Went to a drinking establishment called "Temple Bar" last night (no stag (bachelor) or hen (bachelorette) parties in sight), in an only mildly objectionable area of town. Struck up a conversation with the bartender, who was a 40-ish woman, and it turns out that she's from Galway, and it was her birthday the next day. We also proceeded to talk at length about what's possibly the most discussed topic in her homeland: the weather. Now generally speaking, Americans tend to talk about the weather when they are uncomfortable, want to break the ice, or have nothing else to say, etc. In Ireland, the weather seems a totally legitimate topic of conversation between individuals who have known each other for months or years. A good chunk of conversations can center around current weather conditions, and comparisons with the last few month/years. I've tried to explain this to my friends in SF, but:
- Several of them are spoilt from only having lived in California after moving to the US, mostly from other warm climates. No upstate NY with chances of a snow-in till mid-May for this lot! A whole week without the sun is an unthinkable thing.
- I really think this obsession cannot be appreciated until one has lived in Ireland for a bit, and been hugely surprised by a fantastic day in October, or crushingly disappointed by a much-promised summer that never quite arrived.
Anyway, Temple Bar was followed by Indian/Pakistani food at a hole in the wall place around the corner. Hadn't been there in months... thankfully, not much had changed. Everything was still guaranteed to be completely non-organic, hyper-fattening, instantaneously food coma-inducing, and swimming in as much oil as the containers would allow. Oh, and did I mention social-interaction-inhibiting odors that refuse to part company with one's skin, hair or clothes? Good times! Ate like a pig starved for generations (a skill perfected by yours truly from travels to Spain).
R.I.P.
PK's cat died today. Actually, we don't know when exactly it died...could have been a couple of days. PK is on vacation in Spain with her husband. Around 10 p.m., I received a hysterical call from PK's cousin who thought something was wrong with the cat (said cousin was stopping by to check on the cats upon request). While I was looking up an emergency/ 24-hr vet's number, she called back and said she thought the cat was dead. She couldn't go back and take a look or touch it to see. Could I please come over right away? Ok. Panic. What does one DO in a situation like that? Well, we found out after a few phone calls that we needed to take the cat into a 24-hr pet clinic, and they would take care of all the "arrangements" for us. So today I had to touch and transport my first dead body. Stiff as a board, and cold. I've seen several dead bodies up close before this, but never been responsible for one. Don't want to repeat the experience, for sure.
Surreal that this was a living being when I had last seen it only a few days ago, giving us all attitude as only cats can. This would be 1 of the only 2 cats I've ever developed an affection for. It died at home, alone for days, and was obviously a bit sick prior because it had thrown up in a corner. Noone was there to take notice or help. What a miserable feeling, and a terrible way to die...I wonder if that's what really freaked me out about the whole thing. AH, DB and I had once laughed about a certain party guest acting like dying cats after falling down the stairs. The truth is obviously far from funny.
Surreal that this was a living being when I had last seen it only a few days ago, giving us all attitude as only cats can. This would be 1 of the only 2 cats I've ever developed an affection for. It died at home, alone for days, and was obviously a bit sick prior because it had thrown up in a corner. Noone was there to take notice or help. What a miserable feeling, and a terrible way to die...I wonder if that's what really freaked me out about the whole thing. AH, DB and I had once laughed about a certain party guest acting like dying cats after falling down the stairs. The truth is obviously far from funny.
Thanksgiving weekend
Fine... some of you wanted to know what went on on this long weekend, so here it is (no flak accepted for lack of excitement):
Thanksgiving day: Headed to a good friend's place for dinner. His wife, whose family was visiting, was horrified that he would have invited anyone who was a newbie and may not be able to appreciate their sense of humor or propriety. She'd obviously overlooked the minor details of my country of origin, what prizes lurk in each and every Indian family, and that melodrama runs in my blood! Anyway, it was all for naught... had an absolutely fantastic time with the family. Her uncle reminded me of one of my own, as it happens! aah..families! At the risk of sounding like a sop, I am so grateful to them for making me feel totally at home while I was there. I was even considering staying over when they offered (actually, I had been considering it well before that!)... if it hadn't been for CB coming by the next morning, I most likely would have, and stuffed my shameless face with delicious homemade breakfast before rolling out to the car.
After Thanksgiving:
- CB arrived in SF on fri at 1 p.m., and not a second was wasted before we went about lining up the drinks.
- Headed over to the farmers market at the ferry building on sat, and pretty much spent all the time guzzling wine at the wine bar instead of getting our greens. That set the tone for the rest of the day.
- Over the course of the weekend, I'd like to say that we stuffed our faces like never before, but that would be a lie. We did, however, do our best to set new records. The staff at the Chinese/dim-sum restaurant upon which we descended was visibly disturbed at the amount of food ordered for all 3 rounds (not courses, rounds).
And now it's over. More updates later...
Thanksgiving day: Headed to a good friend's place for dinner. His wife, whose family was visiting, was horrified that he would have invited anyone who was a newbie and may not be able to appreciate their sense of humor or propriety. She'd obviously overlooked the minor details of my country of origin, what prizes lurk in each and every Indian family, and that melodrama runs in my blood! Anyway, it was all for naught... had an absolutely fantastic time with the family. Her uncle reminded me of one of my own, as it happens! aah..families! At the risk of sounding like a sop, I am so grateful to them for making me feel totally at home while I was there. I was even considering staying over when they offered (actually, I had been considering it well before that!)... if it hadn't been for CB coming by the next morning, I most likely would have, and stuffed my shameless face with delicious homemade breakfast before rolling out to the car.
After Thanksgiving:
- CB arrived in SF on fri at 1 p.m., and not a second was wasted before we went about lining up the drinks.
- Headed over to the farmers market at the ferry building on sat, and pretty much spent all the time guzzling wine at the wine bar instead of getting our greens. That set the tone for the rest of the day.
- Over the course of the weekend, I'd like to say that we stuffed our faces like never before, but that would be a lie. We did, however, do our best to set new records. The staff at the Chinese/dim-sum restaurant upon which we descended was visibly disturbed at the amount of food ordered for all 3 rounds (not courses, rounds).
And now it's over. More updates later...
'tis the season to be tacky...
It has begun...
- Christmas edition cups in Starbucks, served by employees wearing Santa hats (news flash credit: "field correspondent" KR of 'bowchikawowow' fame)
- Suburbia getting geared up, with titular redneck patriarchs enthusiastically bringing out "the nativity scene: front lawn series". Incidentally, an 8 ft tall Santa is only $80 right now, in case anyone's interested.
- Trees subjected to ornamentation that no living being would put up with if they weren't fixed to the ground
- Nauseating catalogs in the mail with perfect little children in disgusting Santa and/or gingerbread man sweaters flashing perfect pearly teeth (I did NOT realize that you can teach kids that young to look fakely happy?!)
- Shoppers that "mean business" with anxious looks and sharp elbows. I actually want to have an out of body experience and hover over the Macy's/ Nordstrom women's departments during the day-after-thanksgiving sale (reportedly the busiest shopping day in the US). I can almost bet money that there's bitch-slapping and cat-fighting involved. I think someone died (or was seriously injured) in a stampede at Walmart the year before last... ain't NO piece of clothing worth THAT!
- Christmas edition cups in Starbucks, served by employees wearing Santa hats (news flash credit: "field correspondent" KR of 'bowchikawowow' fame)
- Suburbia getting geared up, with titular redneck patriarchs enthusiastically bringing out "the nativity scene: front lawn series". Incidentally, an 8 ft tall Santa is only $80 right now, in case anyone's interested.
- Trees subjected to ornamentation that no living being would put up with if they weren't fixed to the ground
- Nauseating catalogs in the mail with perfect little children in disgusting Santa and/or gingerbread man sweaters flashing perfect pearly teeth (I did NOT realize that you can teach kids that young to look fakely happy?!)
- Shoppers that "mean business" with anxious looks and sharp elbows. I actually want to have an out of body experience and hover over the Macy's/ Nordstrom women's departments during the day-after-thanksgiving sale (reportedly the busiest shopping day in the US). I can almost bet money that there's bitch-slapping and cat-fighting involved. I think someone died (or was seriously injured) in a stampede at Walmart the year before last... ain't NO piece of clothing worth THAT!
Ireland
These days I feel like all people ask me is: “How was Ireland? Did you like it?”. A question so straightforward and yet so difficult to answer. Not that I, of all people, can say I saw much of Dublin outside the city center, but my general impression about most places is that aside from the history (that doesn't really directly touch most locals' lives) some distinctive buildings (some riddled with bullet holes and some not), and other tourist sites, it’s not as if any capital city is really that different from another; it’s the people that make the difference. The denizens are the soul of any place, and if someone never came in contact with that, how is the experience describable to them? Gems like these (below) simply can't be paraphrased...they have to be experienced:
• The real usage of the word “grand”: e.g. when referring to a restaurant’s menu: “ah sure it’s not great…it’s grand, like”
• The true meaning of the word “temperate”: as in… “Sure you’ll be grand with a couple of jackets… Ireland’s climate is very temperate”… YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!
• “The one” (drink) -- as in "will we head to Kennedys for the one?"… fresh off the plane, I thought that it was indeed a drink, as in singular. To my surprise (and delight, I must add), I realized that the phrase refers, instead, to “the one that will put one in intimate contact with the flooring”.
• “Your man” or “your one”: as in “Jesus, would you see what your one there is wearing?”.
“Are you happy to be back home?”… now there’s another tough one. Having moved enough in life, I’m not sure where home really is anymore. Part of me now considers Dublin home as well. People tell me that not everyone thinks like this about a place they went for a temporary assignment… in that case, I am really REALLY lucky!
• The real usage of the word “grand”: e.g. when referring to a restaurant’s menu: “ah sure it’s not great…it’s grand, like”
• The true meaning of the word “temperate”: as in… “Sure you’ll be grand with a couple of jackets… Ireland’s climate is very temperate”… YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!
• “The one” (drink) -- as in "will we head to Kennedys for the one?"… fresh off the plane, I thought that it was indeed a drink, as in singular. To my surprise (and delight, I must add), I realized that the phrase refers, instead, to “the one that will put one in intimate contact with the flooring”.
• “Your man” or “your one”: as in “Jesus, would you see what your one there is wearing?”.
“Are you happy to be back home?”… now there’s another tough one. Having moved enough in life, I’m not sure where home really is anymore. Part of me now considers Dublin home as well. People tell me that not everyone thinks like this about a place they went for a temporary assignment… in that case, I am really REALLY lucky!
Microcosm
Our little apartment building has suddenly become a microcosmic reflection of the state of affairs in the US at large.
What makes you think that, you ask? Some of these many "instructional" notes posted all over the place may give you a hint:
- "Please lock this door when you leave"
- "Please make sure that the garage door closes behind you"
- "Please don't put your laundry basket on the table that's used for folding clothes" (yes, I'm not kidding)
- "Please use the garbage chute only for small items. Take larger items down to the bin" (I swear that this is not a product of my altering-substance-induced fertile imagination)
Anyway, there are loads of these all over the building, and let's not even get to the actual cork board by the mailboxes that's meant for posting shit. People have just gone ape-shit C-R-A-Z-Y there...there's the whole gamut from advertising dog-walking services to benign looking yet semi-hysterical notes. Such as: "It was noticed by a member of the Home Owners Association that the garage door was left open in the morning. PLEASE ensure out safety by making sure this does not happen again!!!".
Basically, since the break-in, it seems that we are operating under some kind of "red alert" military regime around here. Oh, and every time I read these notes, I can almost hear that ominous sounding announcement at the airport: "we are currently at threat level orange... do not leave personal belongings... blah blah".
What makes you think that, you ask? Some of these many "instructional" notes posted all over the place may give you a hint:
- "Please lock this door when you leave"
- "Please make sure that the garage door closes behind you"
- "Please don't put your laundry basket on the table that's used for folding clothes" (yes, I'm not kidding)
- "Please use the garbage chute only for small items. Take larger items down to the bin" (I swear that this is not a product of my altering-substance-induced fertile imagination)
Anyway, there are loads of these all over the building, and let's not even get to the actual cork board by the mailboxes that's meant for posting shit. People have just gone ape-shit C-R-A-Z-Y there...there's the whole gamut from advertising dog-walking services to benign looking yet semi-hysterical notes. Such as: "It was noticed by a member of the Home Owners Association that the garage door was left open in the morning. PLEASE ensure out safety by making sure this does not happen again!!!".
Basically, since the break-in, it seems that we are operating under some kind of "red alert" military regime around here. Oh, and every time I read these notes, I can almost hear that ominous sounding announcement at the airport: "we are currently at threat level orange... do not leave personal belongings... blah blah".
hmm...this had totally slipped my mind about the US
Carrying ID with you...everywhere, everytime:
Getting re-acclimated to this whole exercise of showing one's ID at the door of a club/bar is annoying me tremendously. I understand that it's the bouncer's job, and he probably does it with the same enthusiasm I exhibit towards writing up meeting minutes, but really... the bounds of the sane/reasonable and the outer edges of the sublimely ridiculous have somehow managed to cross over to a greater than needed extent around here. Now...putting all delusions aside, one hasn't looked younger than 21 since, say, one WAS younger than 21. Is it REALLY necessary to stop the line and INSIST that an ID be produced if the ONLY person in a group with otherwise stellar age creds has forgotten an ID? And... surely if you do this for a living several days a week, you have an idea as to what <21 is meant to look like? In the time that I've been back, I've forgotten my ID twice, and have had to wheedle an entry into the places as if I were truly going to go in for an under-age drinking binge (with the rest of the group waiting, BURSTING at the seams to have a "Geez, HOW could you have forgotten your ID?" moment!!) As if I did it on purpose just to have the pleasure of stroking the bouncer's ego!
And it's not just at bars, either... just a couple of days ago, a young man at a cash register in a supermarket refused to sell me a bottle of wine due to lack of 'government issued ID'?
Him: "Why aren't you carrying ID?"
Me: "um... because I didn't realize I need my ID to use my credit card"
Him: "No, I need it for the alcohol purchase"
I wanted to collapse to the floor and laugh hysterically. DW, who was accompanying me, offered to buy it instead, and yer man (hehe) says, "I can't allow that... you could be purchasing alcohol for a minor". Oh P-U-H-leeeeeeeeeease!! *exaggerated eye-roll*
Besides, everyone knows that the heaviest drinking happens in dorm rooms between the ages of 17 and 20 using wine from a box. I'd say it's time to spare the "legal" lot of us this pious idiocy and re-deploy those resources towards putting some standards around wine in boxes so that less kids get poisoned after drinking it.
Getting re-acclimated to this whole exercise of showing one's ID at the door of a club/bar is annoying me tremendously. I understand that it's the bouncer's job, and he probably does it with the same enthusiasm I exhibit towards writing up meeting minutes, but really... the bounds of the sane/reasonable and the outer edges of the sublimely ridiculous have somehow managed to cross over to a greater than needed extent around here. Now...putting all delusions aside, one hasn't looked younger than 21 since, say, one WAS younger than 21. Is it REALLY necessary to stop the line and INSIST that an ID be produced if the ONLY person in a group with otherwise stellar age creds has forgotten an ID? And... surely if you do this for a living several days a week, you have an idea as to what <21 is meant to look like? In the time that I've been back, I've forgotten my ID twice, and have had to wheedle an entry into the places as if I were truly going to go in for an under-age drinking binge (with the rest of the group waiting, BURSTING at the seams to have a "Geez, HOW could you have forgotten your ID?" moment!!) As if I did it on purpose just to have the pleasure of stroking the bouncer's ego!
And it's not just at bars, either... just a couple of days ago, a young man at a cash register in a supermarket refused to sell me a bottle of wine due to lack of 'government issued ID'?
Him: "Why aren't you carrying ID?"
Me: "um... because I didn't realize I need my ID to use my credit card"
Him: "No, I need it for the alcohol purchase"
I wanted to collapse to the floor and laugh hysterically. DW, who was accompanying me, offered to buy it instead, and yer man (hehe) says, "I can't allow that... you could be purchasing alcohol for a minor". Oh P-U-H-leeeeeeeeeease!! *exaggerated eye-roll*
Besides, everyone knows that the heaviest drinking happens in dorm rooms between the ages of 17 and 20 using wine from a box. I'd say it's time to spare the "legal" lot of us this pious idiocy and re-deploy those resources towards putting some standards around wine in boxes so that less kids get poisoned after drinking it.
Settling in, again...
Ate the best sushi in SF for dinner. Again. How can something that’s good for you be so sinfully good? And so bloody filling? After eating what seemed like a tuna and a half, I felt like a walrus, and waddled back home at furious pace to attempt to burn off the rice. It reminded me of the
Got my hair cut… not a single person noticed the difference... in fact, some even seemed to doubt the veracity of my claim. Not exactly what I wanted to hear after trolling the web to find someone who would cut my hair within the next 2 hours (I was bored, and those bangs were LONG!), and then trudging all the way to the only hair salon in the Castro that had that someone who would. I would have driven, but finding parking in SF is possibly the only thing that scares me more than climbing hills.
Lately, I have gotten into the elite circle of employees who routinely experience the joy of late night calls with my brethren in the east. In this particular case (Halloween night), my involvement was requested to de-mystify the history & contract with a partner, to enable the purchase of more s/w. Before you underestimate the thrill of this job, I must throw in that this is a contract whose success was measured in kilograms.
Me: "Meeting requested on tuesday at
Me: "Is friday the earliest you can do? We need the license urgently in our
Me: "Thanks a lot… so would that mean Wed, Oct 31 @ 10:30 p.m. for us (
So… I send out an updated meeting invite.
Me: "To be honest, I don’t know, as I haven’t dialed the
Yipitee-fucking-do, right? Wrong. Fast forward to next day: 15 mins of waiting… no sign of
Sometimes I wonder why I do this job. Why have I not put all my savings towards some good plastic surgery, “invested in myself” and snagged myself a rich (and mostly absent) husband? Actually, I think I know the reason why... it's because my so-called savings would only be able to get me one new boob... how pathetic would it be to have the other one on lay-away? Or be afraid that it'd be taken back if the monthly payments weren't made? Maybe it still won't be too late in 4-5 years.
So... what's happened in the last week?
Well, the following are the happenings since I arrived home:
1. Apartment building got broken into a day before I got back... apparently, this has happened twice before, while I was in Ireland. After the second time, a security system complete with a surveillance camera and whatnot was put in place. And then... the building got broken into again! Following is the description of the man posted by the Home Owners Association (don't ask!) President (oh, don't even go THERE!): An African-American man, 5'8" - 5'10", about 45 years of age, seemingly homeless, around 170 lbs, afro haircut, wearing painter jeans (whatever the hell those are), a black down jacket and black cap. This is what was stolen from my laundry/storage unit: a garment case, paper towels and laundry detergent (What the FUCK?? Who the hell steals laundry detergent? ESPECIALLY if one is homeless?!?! Has SF suddenly deemed it necessary for the homeless to clean up or ship out? What am I missing here?). Anyway, this has led me to accumulate a whole bloody Everest worth of laundry at home, as I don't get home before dark, and refuse to go down to the laundry room after dark. This is a lot more traumatic than ninja thieves, I tell you!
2. Politics at work is as much a bitch as ever. Seems more so now, given the year's hiatus from it. The cliques are straight out of high school, and the gossip is simply unforgiving. The good thing is that you're pretty much assured that you WILL be talked about, so you can either spend your time being a wallflower and avoiding the inevitable, or do completely outrageous things that give the thwarted Joan Rivers of the world something to talk about (for those who don't know: she's a red carpet critic known for her acerbic commentary on matters of diminishing importance, such as fashion).
3. Went to the opera on tuesday night, courtesy NW, a good friend of mine. "The Magic Flute". No snickers, please... we all know that this being SF, the likelihood of this being ...er...alternative porn would be high, but this was the real deal... Mozart and all, yo!! Being the "culture vulture" that I am (thanks, DB), I actually really enjoyed it (nobody was more surprised than me!), although given it was over 3 hours, I did fear that some arias were going to lull me into sleep & I'd crack my skull on the back of the seat.
4. Forced fun at work on wednesday. There was food, drink, and dancing... I availed of none...merely showed up to announce my return to the US as if it were a debutante ball (well, why not? A fourth of the company was there!). Stayed for 2 glasses of sparkling water, and blew kisses on the way out (also, had to hit the road before my colleagues with >3 drinks under their belts did).
This event was:
- in the daytime (3 p.m.)
- right on the water, on the patio of an Italian restaurant close to work that I am convinced is a front for the mob...has to be...it's not as if they excel in food or drink selections, and the staff look like you DO NOT want to be sending your gnocchi back, y'hear?
- Clearly blessed with much talent: I was told by several parties that I missed an "amazing" dance-off by arriving late. There IS a God.
5. Unpacking is finally complete... took forever, mostly because all I did was watch the boxes and suitcases apathetically for days, waiting for the elves to do their thing. Finally got my ass in gear when the aforementioned units of temporary storage began being used as chair/stools. My God, there is SO much stuff in this apartment... was it always this way?? Did we always have enough ethernet cables (or blank CR-RWs or pristine issues of National Geographic still in their shrink wrap) to be declared the leaders of the free world if they became the currency of choice upon alien invasion? There's no room to put the stuff I've got back, and there isn't even any new stuff, really... just shit I took from here! Oh, and while I've been gone, MR has tried to take over my domain and has expanded his wardrobe space to three times what it used to be! Sneaky, but guess who's at home alone doing a spring clean NOW, huh? huh?
6. I tried to install a hook into the back of the bedroom door today. A phillips head screwdriver, a (wood?) screw and the hook were the apparatus involved in this experiment. And a hammer, for backup, when only brawn not brains would work. Using all of the above, I managed to screw in this hook , and hung both pairs of jeans on it promptly. As I was high-fiving myself into "you go, girl" land, the hook fell out, and took along with it the jeans and a small portion of the (ply?)wood previously associated with the door. Emm.. turns out my real talent lies in my fingers after all... as in typing a note to the landlord feigning innocence and asking him to take a look at the door next time he's over. Needless to say, I intend to blame it all on MR.
So that's it for now...
1. Apartment building got broken into a day before I got back... apparently, this has happened twice before, while I was in Ireland. After the second time, a security system complete with a surveillance camera and whatnot was put in place. And then... the building got broken into again! Following is the description of the man posted by the Home Owners Association (don't ask!) President (oh, don't even go THERE!): An African-American man, 5'8" - 5'10", about 45 years of age, seemingly homeless, around 170 lbs, afro haircut, wearing painter jeans (whatever the hell those are), a black down jacket and black cap. This is what was stolen from my laundry/storage unit: a garment case, paper towels and laundry detergent (What the FUCK?? Who the hell steals laundry detergent? ESPECIALLY if one is homeless?!?! Has SF suddenly deemed it necessary for the homeless to clean up or ship out? What am I missing here?). Anyway, this has led me to accumulate a whole bloody Everest worth of laundry at home, as I don't get home before dark, and refuse to go down to the laundry room after dark. This is a lot more traumatic than ninja thieves, I tell you!
2. Politics at work is as much a bitch as ever. Seems more so now, given the year's hiatus from it. The cliques are straight out of high school, and the gossip is simply unforgiving. The good thing is that you're pretty much assured that you WILL be talked about, so you can either spend your time being a wallflower and avoiding the inevitable, or do completely outrageous things that give the thwarted Joan Rivers of the world something to talk about (for those who don't know: she's a red carpet critic known for her acerbic commentary on matters of diminishing importance, such as fashion).
3. Went to the opera on tuesday night, courtesy NW, a good friend of mine. "The Magic Flute". No snickers, please... we all know that this being SF, the likelihood of this being ...er...alternative porn would be high, but this was the real deal... Mozart and all, yo!! Being the "culture vulture" that I am (thanks, DB), I actually really enjoyed it (nobody was more surprised than me!), although given it was over 3 hours, I did fear that some arias were going to lull me into sleep & I'd crack my skull on the back of the seat.
4. Forced fun at work on wednesday. There was food, drink, and dancing... I availed of none...merely showed up to announce my return to the US as if it were a debutante ball (well, why not? A fourth of the company was there!). Stayed for 2 glasses of sparkling water, and blew kisses on the way out (also, had to hit the road before my colleagues with >3 drinks under their belts did).
This event was:
- in the daytime (3 p.m.)
- right on the water, on the patio of an Italian restaurant close to work that I am convinced is a front for the mob...has to be...it's not as if they excel in food or drink selections, and the staff look like you DO NOT want to be sending your gnocchi back, y'hear?
- Clearly blessed with much talent: I was told by several parties that I missed an "amazing" dance-off by arriving late. There IS a God.
5. Unpacking is finally complete... took forever, mostly because all I did was watch the boxes and suitcases apathetically for days, waiting for the elves to do their thing. Finally got my ass in gear when the aforementioned units of temporary storage began being used as chair/stools. My God, there is SO much stuff in this apartment... was it always this way?? Did we always have enough ethernet cables (or blank CR-RWs or pristine issues of National Geographic still in their shrink wrap) to be declared the leaders of the free world if they became the currency of choice upon alien invasion? There's no room to put the stuff I've got back, and there isn't even any new stuff, really... just shit I took from here! Oh, and while I've been gone, MR has tried to take over my domain and has expanded his wardrobe space to three times what it used to be! Sneaky, but guess who's at home alone doing a spring clean NOW, huh? huh?
6. I tried to install a hook into the back of the bedroom door today. A phillips head screwdriver, a (wood?) screw and the hook were the apparatus involved in this experiment. And a hammer, for backup, when only brawn not brains would work. Using all of the above, I managed to screw in this hook , and hung both pairs of jeans on it promptly. As I was high-fiving myself into "you go, girl" land, the hook fell out, and took along with it the jeans and a small portion of the (ply?)wood previously associated with the door. Emm.. turns out my real talent lies in my fingers after all... as in typing a note to the landlord feigning innocence and asking him to take a look at the door next time he's over. Needless to say, I intend to blame it all on MR.
So that's it for now...
Not ANOTHER blog...
I mean, really... what is it that causes people to think that their semi-literate expulsions are something that others would love to read?? The answer is simple: severe egotism. Hell yeah! After all, I've known all along that I'm the most devastatingly interesting person I know, multiple personalities and all! And the kicker is that given my severe ADD, I can amuse myself endlessly with the same barely funny utterances over and over again. Life is so good.
Anyway, before I forget, here are the basics:
1. This is not a blog, really... in the sense that I will not be posting the following to this:
- photos of me/family/boyfriends (current or ex, mine or anyone else's)/pets/ colleagues. The people invited to read this blog already know what the fuck I look like.
- Philosophies on life/death/love/whatever... (the ability to keep this promise is indirectly proportional to level of intoxication. Even my mother has reconciled herself to this fact).
Basically, this is more like a message board for my buddies that have moved away or I have moved away from, and whom I miss madly. And no, that they also most likely do not give a damn about my day to day existence does not faze me in the slightest... I know that 'me bitches' don't live lives as hectic or interesting as we all like to pretend, so they'll get around to reading it occasionally :-)
2. If you have not known me with no more than 1 degree of separation in my life (and you will know this how? Well, you will have gotten an email from me announcing the existence of this piece of narcissistic crap), please don't bother penning down your comments. No, seriously... I don't care. Those whose comments I treasure will know who they are... I am not coy or undemonstrative when it comes to my likes and dislikes.
That's it. Simple enough. Welcome (or not).
Anyway, before I forget, here are the basics:
1. This is not a blog, really... in the sense that I will not be posting the following to this:
- photos of me/family/boyfriends (current or ex, mine or anyone else's)/pets/ colleagues. The people invited to read this blog already know what the fuck I look like.
- Philosophies on life/death/love/whatever... (the ability to keep this promise is indirectly proportional to level of intoxication. Even my mother has reconciled herself to this fact).
Basically, this is more like a message board for my buddies that have moved away or I have moved away from, and whom I miss madly. And no, that they also most likely do not give a damn about my day to day existence does not faze me in the slightest... I know that 'me bitches' don't live lives as hectic or interesting as we all like to pretend, so they'll get around to reading it occasionally :-)
2. If you have not known me with no more than 1 degree of separation in my life (and you will know this how? Well, you will have gotten an email from me announcing the existence of this piece of narcissistic crap), please don't bother penning down your comments. No, seriously... I don't care. Those whose comments I treasure will know who they are... I am not coy or undemonstrative when it comes to my likes and dislikes.
That's it. Simple enough. Welcome (or not).
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