathroom because I was trying to hide my face and I couldn’t see. Yelling “Aw fuck!” after making a banging noise against a brick wall does not lead to inconspicuousness.
Then, reunion boy who I haven’t spoken to in about two weeks asks me out. Feeling confused about everything I said yes. I got home late so we went to a brewery since that was the only place still serving food. Now when I get upset (I had been upset for a couple of days now) I can’t eat. Don’t know why I just can’t. So I tried to eat dinner but I mainly just pushed things around.
So when he suggested drinks afterwards I probably should have said no, but having had a few at the brewery I said sure. Once at the bar we switched to Patron and the night was basically over for me. I technically didn’t drink that much but mixing a few different beers and tequila on an empty stomach is never a bright move. Don’t think I made the best impression but meh, oh well. Previously I had thought he was rather boring, but on that night he was really fun and I had a good time.
Also I found that he subscribes to the Economist, one of my favorite magazines (I can’t afford it). I’m kind of a magazine snob so depending on what subscriptions you have kind of raises or lowers you in my opinion. He had a stack of different magazines on his coffee table and some were pretty decent.
Anyways I woke up with quite a hangover. Which was just dandy as I had to go over to A’s and remove the rest of my stuff. I think that’s basically karma: moving all the little pieces of a life you spent eight years building up (and which you knocked down in a day), feeling like you are going to puke at any second while thousands of tiny little men are banging away at railroad ties in your head, and the guy you hurt looks on. Ah good times.
The worst part is that it was so great hanging out with him. I didn’t want to leave. So yep I’m confused.
Monday I basically went bar hopping with a friend. We did quiz night and got 11 right out of 20 (shut up, highest score was only 15 so if you curve it we came out with a B), waited a good hour for food and decided that our bartender might just be the dumbest person in San Jose (and that is saying a lot).
We moved to another local bar to play some pool, but the table was taken so after a drink we moved on again. Now the third spot has a broken pool table so it’s free and PBR for only $2 (I know why didn’t we come here first?). But there is also always some drama going on. When we walk in the bartender, who’s smoking a cigar, immediately looks up and says “You guys aren’t cops right?”
Later in the evening two guys come in and start yelling at the obviously inebriated bartender, we guess they are management or something. Well it almost looks like something physical is about to happen, but sadly nothing does. But they kick everyone out of the bar anyways.
So since the night isn’t over we switch gears and head to the nearby “Ultra Lounge” which I’ve never been in. Karaoke was in full swing, and everyone looked like a tool. We stayed for a bit while every once in awhile every single patron in the place would join in on the chorus of some Shania Twain song or something equally lame.
I went home and fell asleep to the sounds of my neighbors’ loud, but very boring conversation about some party they had both attended, yay.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Morbid little thoughts
Oh the joys of being single. Basically what I’ve taken from it is that if I die, it will be the smell that eventually leads my neighbors to the reality of my demise. Oh sure I have some friends that might worry but they are out of town so it would take awhile. My editor (if you’re reading this then you suck Steve, and may you get stuck between a shark and an underwater zombie!) at work might wonder but he doesn’t have my address. And if it’s early in the week near deadline he’ll never even notice.
Thankfully my apartment thinks it’s in the Sahara so decomposition should happen pretty quickly. Yay for the little things. Oh crap what if I die in the winter?
I’m wondering if I should start some sort of phone tree just incase I die. Sure I talk to people online but I’ve been absent this past week (due to no internet in the new place) and no one has wondered if I’m dead yet. Ok I’ve been around during the day but still…
Thankfully my apartment thinks it’s in the Sahara so decomposition should happen pretty quickly. Yay for the little things. Oh crap what if I die in the winter?
I’m wondering if I should start some sort of phone tree just incase I die. Sure I talk to people online but I’ve been absent this past week (due to no internet in the new place) and no one has wondered if I’m dead yet. Ok I’ve been around during the day but still…
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Sometimes you have to break a couple eggs
I’ve been in my place for about a week now but I hadn’t actually made any food there. So this morning I decided that it was time for me to make breakfast.
So I walked around the corner and headed in to some high-end market. It was one of those granola places where everything is a good 20 percent more than chain markets, but it’s so close and I wasn’t getting a lot.
I have only one frying pan and no baking sheet, so I decided to scramble up some eggs — even I can do that.
Well I also don’t have a bowl so I broke the eggs in the frying pan and put the rest on the back burner, as my counter is rather full of random stuff right now.
So I turned on the burner but noticed that nothing was happening. It sounded like the gas was going but I couldn’t see anything. I looked up and noticed bright orange flames working their way up the carton and starting to engulf my newly purchased eggs. Actually the eggs were starting to cook inside their shells so I mean, at least technically, I was cooking something.
Yep, I had turned on the wrong burner. After a lot of smoke and yelling I was able to get the fire out, and my neighbor was kind enough to give me a huge fan, (imagine the back of those Florida swamp airboat thingy) which was able to remove the smoke.
My first independent act in my new home and I’m a complete failure. I almost burned down my apartment of less than a week. There will be drinking tonight, thankfully I can open a bottle; I’ve had a shitload of practice at that.
So I walked around the corner and headed in to some high-end market. It was one of those granola places where everything is a good 20 percent more than chain markets, but it’s so close and I wasn’t getting a lot.
I have only one frying pan and no baking sheet, so I decided to scramble up some eggs — even I can do that.
Well I also don’t have a bowl so I broke the eggs in the frying pan and put the rest on the back burner, as my counter is rather full of random stuff right now.
So I turned on the burner but noticed that nothing was happening. It sounded like the gas was going but I couldn’t see anything. I looked up and noticed bright orange flames working their way up the carton and starting to engulf my newly purchased eggs. Actually the eggs were starting to cook inside their shells so I mean, at least technically, I was cooking something.
Yep, I had turned on the wrong burner. After a lot of smoke and yelling I was able to get the fire out, and my neighbor was kind enough to give me a huge fan, (imagine the back of those Florida swamp airboat thingy) which was able to remove the smoke.
My first independent act in my new home and I’m a complete failure. I almost burned down my apartment of less than a week. There will be drinking tonight, thankfully I can open a bottle; I’ve had a shitload of practice at that.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Kickball
Although I have been going to school at SJSU for over a year I am still pretty new to the San Jose area. I have a couple of friends that I can bug but that's about it. So I decided it was high time for me to go out and meet some people. And where better to meet people than at a pickup kickball game?
The mixture of people was so random and the game itself was so fun. I met a bunch of cool people and there are even plans to go check out the free Flogging Molly show on Thursday. And really if you can't have fun playing kickball than you are dead inside.
We played at some elementary school, and one couple was kind enough to bring beers. Most of the people didn't know each other and it was just a great way to talk to people that are obviously as juvenile as I am. Although it was decided that next time more beer needs to be brought by all.
My kickball skills aren't up to par with what they were in the fourth grade but I got better as the afternoon progressed. I played pitcher, and my team one ... twice.
Afterwards we went to Aqui for some beers. I'm probably a little tipsy but oh well. It was fun and I would definitely recommend it to everyone. Where else are you going to meet a guy from Oklahoma who's twang only comes out after a few beers, a royally tatted up guy who teaches English to impoverished kids and a guy who is fanatical about kickball rules all in the same day?
And the best part was I met some cool girls who I can actually see hanging out with. I mean how can you not like a chick that's into kickball?
The whole time I was smiling and didn't think about the things that have been bringing me down lately. Maybe I'm starting to like San Jose?
The mixture of people was so random and the game itself was so fun. I met a bunch of cool people and there are even plans to go check out the free Flogging Molly show on Thursday. And really if you can't have fun playing kickball than you are dead inside.
We played at some elementary school, and one couple was kind enough to bring beers. Most of the people didn't know each other and it was just a great way to talk to people that are obviously as juvenile as I am. Although it was decided that next time more beer needs to be brought by all.
My kickball skills aren't up to par with what they were in the fourth grade but I got better as the afternoon progressed. I played pitcher, and my team one ... twice.
Afterwards we went to Aqui for some beers. I'm probably a little tipsy but oh well. It was fun and I would definitely recommend it to everyone. Where else are you going to meet a guy from Oklahoma who's twang only comes out after a few beers, a royally tatted up guy who teaches English to impoverished kids and a guy who is fanatical about kickball rules all in the same day?
And the best part was I met some cool girls who I can actually see hanging out with. I mean how can you not like a chick that's into kickball?
The whole time I was smiling and didn't think about the things that have been bringing me down lately. Maybe I'm starting to like San Jose?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Pampering
I got my first facial the other day. And it was great, but I also thought it was a tad bit on the odd side. It kind of seemed like the esthetician was trying to seduce me.
I mean I get there and they offer me a beverage. Then this woman with a sultry, low voice and perfectly coiffed hair leads me through a dimly lit labyrinth (which I became completely lost in), to an area in the back where I was told to strip and put on a robe.
After that I was led to another alcove where once again I was given a drink and then the lady (I forget her name so I'm going to call her Calliope because I like that name) came back and soaked my feet in some weird smelling bath.
Next we went into an even darker room, acoustic guitar music was piped in, where I was told to lose the robe and get under the covers. Calliope comes back in and starts talking in her hypnotic voice, I can't recall what she said but it lulled me into some sort of trance. Soon she started rubbing goo all over my face, before wrapping me up in a hot towel. She then gave me a neck, shoulder and arm massage before removing the goo and adding more goo but with a slightly different smell. I once again got a rub down (loved it), before she removed goo #2.
Finally she sprayed some mist on me and rubbed something else on my face. This was apparently the end of my session, and I must admit if she had been trying to seduce me I totally would have let her. Calliope, with sexy voice and magical hands, could have done whatever she wanted to me, I was so relaxed.
Of course when I left the spa and got into my car, my face was a scary, fire engine, splotchy red. But meh it was worth it. I will definitely have to do that again.
I mean I get there and they offer me a beverage. Then this woman with a sultry, low voice and perfectly coiffed hair leads me through a dimly lit labyrinth (which I became completely lost in), to an area in the back where I was told to strip and put on a robe.
After that I was led to another alcove where once again I was given a drink and then the lady (I forget her name so I'm going to call her Calliope because I like that name) came back and soaked my feet in some weird smelling bath.
Next we went into an even darker room, acoustic guitar music was piped in, where I was told to lose the robe and get under the covers. Calliope comes back in and starts talking in her hypnotic voice, I can't recall what she said but it lulled me into some sort of trance. Soon she started rubbing goo all over my face, before wrapping me up in a hot towel. She then gave me a neck, shoulder and arm massage before removing the goo and adding more goo but with a slightly different smell. I once again got a rub down (loved it), before she removed goo #2.
Finally she sprayed some mist on me and rubbed something else on my face. This was apparently the end of my session, and I must admit if she had been trying to seduce me I totally would have let her. Calliope, with sexy voice and magical hands, could have done whatever she wanted to me, I was so relaxed.
Of course when I left the spa and got into my car, my face was a scary, fire engine, splotchy red. But meh it was worth it. I will definitely have to do that again.
Monday, July 07, 2008
My castle
So I've got my shnazzy new place (shnazzy is defined as about the size of a closet but with a stove), and today I decided to clean it as my landlord's definition of clean and my definition didn't seem to match up. So I rented one of those lovely steam cleaners and dragged it up to the third floor, vowing to hit the gym so that I can carry slightly heavy items more than five feet without stopping and gasping for breath, when I finally got to my apartment I realized I had accidentally rented a place whose location randomly shifts to the surface of the sun.
After a few hours I think I lost 30 pounds of water weight and I get to repeat the process tomorrow. But at least now I can sit on the floor without feeling like I'm going to get hepatitis.
Now I just need to move all my furniture in, oh wait I don't have any furniture and I'm pretty sure when my friends see the stairs they are going to run for the hills (thankfully those are probably on fire so they will have no choice but to help me move).
After a few hours I think I lost 30 pounds of water weight and I get to repeat the process tomorrow. But at least now I can sit on the floor without feeling like I'm going to get hepatitis.
Now I just need to move all my furniture in, oh wait I don't have any furniture and I'm pretty sure when my friends see the stairs they are going to run for the hills (thankfully those are probably on fire so they will have no choice but to help me move).
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wireless
Sick of borrowing shoddy Internet from my neighbors I went out and purchased a wireless router yesterday. And I swear “tech” sales people are the most misogynistic guys around, I get more respect from mechanics. I get asked about 30 times if I was sure that I could do this myself, and if I was comfortable using computers? The manager highly suggested I get the inhome installation so that they could set up security, after all they were “certified.” He looked very skeptical that I could set it up without help.
After taking five minutes to set the whole thing up I’m pretty sure a retarded monkey could get certified. You plug a freakin cord in and then you run a CD. Why the hell would I pay $100 for some greasy-faced asshole to invade my home to do this?
But I now have Internet so I’m happy, no more websites crashing just as I’m paying a bill, no more gmail chat kicking me off just when a friend is about to say something interesting, and finally being able to quickly download porn, I must watch two girls one cup again with out it starting and stopping so often — I feel like I missed parts.
After taking five minutes to set the whole thing up I’m pretty sure a retarded monkey could get certified. You plug a freakin cord in and then you run a CD. Why the hell would I pay $100 for some greasy-faced asshole to invade my home to do this?
But I now have Internet so I’m happy, no more websites crashing just as I’m paying a bill, no more gmail chat kicking me off just when a friend is about to say something interesting, and finally being able to quickly download porn, I must watch two girls one cup again with out it starting and stopping so often — I feel like I missed parts.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I'm ready for my close up
So Friday, after the debacle that was my flat tire, I came into work thoroughly wind blown and frazzled. Instead of getting to work I decided I needed some cookies and some Internet surfing time.
As I was sitting at my desk drinking a coke and munching on Oreos (no I did not dunk them in the coke and I don’t twist the tops off either) I saw the editor and the photographer talking. I heard my name come up and then they both turned to look at me.
“Colleen has a lot of hair,” this coming from my editor.
Now I was confused, the quantity of my hair has never come up in conversation with either of these two before, actually we’ve never discussed anything with regards to my hair before (which I think is for the best). Then I find out that they need a model for next week’s issue and the criterion is: a lot of hair.
Also I think they wanted cheap and easy, wait that doesn't sound good.
So I head down to the “studio” (a little nook by the break room where we have to move around a big table and chairs) and for the next hour the photographer (who is a really cool guy but I’m pretty sure he was laughing at me the whole time) had me flip my hair around while trying to stick out my hip, and curve my torso in a way that is physically impossible. Needless to say I almost fell down a half dozen times and afterwards I was very dizzy.
But Monday came and apparently the pictures just didn’t work. So off to the “studio” again, but this time not only was the photographer there but the editor and the art director joined as well. Good times.
Actually in the end it was quite fun, except for the slightly tweaked neck, and I’m officially a cover model.
OK so you can’t tell it’s me, but in general I think that’s for the best. And the story is about being in debt so it also kind of fits.
As I was sitting at my desk drinking a coke and munching on Oreos (no I did not dunk them in the coke and I don’t twist the tops off either) I saw the editor and the photographer talking. I heard my name come up and then they both turned to look at me.
“Colleen has a lot of hair,” this coming from my editor.
Now I was confused, the quantity of my hair has never come up in conversation with either of these two before, actually we’ve never discussed anything with regards to my hair before (which I think is for the best). Then I find out that they need a model for next week’s issue and the criterion is: a lot of hair.
Also I think they wanted cheap and easy, wait that doesn't sound good.
So I head down to the “studio” (a little nook by the break room where we have to move around a big table and chairs) and for the next hour the photographer (who is a really cool guy but I’m pretty sure he was laughing at me the whole time) had me flip my hair around while trying to stick out my hip, and curve my torso in a way that is physically impossible. Needless to say I almost fell down a half dozen times and afterwards I was very dizzy.
But Monday came and apparently the pictures just didn’t work. So off to the “studio” again, but this time not only was the photographer there but the editor and the art director joined as well. Good times.
Actually in the end it was quite fun, except for the slightly tweaked neck, and I’m officially a cover model.
OK so you can’t tell it’s me, but in general I think that’s for the best. And the story is about being in debt so it also kind of fits.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Eleven years and counting
Saturday was my high school reunion, my eleven-year high school reunion. Sure most schools do 10 years but our class couldn't get our act together last year so it was slightly delayed.
I guess our class was always a bunch of slackers. During rallies and football games barely anyone showed up. And as a class that started with about 500 students our freshman year we ended with a little over 250. Not the best matriculation rate.
I guess any reunion is weird. What do you have in common with these people anymore? I have to admit though that there were a lot of really cool people that I never talked to in high school that I really enjoyed hanging out with last night.
Basically we went to a local pizza parlor and had pizza and beers for a couple of hours out on the patio. I was surprised at how many people had kids. I was really surprised to learn that one couple (who got married right after school) was expecting their fifth child.
It was really interesting to see what people were doing now, and how you would never have thought that a decade ago. One classmate, whom I had attended elementary school with) had become a luchadore (masked Mexican wrestler) for eight years (or that’s what he said and if he made it up kudos for a great story), one of the artiest girls ever turned into an engineer and there was a guy who laid oil pipelines down in Peru.
Later in the night, the families took off and a bunch of us headed down the block to what I’m sure is California’s last saloon. Boots hung from the ceiling and there were a lot of wranglers packed onto the stools. The AC didn’t work but the beers were cold and the patio was pretty nice by then.
Outside poor Deb was hassled by an old classmate, and my two other compatriots were tired so they took off. I stayed until a little after midnight hanging out with people I hadn’t talked to since the ’90s.
As I drove home I got a text that asked, “One more drink?”
And there’s always room for one more, so I changed course and headed to a local bar. That last one definitely put me over and I woke in a bit of pain this morning, but I guess reunions should not be done sober anyways.
I guess our class was always a bunch of slackers. During rallies and football games barely anyone showed up. And as a class that started with about 500 students our freshman year we ended with a little over 250. Not the best matriculation rate.
I guess any reunion is weird. What do you have in common with these people anymore? I have to admit though that there were a lot of really cool people that I never talked to in high school that I really enjoyed hanging out with last night.
Basically we went to a local pizza parlor and had pizza and beers for a couple of hours out on the patio. I was surprised at how many people had kids. I was really surprised to learn that one couple (who got married right after school) was expecting their fifth child.
It was really interesting to see what people were doing now, and how you would never have thought that a decade ago. One classmate, whom I had attended elementary school with) had become a luchadore (masked Mexican wrestler) for eight years (or that’s what he said and if he made it up kudos for a great story), one of the artiest girls ever turned into an engineer and there was a guy who laid oil pipelines down in Peru.
Later in the night, the families took off and a bunch of us headed down the block to what I’m sure is California’s last saloon. Boots hung from the ceiling and there were a lot of wranglers packed onto the stools. The AC didn’t work but the beers were cold and the patio was pretty nice by then.
Outside poor Deb was hassled by an old classmate, and my two other compatriots were tired so they took off. I stayed until a little after midnight hanging out with people I hadn’t talked to since the ’90s.
As I drove home I got a text that asked, “One more drink?”
And there’s always room for one more, so I changed course and headed to a local bar. That last one definitely put me over and I woke in a bit of pain this morning, but I guess reunions should not be done sober anyways.
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