They See My Rollin' They Hatin'

My sister hates animals. I know...what kind of a person hates animals!?!? I love animals. I even thought I wanted to be a vet until I learned about the horrors of fecal smears and stuff. In addition to animals, I love funny things. My sister, does not love funny things. I know...what person doesn't like funny things!?!? The only things that she laughs at in relation to humor and animals is when misfortune befalls them, like falling into some sort of body of water or getting bonked on the head so hard that they can't walk right. Needless to say when I showed her this gem...her reaction went something like this:

Beverley: a cat laying on a computer is not that funny.

ashley: rolling qwerty…
that is sooo funny

Beverley: it's ridin

ashley: whatever…do you get it?
we be ridin dirty
but riding qwerty

Beverley: qwerty is a keyboard?

ashley: look at the top left 6 keys

Beverley: i don't see any keys
just cat

ashley: no
the one you are typing on
do you get it now?

Beverley: top left keys
esc?
f1?

ashley: the letter keys

Beverley: oh

ashley:
q
w
e
r
t
y

Beverley: i see that

ashley: so the cat...
is ridin qwerty
like ridin dirty

Beverley: wow.
that is so not funny

ashley: omg
i dont even know you anymore

Rollin Dirty

By day, I am mild-mannered (mostly) Ashley. But what you might not know is that I have an alter ego…Smashley, the heroically amusing drunk. People get jealous of other people who have had the honor of meeting Smashley. The legends of her escapades are told to captive audiences, longing for a glimpse of this creature.

Well…this weekend Smashley came out.

I went to Pismo with Boyfriend and the Rollin Dirty crew. It was a wind-blown, sleep-deprived mixture of motors, alcohol and offensive language. On Friday night, I rolled off the back of Boyfriend’s quad and nearly broke my neck. On Saturday, I sat on the beach for most of the day while the boys tried to break their necks. But on Saturday evening, I got a little brave…or stupid. I asked Boyfriend to show me how to jump. I just wanted a little one. Just a little tiny one. He chose some ridiculously steep dune and I lost momentum halfway up the thing. He told me to hit it faster. Apparently I did. When I came off the top of that hill I had the sensation of floating through the air. When I landed I looked back at Boyfriend, staring in disbelief. He showed me my tracks…I had jumped 25 mother-effing feet. I, being me, burst into tears and started shaking and we promptly rode back to camp where Boyfriend bragged to his friends and I poured myself a drink.

This was the first inkling that Smashley was lurking about. After finishing an entire bottle of margaritas it became obvious that she was present and accounted for. She danced like the little monkey for the crowd and passed out sometime shortly before dawn.

Morning came, and I got to deal with the repercussions of that crazy bitch. So, if you go to Pismo and you see a bunch of evenly spaced sand mounds near the end of the beach…beware…Smashley makes me sick…a lot.

Fail.

I took a test today. A test that was completely unnecessary. A test that I volunteered to take. A freaking HARD test!

Well, if the subject line didn’t give it away…I failed. I knew I was going to fail. I had no doubt in my mind. I had dreams of big fat failure. I ate failure for breakfast.

I’ve failed tests before. Not a big deal…accounting…that was a nice fail. But that was the result of zero studying…I didn’t even go to class. Not the case this time. I studied…I went to every class. Apparently, I’m just an idiot now.

I wish I could blame it on the coughing guy in the test.
I wish I could blame it on the guy who shushed the coughing guy every single time he coughed.
I wish I could blame it on the freezing temperatures in the testing facility.
I wish I could blame it on the archaic “computer” that I took the test on.
Most of all…I wish my failure more like this…at least then we could laugh when I recovered from my concussion.

I Might Have to Kill Myself Now

This is a statement that I make more often that I should. I have never thought too much about it. But recently, my feisty coworker has brought it to my attention that such comments are inappropriate, as many people commit suicide. Now I don’t fully agree with this argument, because who cares…those people are dead…I didn’t really say that (It's ok…I’m already going to hell). So I have respectfully resolved myself to only use my suicidal hyperbole in the most serious situations.

Today I had such an instance.

I was staring blankly at my igoogle page when I noticed a quote that struck a chord with me. I could not agree with the poignant sentiment more. And it makes me want to jump off the bridge:

“If I answer questions every time you ask one, expectations would be high. And as you know, I like to keep expectations low.”

President George W. Bush

Nothing Like It

There really is nothing like stepping into a warm pool of vomit. Really…I would know…I just did it. Apparently Talulah’s stomach upset from the other night has continued. I just walked around the corner to fill the doggie water bowl and like a horrible car wreck…it was all slow motion. I lifted my foot and was in the process of setting it back down when I noticed the damp and chunky look of the linoleum. I couldn’t stop it…it was already in motion. I landed my foot square in the middle of the puke and splashed it all up my other leg.

Awesome.

I have to go take a shower now before I go see my celebrity sister in her show.

Relegated to the Mailroom

I have skills. Not being cocky…but I paid good money to institutions to amass said skills and I have a resume that proves it.

It isn’t that I am not willing to do tedious and brainless jobs like say…oh I don’t know…address and stuff 2000 invitations in 24 hours, but seriously…that sucks.

And it’s not like I don’t have 50 bajillion other things to do with my time since my boss went on maternity leave for FIVE (omg) months. And it’s not like there aren’t several people who clearly have time on their hands but don’t want to help, or if they do help, move so slow that it makes me want to jump up and down and do it my damn self.*

Luckily, boyfriend is not a snail and is ultra helpful so I only had to stay up until 10 doing it.

On the upside, I managed to not get any papercuts...so…that makes it a lot less annoying.

*perfect example of skills: proficient usage of the double negative

Honey! I'm Home.

Those who know me well know that I don’t do “domestic.” I may be crafty, which can sometimes be mistaken for domestic, what with the quilting and knitting and stuff, but these are very different characteristics. For example:

Cleaning: If there is a pile of steaming crap in the middle of the floor I might pick it up, but only if it is in my way and really stinky.

Cooking: Why the hell do you think packaged foods were invented?

Dishes: Oh HELL no! Paper plates.

But ever since Boyfriend moved in (yes big step big step) I have been feeling all…domestic-y. Actually, we are both fully embracing the domestic lifestyle. I have never…not one day in my life…made my bed. Bed is made everyday now. I go to the grocery store like 2-3 times a week…wtf…I HATE the grocery store. I cook dinner, I scrub pots, I even thought about cleaning a toilet (don’t worry I didn’t get that crazy).

The other day I putting the laundry in the washer…long before I reached my last pair of undies…and I looked out the window and saw boyfriend mowing the lawn. Gasp…when did I become Mrs. Cleaver…and if that is the case…when do I get to stop working and eat bonbons all day? Hmm?

Sheeeeeeeeeees Baaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Miss me?

Of course you did. *hug*

Forgive my week-long…I mean month-long…holy-shit-has-it-been almost-three-months?-hiatus.

“Where have you been?” You might ask, “Something very important must have happened to pull you away from your ten faithful readers.”

Not so much actually. I’ve just been feeling lazy. Yep…that is it…my big excuse.

But I am back and fully committed to my regular posting schedule. I have so many stories to tell you all:

How about the one where I managed to inadvertently turn Gus into a racist dog? Or how Talulah puked on my bare foot just 3 hours ago? Or how that whole school thing from my previous post makes me (on my best days) want to spoon my eyes out and change careers altogether because I am a talentless waste of space who make hideously-literal and over-commercialized excuses for design?

But we will save those stories for another day…

Back To School

What the hell am I thinking?

In first grade I specifically remember faking sick, just for the hell of it, and then remembering that it was the day that we were all dressing up like pilgrims and Indians to have our mock thanksgiving feast…but I had already started my lie, so I had to keep it up and miss out on rock soup and construction paper hats…bummer. Diet coke count…1 a day.

I spent all of 7th and 8th grade doubled over in pain from the worst stomach aches…later determined to be stress and anxiety related. Diet coke count…2 a day.

In high school, the combo of AP class pressure, all night study sessions and countless extra curricular activities caused me to suffer severe migraines sometimes lasting for 5-7 days solid. They hooked me up to electrodes, tried to bring on seizures with lack of sleep and flashing lights, monitored me while I slept and put me on a rainbow of drugs with effects ranging from loopy to violent and everything in between. The final diagnosis…stress…oh…and my freshman year health teacher who forced all of his classes to give up soda and meat. Going cold turkey off a 5-a-day diet coke habit during the tumultuous years of high school…not good. The doctor recommended at least two caffeinated drinks each day. Diet coke count…5…then 0…then 4.

Off to college, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to take on Oregon, until the hippies got me down. And the grey sky made me want to take my life and I did too many pushups and slipped a disk in my back (yes it is possible and I know it is lame for a 20-year-old in her prime to slip a disk performing the president’s physical fitness test of all things…but it happened). Diet coke count…6 a day.

So yeah…what the hell am I thinking?

I started grad school this week. Diet coke count…7…and counting.

The Value Of A Dollar

I work in the construction industry. I know all about the value of good estimate. That is why I was shocked…no disgusted…when I recently received a bill that was 636% of the original estimate. Say WHA?!?! Not double...or triple...more than sextuple! I had to look that up because I had never even heard the word for six-fold before for crying out loud.

I want to write more about this subject…but I am unable to express the sheer disbelief that I am feeling in words. I know we are in dire financial shape in this country…but really…is this the type of inflation I should be expecting? Cause if that is the case I should start looking for my sturdy refrigerator box now…all the good homes will be taken if I wait too long.

Date Ideas…That Don't Suck

I have recently pimped my iGoogle with all sorts of Google gadgets including my Jon Stewart quote of the day, President George W. Bush quote randomizer, cute baby animal picture of the day, joke of the day, coloring page of the day and (the subject of this post) date ideas. I usually get a good little chuckle from my main man Jon, gawk in stupefied wonder at the things that come out of the mouth of the current leader of the free world, look at the cute animals, read the horrible jokes (I am sure that some day I will be prompted to write about this one too) and consider for a moment printing out the coloring picture and going to town. But the date idea gadget is that one that I really thought I might use.

Boyfriend and I are both Libras and if you believe in that sort of hippy-dippy patchouli crap (and I do) you know what that combo means…we can’t make a goddamn decision about ANYTHING. Sample conversation on a Friday night:

Me: What are your plans tonight?
Him: Nothing really…what are your plans?
Me: Nothing…you want to hang out?
Him: You want to hang out?
Me: I asked first didn’t I?
Him: What do you want to do?
Me: I don’t know…what do you want to do?
Him: Do you want to eat?

…you get the picture…

So as a result of our indecisive nature, I thought I would let my Google gadget decide the fate of our evenings for us. Good thought…in theory. In practice…these are the types of date suggestions that I have been getting as of late (no joke):

Go to church together…HA!
Play broomball…does anyone younger than my grandma’s generation even know the rules for broomball?
Alter a poem to fit the occasion, put it on colored paper and have it delivered…what am I? 10? You want me to plagiarize? On construction paper? And then pay $.41 to have that piece shit delivered? And how is this going to occupy our date night?
Tour for-sale houses together…isn’t this in direct violation of the cardinal rules of not scaring a boy away? “Hey honey…lets go find our future home together and while we are at it…lets choose our china pattern and talk about what we will name our unborn children.”
Shop for clothes together…wow…original…and so fun for both parties…“Honey…does my butt look big in this?”

So yeah…if you have any better ideas than this…like spooning our eyes out together…please pass them on.

I Am An Island

Have you every felt so alone and cut off from the world? When it seems like nobody in the world can reach out to you? That is how I feeling today…I forgot my cell phone.

Remember the days before cell phones and pagers…when we didn’t have to be constantly connected to everyone and anyone…including the telemarketers who call me regardless of my number being on that obviously worthless “do not call” list? How did we get here?

The idea of my dear sweet mobile…sitting lonely on my windowsill…chirping and ringing with its futile attempts to grab my attention…well…it just breaks my heart.

I Hate Your Carbon Copy

I love email…mostly because I am a phonephobic. No…seriously…I have a mini anxiety attack every time I have to make a call…and GOD FORBID I have to leave a message…EEEEEEE! But that is irrelevant to this post.

Why must you CC me on the crunchiest of emails? Like for instance…let’s say that there is a young man living in my complex which is overrun by 40-60 year-old women. And let’s say that the younger guy has some friends over for a little get together that ends up going late. The course of action…if you are disturbed by this…should be to knock on his door and tell him to keep it down. It should not be to write him a berating email the next day and CC the ENTIRE complex mailing list.

But beyond that...people…if you are CCed on one of these types of emails…don’t reply to all and nod in agreement. The CC function is purely to keep people in the loop…not for public humiliation.

This has been a public service announcement on email etiquette…because knowing is half the battle.

Storm Watch…dun dun dun

Tonight…on the ten o’clock news…rain. OMG!

Ok…so the Bay Area is in the midst of a sucky storm…knocking out some power, flooding some gutters and causing people to drive like even bigger idiots than normal…but from the news you would think it was the end of the world.

Last night I get home and turn on the television hoping to find some lame Friends rerun to watch…but no…every channel…Storm Watch…StormTracker…Eye on the Storm…

I get it…its raining. I know that the writer’s strike is leaving the television lineup pretty sparse these days…but seriously…is some interview with an old man in a fisherman’s hat talking about howling wind keeping him up at night really newsworthy enough to interrupt the regularly scheduled programming?

Upsides of the weather:

• Galoshes. I figured today was the day that I could get away with sporting my beige plaid printed galoshes. Hey…its all over the news…you have to be prepared.
• The weather is a perfectly appropriate conversation topic when the weather is this ugly…so no more awkward elevator rides for awhile.
• Snow! Tahoe is supposed to get nine feet this weekend! That means more powder to cushion my ass when I fall.

An Open Letter to Pretty Much All Pants Manufacturers

Dear Sir,

I suppose it is possible that I am just a freak of nature, but I take issue with your pants.

As much as the cropped thing works for some people, I am not such a fan, especially in January. My ankles are cold and it is your fault. I look far and wide for pants that dare to graze the tops of my shoes. Sometimes I even find a pair that seem to almost work, but one time in the dryer and I look like I’m ready to go clamming.

I have developed some tricks, including sagging like a junior-high hoodlum and using my medieval-style rack device to torture my pants to an appropriate length just after washing. That works in some cases, but is it too much to ask for some cute pants that don’t show off my winter legcoat?

Some of you have moved toward multiple lengths (ankle, regular, long) but let me tell you…once I find the two pairs of pants at the bottom of the mountains of clothing...I find that...long...is not so long. There must be some underground short-legged community to create enough demand for this length-challenged legwear.

Granted…I am taller than your average bear…I got the comments about playing basketball in elementary school and hunchy old ladies often ask me to get things off the top shelf in the grocery store. But I’m not the female Shaq or anything.

Sincerely,
Ashley the Amazon Woman

Oh-Eight!

Yeah…so '07 had its ups and downs…but all in all…in the top 50th percentile of good years. '08…now this is a different story. It is gonna ROCK! How do I know? Because…here is my list of resolutions that are going to aid in making 2008 the greatest year of Ashley’s life to date. I will:

• Blog more - I know this is the most important one to you. November wore me out…but I am back.
• Not go crazy - This is key. I did a pretty good job this year and the year before. But '04-'05…yipes stripes.
• Get a few more friends - Not that my current three friends aren’t enough…but I would like to be able to have enough people to put on my myspace top 4 to not include my sister’s ex-cat’s space. Miss you Fred.
• Win the lottery - You might say…that is a stupid resolution…you have no control over that. Well you might be right…but I have just as much chance of winning the lottery as improving my diet and exercise habits so why not?
• Get out of scary debt and into that good kind of debt that people talk about - Yes…I admit it. I am one of those morons who bought a house that she really can’t afford and is presently being reamed by my mortgage payment. Save the lecture…I know it by heart. So I am gonna take advantage of our brilliant president’s misplaced pity and get me a better loan.
• Train my monsters to be dogs - I watched the Dog Whisperer marathon…piece of cake.

So yeah…'08…it is gonna ROCK!

Would You Rather…

gnaw off your own arm

or

go to your old high school’s choir alumni concert where you will have to hug people you didn’t even like in high school, be forced to sing with the kids, and bring all your friends and family to watch the side show?

Oh…I wish it was only a game...or that I actually had a choice. But it is not and I do not.

Tonight I WILL attend my alumni concert. My parents are forcing me.

“How can your parents force you to do anything? You are 26 for goodness sake,” you might say. And I would sheepishly “Bah” at you.

I don’t know how they have done it. But that have managed to get myself and at least eight other people to come to this humiliation extravaganza.

Don’t get me wrong. I was a total choir nerd in high school. I fully support the program by continuing to design their holiday CD every year, but I would rather not relive my glory years like the star high school quarterback who now pumps my gas and lives in his mom’s basement.

You see…in high school…I was kinda a “big deal.” And I would rather not live the legend…I’d rather just be me and look forward instead of look backward.

Well…I guess I got my wish…I am looking forward…to tonight…with dread.

That Is Ms. Slacker To You

So I FULLY intended to keep up my nablopomo momentum and continue blogging at that ridiculous pace…but then I took a nap for the month of December.

I did start a post approximately eight days ago with the title, “On the Twelfth Day of Christmas.” But that post never came to fruition as I suffered a massive panic attack while writing about my anxiety over having nothing for any of the good little boys and girls on my list. So after I popped my eyeballs back in my head, I decided that instead of blogging about the ominous approach of Christ’s birthday, I would actually be proactive and buy some freaking presents.

We are now…what?…four days out?...and I have completed the majority of my shopping without ever setting foot in a mall. That is pretty damn good for a pathological procrastinator like myself.

My Arms Might Fall Off

No…its not the leprosy. I went snowboarding last weekend.

There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.

The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.

I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.

You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”

So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.

But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.

The Company Holiday Party

Up until this year I have avoided the company holiday party. I have done the little intimate celebratory lunches with my coworkers, but the big shindig with semi-formal attire…not so much. It isn’t that I am a grinch…we just all know how I feel about these events.

This year…I had no good excuse to get out of it and I somehow got talked into attending. Boyfriend and I got dressed up in our finest finest and I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t that bad…we even got a fun little prom picture to prove it. The food rocked my world and I could just talk to Boyfriend and stuff my face when there was nobody to talk to.

There were a few awkward half hugs and long pauses…but all in all…not too bad. And once I was adequately liquored up, I knew it would be even better. So I quickly bee-lined to the open bar and ordered my gin gimlet.

Now I understand that the youth of our world can only make mojitos and margaritas…but a gin gimlet is not so hard…two ingredients…you don’t have to go to bartender school to figure that one out. Anyway…so, after ordering, I watched as the kid (I swear he was like 15) searched frantically for something. He asked his fellow bartender and they both looked puzzled. Finally, he came back to me and said, “we don’t have any onions.” “That is fine,” I said…since there should be no onion anywhere close to my gin gimlet.

He filled a tall glass with ice and poured the gin in…so far so good…that is the biggest gin gimlet I have ever seen…but I’m not complaining. He then picked up the vermouth and poured a few drops into my drink. Ummm…I have never seen a gimlet made with vermouth…but maybe that was his special recipe…I am open to new things. The he grabbed the gin again and filled the rest of the glass with gin. He shook it up and grabbed a martini glass. “Can I have it on the rocks,” I said as he looked at me like I just killed his puppy.

He poured it in a shorter glass and handed it to me. Ummm…thanks…for my glass of gin.

Later on…he saw me and ran over. “I found the onions,” he said. I just swayed a little and hiccuped at him…since I had just finished my second glass of gin.

For all you aspiring bartenders out there…here is a PROPER recipe for a gin gimlet:

1. Fill glass with ice
2. Add 1.5 ounces of gin
3. Add .5 ounces of Rose’s lime juice
4. Garnish with a slice of lime

C IS FOR COOKIE!

COOKIE MONSTER HAPPY!

Every year Sister and I make Christmas cookies. An obscene number of Christmas cookies. We roll it, pat it, and mark it with a B and put it in the oven for Sister and me…or something like that. This year we scaled back…instead of ten batches (yielding 50 cookies each) we went with six this year.

My house has been transformed into the magical world of Cookieland. Green and blue, red and yellow…sparkles and sprinkles….doesn’t matter cause it tastes like yumminess. I don’t know why we even bother decorating them for Christmas…they are always gone before the actual day. I think one time when I like seven, we had one cookie left for the fat man on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get any extra presents from that shit and so that was the end of that nonsense.

So first day…I ate like 30 cookies…and it started to make me a little sick (understandably). But I rallied and consumed another 30 or so today. Way to pack ‘em on heifer.

NOM NOM NOM!

COOKIE MONSTER PUKEY!

Roar

Last night was a lesson in wildlife. Los Gatos…translates to “the cats” but it should be called the “the cougars.” The ladies were out in force last night. As we (Boyfriend and his two friends) entered the club ready for a wild night of drinking and dancing…it became obvious that we were being watched…and by “we” I mean Boyfriend and his friends. The 40-somethings were on the prowl with their sequined crop tops and collagen swollen lips.

The Timberlake was bumping and these ladies knew every word. I was basically fighting these ladies off Boyfriend with a large stick. I thought I was gonna have beat some old bitches down. Luckily Boyfriend’s friends were all too single and willing so the attention was easily diverted. One particular little piece of work (not so much a cougar…more of a haguar) who had a little ti miny martoonis pulled one of these unsuspecting boys out on the dance floor and was “dipping it low” in possibly the most disturbing manner.

She proceeded to chew him up and spit him out. But I got pictures…blackmail is sweet.

P.S. NaBloPoMo is over…woo. I am guessing that my blogroll over the next few weeks is gonna be a little sparse…but never fear. I will be here blogging away.

Like A Chain Letter From Hell

I got tagged…and I kinda hate this person now. But we are reaching the home stretch of November and I gots nothing else to write about so I will propagate this nonsense and annoy the hell out of seven others.

The Rules
Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

7 Random Facts

1. Last time I had to share a random fact about myself was at a leadership retreat…I told the group that I have a chinchilla named Dante. (I have never had a chinchilla)
2. I like to color. I have an extensive collection of coloring books and crayons. I even do the little mazes and kindergarten-level word scrambles. Boyfriend always asks for placemats for me to color on at restaurants.
3. If I were to have plastic surgery it would be an earlobe reduction or a toe-shortening procedure. I, like most females, have plenty insecurities when it comes to my body…but my long-ass ski toes and my dumbo earlobes have always plagued me. My mom tells me the story (constantly) of when she first saw me after I was born…she thought I was so cute because my huge earlobes were resting on my shoulders and would quiver when I breathed…sounds like some freakishly ugly shit to me…but call it what you will mommy dearest.
4. I know the temperature at which algae stops growing in hot springs…it is 167 degrees in case you were curious.
5. I watched Knocked Up last night. It looked funny to me and I wanted to see it in the theaters…but I had been putting it off. I think subconsciously I was afraid that watching a movie about unplanned pregnancy might result in a similar fate for me. I’m not superstitious…but fingers crossed salt over the shoulder anyway.
6. I’m wearing velvet pants today and it makes me feel fancy.
7. When I was in sixth grade I sat next to (and had a little crush on) a boy who would roll up pieces of plastic use them to snort a mixture of mustard and paste…I saw him recently…strung out…surprise surprise.

The 7 Victims
Please don’t put me on your “People To Kill” list for this:

1. Ash In Wonderland
2. Beverley Blog
3. Blogapotamus Rex
4. I Am A MeMe Addict
5. Katie
6. PluggedOut
7. StickyFeathers

Thank God I’m a Suburban Girl

This morning I had to haul my ass to San Francisco for a meeting…we all know how much I love that. I don’t know what it is about the city that makes me feel like I need to gussy myself…wear real girl shoes, brush my hair and pull out my wool coat.

Anyway, after fighting traffic all the way up there and looking for goddamn parking for ten-gajillion hours…I finally broke down and valet parked. Super…there goes five-trillion dollars. As I handed over my key to the skeezy valet I was suddenly relieved that I had remembered to hide my Victoria Secret bag with pretty pink bra under the seat.

I walked into the building and to the elevator to start my ascent to the sixth floor when I saw the sign on the door that said:

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER
TAKE THE MOTHER-EFFING STAIRS
BITCH!

Or something like that. Are you kidding me? I can’t even walk a block in these death shoes, let alone climb six flights of stairs. As I stood there, planning my next move, (maybe the sign is just to trick me into exercise…maybe I could fake sick...maybe there is a window-washer around here who will hoist me up on his pulley thing) a little old lady came through the door and started up the stairs. Dammit…now I have to do it.

Luckily, I made it to the top with no serious injury and only small pit stains.

You thought the climax of the story was gonna be here…didn’t you? You thought there was going to be a horrendous meeting and a eventfully bad drive out of the city. Well you were wrong. We already climaxed. That’s it. I had to drive and park and use my legs. That is my bad day. And you know what?…as bad days go…that is a pretty good one.

I'll Pencil You In For March

Because God knows I have no time for your nonsense before then. Just kidding...well half kidding. I just took a look at my calendar and realized that it is almost effing Christmas! And with the amount of Christmas shopping that I have done (zilch), all things non-holiday will have to wait until after the first of the year. I figure that will take at least a month...add in and extra month for procrastination and laziness and that takes us to March.

Well, I have to at least hold out for the rest of this month for all this NaBloPoMo rubbish. But luckily that ends on Friday.