The Serial Fishy Murderer Strikes Again.

Third post today ... can you tell I'm bored at work?

So, I've been fishy-sitting my boss' betta fish while she's jet-setting out to our San Diego office. This fish is like, 18 months old. I've had this damned fish on my desk for nearly three months. For some reason, she decides today, of all days, to take it off my desk, back to hers, and clean out the bowl.

The damned fish DIED this afternoon.

Poor thing, we've all tarnished his memory by making a sympathy card and signing it. We just inter-officed it to her. The card, not the fish. We're not THAT sick.

Although, we did think that she should have left it in the recycle bin and see if it would have reincarnated overnight. I would have sprung the $3 for another fish just to freak her out.

OK, maybe we are that sick.

As Promised, The Spinach Strawberry Salad Recipe.

SPINACH STRAWBERRY SALAD
1 bag baby spinach
1 pint strawberries, cleaned and sliced
Sugared almonds (below, I always make lots of extras)
Dressing (below, I usually double the recipe because it makes a great marinade for salmon or chicken too)

SUGARED ALMONDS
1 bag slivered almonds
1 egg white
White sugar

Whip egg white until frothy (not quite peaked), fold in almonds to coat. Remove coated almonds from bowl, stir coated almonds in sugar to coat, spread in a single layer on a cookie sheet and bake at 350* for about 10-15 minutes (watch carefully!). When you take them out of the oven, stir the almonds every minute until cooled, set aside.

DRESSING
1/2 cup sugar
2 tblsp. Sesame seeds (optional)
1 tblsp. Poppy seeds
1/2 tsp. Minced green onion
1/4 tsp. Worchestershire sauce
1/4 tsp. Paprika
1/2 cup salad oil
1/4 cup cider vinegar

Combine together, and pour over salad shortly before serving.

solid stone is just
sand and water, baby
sand and water
and a million years gone by

OK, maybe not a million years. Maybe ... just one. Usual disclaimer applies ... "don't mind the disjointed-ness" ...

Today's a bittersweet anniversary, of sorts. I should be sad, but instead I feel ... liberated. It was one year ago today that I issued the ultimatum that took me nearly six months to gather the courage to give. The conversation still sticks in my mind ... cold, unfeeling, and surprisingly not even angry. I didn't yell, or scream, or cry. The whole thing was just ... well, it was even, organized, and orderly.

I know, R. I know everything. I want you to listen to me. Really truly listen to what I'm asking for.
Go with me to a counselor.
No? Are you sure about that? Think really hard before you give me that answer. Still no?
Then, consider yourself served.

I'm not exactly sure how I should feel today. Society says that I should still mourn the loss of my marriage, that I am this horrible woman for not trying harder to "work it out", or further tolerate his indiscretion just for the sake of "keeping the family together". Truth be told, I think I've mourned enough for ten lifetimes. During the turn of the wheel of this year, I've cried rivers of tears, apologized for things I didn't even do, raked myself over the emotional and financial coals ... all in hopes that I could make it work. That I could "fix" things. And I couldn't do it. I failed. That hurts.

all alone, I
heal this heart of sorrow
all alone, I will
raise this child

Honestly, I think that today stings so much because it's a reminder that I broke a promise. The promise to love, honor, and cherish ... the only promise I've ever broken.

On the "up side" (there's always a "silver lining" with this girl): It's really nice to have my friend back. Things are slowly but surely getting to the point where I can trust him to tell him when I'm upset or sad (before I was terrified that he would use it against me in custody hearings). I'll never fully trust him again.

Thankfully, I have an alumnae meeting this evening. I'll need to go and be with friends tonight, because tonight at about 8:30 PM, I'll need one.

Well, Swap My Salad!

Have a DG Alumnae board meeting tomorrow night. They are insistent upon having "theme" nights now. Tomorrow's is a "Salad Swap". I'm making my trademark Spinach and Strawberry Salad, complete with sugared almonds and homemade dressing. This means I have to schlep my happy ass to the store tonight to buy provisions, as I don't think I have Worchestershire Sauce in the house. I also have my mom's car (the truckster is getting brakes redone, and my dad needed its towing capabilities to move some stuff around the softball field), and it needs an oil change. Where can one get an oil change AND cooking supplies? Why, the "Super Wal-Mart", of course! (You realize this whole concept disturbs me, right?)

Also on the agenda tonight: I'm goin all Mombi on this shit. I have tons of stuff that needs a little Ebay. I keep saying I'm going to do it, and I never get to it. Tonight's the night!

(DISCLAIMER: You realize that this means that I'm going to go home and pass out on the couch, right?)

9:10 PM EDIT: Sugared almonds have been made. YUM. I even made an extra batch for Friday. Provided, of course, that I don't eat them all myself. Friday's menu ... either grilled salmon and asparagus spears, or grilled chicken and asparagus spears ... Spinach And Strawberry Salad (I'll post the recipe tomorrow for ya) ... Covey Run Riesling (maybe K-J Vintner's Reserve, we'll see what they serve at tomorrow night's meeting, both have been known to make appearances there before). I *can* cook, I just generally choose not to. See ya tomorrow, I need to run the vacuum and then get some sleep. I'm exhausted.

Second Verse, Same As The First.

Wasn't going to post the not-so-sordid details, but I will. I feel like I'm holding out on y'all when I do that sort of thing. So, enjoy.

Last night was GREAT.

We met @ Funny Bone at 6:45, there were five great comics last night. (Nice shirt ... Banana Republic, I found out later ... ) OK, so there were three great comics and two marginal ones. Anyhow, they were a riot. G is SO cute I just can't freaking stand it. Not hot, mind you, but cute. Side note, I requested photographs for The Others (and any other interested party) to peruse. I have one, but it doesn't do him justice. Because, you know, as "the plastics" say ... you wouldn't buy a skirt without asking your friends first ... what about a man? ha ha

Anyways, back to the date. We sat in the lounge outside the theatre and chatted until 7:35 ... oops, missed the start of the show. (I am sensing a trend here, we missed kickoff on Monday night, LOL) It was during the course of the conversation that somehow, my love of Jordan Knight came up. And G informs ME that he's playing @ Flannagan's. HE TOLD ME SOMETHING ABOUT JORDAN THAT I DIDN'T KNOW. Unprompted, unprovoked. Good form. Score one for pretty boy. tee hee

We walked in as the show was starting, and the first comic yelled at him "hey pretty boy, think you could be on time from now on?" I about DIED with laughter. I called him "pretty boy" for the rest of the night.

Show ended about 9:30 or 10 (didn't look at my watch). Back to his place to just hang out for a little while. His cat rocks, but not as much as Salem The Super Cat, of course. He saved this cat from the dumpster at a radio station he worked at in Charleston, and she's moved with him ever since. I laid down and sprawled out on the floor and was playing with her, and he looked at me all weird. I just looked at him and go "what?" and he goes "that cat HATES everyone. Especially women. HATES them." I looked him square in the eye and said, "I'm special."

Ended up falling asleep while talking, in the middle of the living room floor (me, him, and the cat that hates everyone curled up on my chest). Good thing I always have a change of clothes in the car ... it's the "mom" in me, I guess.

The best part? Nothing happened. He's a true gentleman. And a total sweetie. Dinner and Blockbuster, Friday night. Have to clean my house, Salem knocked the box of Cheerios off the top of the fridge, and batted them everywhere. Plus, I need to shove all my clean laundry in the closet.

I'll start the freak-out now ... I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR ...

Happy Hump-Day.

Evening Plans, And A Haiku Treat For You!

Got a call this AM at 9:30, phone number on my caller ID at my desk looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it ... so I answer ... it's G. Calling me at work, to say hello, that he had a wonderful time last night, and that he has tix for Funny Bone tonight. Wants to know if I'll go for dinner and the show.

Hold up, wait a minute. Let me get this straight. He violates the "three day rule", also calls me at work (because he knows that I won't answer my cell while in the building), before 10 AM, the day after a date? Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.

I just broke my own rules and accepted the second same-day date from the cutie. With the stipulation that we don't sit in the front row.

I'm so slap-happy right now that I can't even stand myself. I shared a few of my haiku (yes, that IS the plural of "haiku", as per discussion with TheBoy) with some of the girls yesterday, and here's today's offering. It's not nearly as amusing (or inflammatory) as the other ones, but still mildly entertaining. Enjoy.

A United Way Haiku
by -h.

meeting, two thirty
talk till you're blue in the face
i will not donate

Nothin Says Lovin Like A Blueberry Muffin.

YIPPEE, my muffins are back. The world is back in balance, it is properly
spinning on its axis.

This is a good thing. Why?

I'm too tired to bitch.

I had a cosmo and two beers, and I feel like a truck hit me.

Need. More. Sleep.

PS. What do y'all make of the Leno/Conan thing?

Martini's Monday Download.

In a stunning turn of events, my bad mood has gone away! OK, not all the way, but mostly. Why, you ask? Oh my, I don't know ... OK maybe I do ... wait for it ... Martini has a hot date tonight.

I generally don't accept "same day" invites from men, but what the hell, why not. Good thing I had a good hair day, eh? On the agenda: Bar Louie for a drink or three (hope we can get a table ...), and Monday Night Football at Sports Club Easton or Varsity Club (and dig this part ... with a group of friends ... whoa, bonus points for G already - good form!). Hey man, that's two of my three favorite things right there - Martinis and football. He's batting 1000 so far!

Been putting this total cutie on the back burner for a bit to see what panned out with TheBoy. But hey ... since *he's* made it ABUNDANTLY clear that there's nothing "exclusive", why not? G is funny, cute, loves sports (works for a sports-talk radio station), well-spoken, cute, very educated, and have I mentioned ... cute? Only character flaw so far ... he loves the Skins. Ah well, no one's perfect, I guess ...

Other musings:

I've consequently been slap-happy for the entire morning. I've even written a few of my prize-winning haiku poems for The Others. They aren't appropriate to post here, though.

TheFirm has seen fit to cram United Way down our throats. They have taken away the "give 1/2 of 1% of your paycheck for a free day off" incentive, but still think that we're going to give? HA. I will not break! No amount of video-watching and "positive reinforcement" will make ME donate. It's VOLUNTARY, so they can just step off. I don't like United Way anyhow, I already give my hard-earned money away every year to the Human Rights Campaign and Miss America locals.

I need a manicure. And a vacation. And a new outfit for tonight. OK maybe these aren't "needs", but instead they are "wants". Except the manicure. I need that.

I have nothing to wear. OK, that's a lie, I have two closets full of stuff that I could wear.

DAMMIT should have stopped @ the Nautica store yesterday for a new sweater, after all.

And regarding the whole "mail this post" crap that Blogger says you can do: HA. HA HA. I laugh in the face of technology. It's a conspiracy. It doesn't work. I had to traipse my lazy ass out here and post it from the site. Bastards.

Love Ya, Mean It!

Usually, I just kinda "tough it out" when it comes to matters of the heart. For the most part, I keep my mouth shut and just deal with what's going on all by myself. I think that it's easier to keep it "inside", I guess.

But, right now ... I have so much in my head and in my heart that I am about ready to check myself into the padded cell. As discussed earlier today, I've got a lot of shit on my head right now, more shit than ANY one person should have to shoulder alone at 27.

I finally opened up about one of my big stressors to two great gal-pals today. I can't say how much I truly appreciate your friendship, ladies. I won't name names, but a big shout-out goes out to my girls for your assistance. I am really grateful that you are such wonderful listeners and you both were able to help me straighten some things out ... even just a little teeny tiny bit.

You rock the house.

Insert Witty Title Here.

Really, I have no witty today, actually I'm kind of a downer I think. I'm pretty tired, because I slept really fitfully last night. I have a lot of stuff going on with the family as well as other things in my life. I need to just get it out, clear my head, and pull it together. I have to be "the strong one" for the rest of the day, then get in my car and drive home to do it again all week long. Thankfully, my weekend next weekend is WIDE open, and I can use it as I please to "regroup".

Forgive me if this is all random and shit, OK?

Do you know how truly disconcerting it is to sit with your mother and plan her funeral, without tears? And I don't mean the passing conversation about "what I want when I die" kind of thing ... I mean REALLY talking about it. Verbally agreeing to her final wishes. Your heart aching when she tells you that she does NOT want a Mass Of Christian Burial. Signing papers to be the executor of the family estate and trust. Recertifying life insurance paperwork. Fuck, I countersigned an irrevocable DNR for my mom yesterday ... promising that I won't go to court and have them put her on life support despite the DNR she signed. I mean, I have a living will, organ donation document, and a DNR, but I'm not planning on up and DYING anytime soon. Mine's a "just in case", but with mom's it's a question of "when it happens in the not-so-distant future".

My dad is holding up OK for now, he's concentrating on making badges for his hunting club. I drug him to Target with me yesterday, because I dangled Swenson's in front of his face. I sarcastically told him that if he was a good boy today, I'd take him to Robek's. He was amused. He has his shoes on. Wonder what this means.

My sister is fairly oblivious to all of this. As far as she knows, mom is having a "flare up" and landed herself in the hospital for a "tune up" kind of thing and a round of steroids. My sister is VERY emotional, so it's best not to upset her until we have concrete information.

They're still running tests. They came in this morning and pulled hair and took toenail clippings from mom. What the hell is that shit all about? I mean, isn't the ten tubes of blood or the MRI or the chest cavity scoping thingy going to tell them anything?

I'm moody and pissed off at the world. I jumped TheBoy's shit for something that maybe I shouldn't have. I've since apologized, and promised to completely unload on him, without censorship, from here on in. From those of you that know me best ... he might be sorry, eh? ha ha

I'll check in later today if I know anything else.

Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned.
How Long Since Your Last Confession?
Oh, Wow, I Don't Know Sir. About Nine Years, I Guess ...
* thump *

Yup. I think I gave poor ol' Father Schleicher a heart attack. I actually went to Mass tonight, for the first time since 1995. (see September 14th's "Catholicism And Other Musings" post for the backstory on this one.) The Church hasn't changed, except for a few things: Father is getting on in years, he can't kneel properly anymore; I saw more short Abercrombie skirts and flip-flops in the sanctuary than at the mall (and here I was worried about Father "smiting" me for wearing my New Balances); and I was the only one of The 5 PM Saturday Crew in "our pew". I ran across one of the guys' moms as we were leaving, and she just looked at me quizzically and said "not that I'm not happy to see you, but don't you live in Columbus now?" I explained that I was "home" for the weekend, and could she please pass my love to BabyBear (side note: he was always called "BabyBear" because he was always "just right" with the ladies ... different chick every weekend)? I didn't feel much like chatting. I just wanted to get home to see my dad, I'd left him alone ... heaven only knows what kind of fishing or hunting shows he'd found on the digital cable box. I said my polite good-byes to her (and Father) and got outta there.

It was refreshing for my first time back to Mass since 1995 to be in a familiar place, with a familiar face. I realized today that a big part of my life has been missing now for a while, and that it's high time that I found it. Now, keep in mind, Martini's not going all "religion" on ya, don't worry. It's just a part of my life, a piece of me, that I thought I'd share.

Mom's doing OK. They have her sedated at this point. They've done an MRI, a chest x-ray, some sort of exploratory scope thingy where they put a camera into her chest cavity, and something else. Her heart is terribly enlarged, and her creatanine (sp?) is sky-high. This means that her kidneys have all but shut down. There's only one match in the entire family for a kidney ... me. So, I'm on standby until they get more test results back tomorrow. At this point, she's not a candidate for any other transplants (or even the list for a kidney), because of her otherwise very poor health. We'll see what happens.

Off to head over to my sister's house to hang for the evening. She rented "Mean Girls" (a Mombi-recommended movie). I'll be sure to check in with a full review. Wonder if I should take some mojitos with me ...

11:15 PM EDIT: I highly recommend "Mean Girls". Could Tina Fey get ANY cuter? Furthermore, could Lindsey Lohan get ANY hotter? And when did Lacey Chabert get so tasty?

To answer Mombi, I took no mojitos. I didn't really feel like drinking. I think my blood is still 120 proof from last weekend.

I'm in a pissed off mood right now (for reasons that I probably have no right to be but I am ... anyhow ...), so I'm just going to go down and watch SNL on my parents' television ... which is far larger than mine at home. What I really want is a cigarette. But, seeing as how I quit in May of '95, (WAIT! A.D.D. Raddled Thought Time: hmm. coincidentally, that's when I stopped going to Mass. Wonder if these are related ...) I don't have any cigarettes.

Thought: I only get the A.D.D. thing when I'm really pissed off or piss-drunk. Hmm. This thought gives me pause ...

Honey-Do.

Up at mom and dad's. Had an eventful trip up here last night, spent the two-hour drive testing the limits of my sanity, as well as the limits of my beloved Bose stereo system in the truck. "Clearing my head" usually works best with angry rock music and unsafe speeds ... but for some reason, my head is still muddled like mint leaves in the mojitos pitcher.

Mom's in the hospital, they have already poked and prodded her enough for three lifetimes this morning. They are discussing putting a port in her neck to deliver medicines, and putting her on an injectible regimen of RA / Lupus drugs (the diseases and treatments are similar). My dad is surviving OK, I think in a strange way he's coping with everything by making me believe that he's enjoying being able to watch bass fishing shows without interruption. Now, keep in mind that I am now "city-fied" and didn't even know that you COULD watch fishing shows on TV. Hmm. Learn something new every day, I guess.

My dad (affectionately known in my circles as "The Glennster") is really a pretty quiet guy. He really doesn't say too much, but when he does, it's either totally profound or completely hysterical. Here's a quick synopsis of our conversation over a bass-fishing show this morning ... BACKSTORY: I'm not fucking kidding you, this guy was bass fishing, rockin everyone else's world with how many fish he caught ... and he was a multiple amputee. What the hell? Then, my dad lets fly with the following conversation:

Dad: "heh heh ... look at him go. It sucks though."
me, confused: "Why dad?"
Dad: "He can't go fishing alone. Who would take the fish off the hook?"
me: *GROAN*
Dad: "Hey man, he should be wearing a life jacket. I don't think he can swim."

See what I put up with?!? Thankfully, mom called with her "honey do" list, and I'm currently chasing my dad with a cattle-prod to get a shower and go with me. He needs a haircut, he looks like an old wino.

Thanks, Burdie.
He made me go and take this quiz.

time time time
see what you've done to me

Today is just d - r - a - g - g - i - n - g by. I want to leave and go back outside. But I can't. So, here I sit in my cubic-hell. TheBoy was busy at work today and has since skated out early, and the rest of The Usual Suspects are either working or on vaca for the weekend / next week. But it sure was very very very nice of one of The Usual Suspects to share his Oakenfold stash with me prior to his departure to Florida! Currently spinning is his Havana appearance from Essential Mix. Remind me to thank the cutest Texas Hold-Em player in the whole wide world appropriately (and repeatedly) upon his return.

Speaking of Hold-Em, I want to get a girl's poker night going sometime soon. I have received an offer from the aforementioned poker player to deal for us. I assume this is because there will be three of his favorite things present at these events: beer, women, and poker.

Girlfriend (and two more of our cohorts) cruised to our fave chinese joint for lunch. No cuties today though, just ample amounts of shrimp fried rice and spring rolls. The weather is DYNAMITE, and I want to get out in the sun. Pretty soon, the indian summer will give way to another crappy Ohio winter, and then I'll be forced to plan a vacation (that I can't really afford) to someplace warm. Anyone interested? I do need to save my pennies though ... MombiFest 2005 (aka her real bachelorette bash) is coming up, and I'm sure my bar-tab contribution will be pricey. Plus, I've already started shopping for her and Kirk's gift.

Fair warning: Martini's about to get serious ... seriously whiny. See what happens when I have too much free time on my hands?

Mom is not doing well again, her kidneys and her blood pressure are giving her fits. For those that recently came to read here, my mom has Systemic Lupus, in the advanced stages. Lupus, in and of itself, does not kill you. But it attacks organs such as your heart, your liver, your kidneys, etc, and shuts them down. Lupus patients usually die of a stroke, renal or liver failure, or a heart attack. Any one of these options is likely for Momma Sue at this point. Her blood pressure has been consistently running about 200/100, she's jaundiced again, and her back is killing her ... so that's no good. A hefty round of steroids, what they usually give Lupus patients to stave off an "attack" or "flare up", are now out of the question due to the renal and liver damage she's sustained. There isn't really anything that I can do to help her at this point, short of going and cleaning her house, doing her shopping, cooking several freezer-worthy meals, and doing her laundry. So, that's what I'll do - I'll head up there after I hit the gym for a few after work (I need to at least get in 20 minutes on the elliptical machine). Never mind the fact that my house looks like freaking Chernobyl hit my living room this week. My family needs me, so off I go.

I'm pretty bummed out about all of this, especially with Steverino's mom dying this past week. There really aren't any parallels between the two women's behaviors, or anything of the sort. But it really hits home when the fallibility and the sheer mortality of your parents' existence hits home. When you're a kid, you believe that your parents are invincible, bordering on superhuman. Until I was 21 or 22, I thought my dad had done NO wrong! And as an adult, you learn quickly that it's not the case at all - your parents are real people with real emotions and real problems (and a former life as a hell-raising Navy man that smoked pot and wrecked motorcycles). There's no real point to this whining tirade, I guess. Well, other than the usual "I hate being the strong and responsible one" rant. But there's no real need for me to put that out here again, is there?

More later, I'm sure ... after I go and find myself some ice cream or other sugary substance to keep my carbohydrate level sky-high.

*twitching from the sugar high*

It's A Good Time For The Great Taste ...

I'm a breakfast person. I can't function without eating something in the morning. Get your minds out of the gutter, kiddies ... I mean FOOD. I have to have something in my stomach to be functional. And I generally don't get to the "functional" stages until the time is in double digits. I don't really ask for much in life: A hot man who's great in bed, finding pants long enough off-the-rack, a Kate Spade or three, and some decent freaking breakfast every morning.

Every morning, I eat one of two things from the cafe downstairs: either a quasi-tasty blueberry muffin, or a breakfast sandwich with egg and bacon (NO CHEESE) on Texas Toast or honey wheat bread (ick ... no white bread here). The bagels they offer are sub-standard, they taste like dry white bread, so I can't eat those. I don't care much for donuts (exception being the occasional binge on Krispy Kremes), and the vats of slimy oatmeal with hard raisins and clumpy brown sugar just don't appeal to me. So, I'm left with marginal blueberry muffins and high-fat-content breakfast sandwiches.

I'm going to cut someone in the cafe today. The breakfast bitches must die. The rat bastards have ruined one of the only two edible items: they changed the blueberry muffin recipe. It was horrid! Dry and crumbly, with very few blueberries (and fake ones at that). I should have just saved the carbs and just eaten my styrofoam coffee cup. I'm pretty sure that it tastes the same as the muffin.

It's days like today that I totally want the stellar culinary skills of TheBoy around. That man can make scrambled eggs like NO OTHER. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if I daydream about them today, instead of the usual TheBoy daydream (hint: it involves a boardroom table).

Viva Mojitos! The Official Drink Of "The Others".
recipe serves six people, or one of The Others.

3 cups fresh mint leaves, washed
9 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 cups light rum
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
6 cups club soda
6 cups crushed ice
6 mint leaves for garnish
6 lime wedges for garnish



"Muddle" (translated: smoosh) the whole mint leaves into the bottom of the pitcher. Add a layer of ice cubes. In separate container combine lime juice, rum, and sugar. Stir until sugar dissolves. Stir in club soda. Pour gently over ice and mint in pitcher. Garnish servings as desired.

Back To Reality.

After the past three or four days' worth of posts, it's really hard to come back to the reality of day-to-day life. I mean, how the hell am I expected to follow the events of the weekend with mundane drivel of my daily life?

Here's a few tidbits, then I'll open the floor for discussion and questioning. You know the drill ... "you ask, I answer, you decide". I think that today's a good "no limits" kind of day, don't you?

TheBoy has been busted by a fellow blogger. Our conspiracy to torture him appropriately has failed, as I don't think our efforts were coordinated enough to wreak enough havoc on his life. Next time, we will need to bring our "A Game" to run with him. However, I will refrain from completely "busting him out" on here. If he chooses to 'fess up, that's his call. Otherwise, he shall remain on the D/L.

I'm still super tired ... I think this means that I'm getting old, as I can no longer party like a rock star. I'm not as resilient as I used to be. I need to work on this.

WSOP: Can I get a YIPPEE KIE YAY for Annie busting out Hellmuth? Per discussion with a co-worker: "Hellmuth is a dick." tee hee! I meant to post about this yesterday, but got sidetracked with work and other trivial things.

Fourth Quarter of 2004 OthersFest, Coming To A City Near You: Host City negotiations for the next OthersFest are in the works. If you have suggestions, please let me know. Also be sure to note if accommodations and alcohol are included, as well as an allowance for bail. A schedule of the fees for "drunk and disorderly" will help your cause.

Belligerence And Debauchery, "The Others" Style.
Part Tres: The Trip Home.
More specifically, "The Morning After", and The Drunk Dial That Rocked My World.

Z's alarm went off at 8, but no one dumped me off of my air mattress until after 8:30. I decided against a shower, but instead opted to slap on my newly-purchased Miss America cap and a smile. After a quick cleaning of the suite, we zipped to the elevator to head downstairs to check out.

About halfway down, the doors opened and a bachelor party stumbled in. Helloooo, boys! One was a riot, he and his Yankees cap. (Insert A.D.D.-raddled observation here: Do all the cuties wear Yankees caps? Hmm. Ponderous.) Anyhow, I asked them if they knew if the Irish had won yesterday, and of course they did. Then, the conversation turned to the Bucks. Miata, being of the OSU Alumna persuasion, was thrilled that they won. One of the boys then ratted out his buddy for being a lame-ass pansy-boy Michigan fan. This resulted in a resounding chorus of "FUCK MICHIGAN!" from the rest of the elevator occupants.

After we got out, I drove Mombi over to get her car at Sands. Loaded up the CR-V to leave, and Mombi was still MIA. A, and JK went with me to track her down. Oh, and we stopped at 7-11 on the way back by. Hey man, a gal's just gotta have a Slurpee sometimes! We loaded up on sugary things (but NOT the citrus Listerine pocket paks ... those taste like ASS, as we discovered on Saturday), and wandered back out to the CR-V. Waved at the drunk guy holding up the wall, and zipped off to wait for Mombi. As we pulled in, we saw L sitting outside with our stuff. She was all snuggled up in a blanket, just waiting patiently on the bench. Just about then, two uber cutie surfer boys walk by and flirt shamelessly with her. Hell yeah, Sista L still got GAME, baby!

We realized that we should probably stop to get gas on the way out of town, so we pulled off at the Sunoco station just off of the AC Expressway. I turned on my phone and dialed into my voice mail, and it said "you have ... one ... unheard message. First message ..."

MEOW, MEOW, MEOW, MEOW
MEOW, MEOW, MEOW, MEOW
*thump*
MEOW, MEOW, MEOW, MEOW
MEOW, MEOW, MEOW, MEOW
*snicker*
MEOW. MEOW. MEEEEOWWWW!
*click*

This is particularly amusing when said in a slurring state of intoxication (and a v. charming Southern accent). Of course, I giggled and hit "rewind" ... and passed the phone around in the car to The Others so that they could hear. It was at that exact moment that it dawned on me ... (in my best American Teen Princess voice) awww crap. I'm smitten. I'm not sure why, at that exact point and that specific place, it hit me that R was right, and that I needed to start letting someone "in". Maybe it was because I thought nothing of sharing something so trite with everyone else, and that's generally not my MO.

Fast-forward an hour and a half. We're sitting stopped at a dead standstill in Philly. What the hell? It's Sunday afternoon! Where are all these jackoffs coming from? This sucked up any extra time we had, and totally shot the fleeting idea of stopping at Miata's homeland (AKA, the IKEA store in King Of Prussia). She was very very sad.

Somehow, and I'm not sure how this happened, but we lost Mombi's car. I think they missed the I-80 turnoff, because they ended up being about 100 miles out of their way. Whoops. So we went on our merry way through the mountains of PA, and waited for them to catch up.

Somewhere near Clarion, we started whining that we were hungry. I mused that we really could use some Taco Bell ... and VOILA, there was one. The heavens parted. Angels sang. And it was good. BUT - it was an "express". Curses! We pulled through the drive-thru, and it was actually a full-menu affair! Happy happy joy joy! So we ordered $16 worth of TB for the four of us (that's a lot of taco bell, and we weren't even drunk), and we were on our way. A, who is the quiet type, occasionally has fits of comic genius. And here's one of hers from the trip home:

* rolls down window *
H: A, what's up? Why ya rollin down the window? Want me to turn on the air?
A: tee hee ... you know that Taco Bell we just ate? Well. It just may have given me a little ... gas.

This sends the CR-V into fits of laughter.

7:45 PM: We call Mombi's car. Z is driving. Our lead has closed to merely 45 miles. We only stopped for five minutes, and we've been doing about 80 mph.

8:15 PM: We arrive at Z's house. We call. They are in Kent (about 30 minutes away). Z must still be driving.

8:40 PM: They arrive at Z's house. We load up cars, and head on home.

9:30 PM: I leave my mom and dad's house to drive home to mine. Call TheBoy on the way home and chat him up. Really, it was only to keep me awake. OK, so maybe I missed talking to him. Guilty as charged.

11:45 PM: I arrive home in Cow-Town, put Princess in bed, and unpack. And by "unpack", I mean "unzip my suitcase, dump it on the living room floor, take my pill, and go to bed".

EPILOGUE:

There were a few missing key elements from this little weekend. One, most glaringly obvious, being MAV. That's OK, because we'll make up for it soon I'm sure.

It is unknown whether or not AM is still talking to MOB. Rumor has it that he got to second base.

After receiving The Drunk Dial That Rocked My World, I'm currently working on scheduling time for TheBoy to meet The Others. (More on this in a future installment.) As it stands right this minute, it is possible that I will do it in small doses. We are quite overwhelming in a large group, after all.

Next debaucherous trip with The Others is coming soon to a city near you. Maybe it will be Miss Ohio USA ... God help the neighborhood.

Belligerence And Debauchery, "The Others" Style.
Part Deux: Saturday.
The Clown Car, The Hotness, The Downer.

RING-RING!
*what the fuck*
RING-RING!
*thump. ow.*
RING-RING!

I moan mercilessly, because the ringing of the phone feels like a Mike Tyson left hook to my head. I pick my head up far enough to pull my pillow out from under it, squint at the morning sunlight, and cover my head with the pillow. As I'm mumbling something about turning the phone off, someone pipes up and says that it's after 10 AM. I NEVER sleep this late. Then again, it's been quite a while since I've partied like a rock star too.

Somehow, in my altered state of consciousness, I deduce that I don't have a hangover. This is miraculous. Or more likely, I am still drunk. My throat hurts though, and I later realize this is because I spent a full six hours chain-smoking. I took a panicked second to look back through my "dialed calls" on my cell phone, and see "TheBoy Cell" about five times. Shit. So much for that whole "be patient with him, and let it happen" concept, as well as the whole "he likes the chase, let him chase you" idea. I immediately have a flood of terror coursing through my veins as I valiantly try to remember what I said to him. I feel all the color drain from my face.

Someone suggests breakfast. As the sub-standard gyro (meat of mystery origin) that I consumed at about 2 AM has since worn off, I agree that this is a prudent idea. I throw on a bra, and a pair or Mombi's flip-flops, and go to the lobby in my PJ's (trademark t-shirt and yoga pants). I took my phone with me, as I felt compelled to call TheBoy and apologize for whatever I said. We were too late for breakfast in the hotel, and the thought of eating yet more pizza from a boardwalk shop (what I ate at about 8 PM) was unappealing ... but somehow Mombi managed to convince the servers to give us lots of food "to go".

I stumbled out into the foyer and sat on the steps. I called TheBoy once, and then hung up before his voice mail picked up ... I didn't know quite what to say. Then I had the theme song of the weekend running through my head (to the tune of "Nothing" from "A Chorus Line" ... and I said, fuck it / i'm thinking / fuck it ...) and made the call. I left him this rambling apology in my "I've been up all night, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, and cursed like a sailor" voice, something to the effect of how sorry I was for interrupting his night, I hoped that he was having fun, and that due to my diminished capacity, that my ramblings were inadmissible in a court of law.

After leaving the voice mail, we all stumbled back upstairs to eat our bountiful breakfast of bagels and danishes. We had some OJ (without vodka, thankyouverymuch), and then got showers. I realized while I was in the shower that I smelled like L'Eau De Bar. You know ... that distinct combination scent of booze, sweat, and smoke. Nice. I washed my hair three times.

After we got dressed, we all decided that we wanted to go visit the Miss America museum and the famous Bert Parks statue. But, of course, we had 8 girls to transport and our second car was at Sands. What to do, what to do ... oh yeah, we'll just PILE INTO THE CR-V. Great idea, girlies! A drives, I call shotgun, and the rest of The Others pile into the car like the freaking Barnum-And-Bailey Clowns. Yes, three of them piled into the back deck. We took a wrong turn somehow, and ended up on White Horse Pike, almost to Absecon! After we pulled an illegal U-Turn (whoopsie, sorry about that), we got back on the road to the Sheraton. We all nearly cried with joy when we saw the sign: MISS AMERICA WAY. It's a religious experience.

We finally got the car parked, and piled out of it. We all but RAN to see the famed Bert Parks statue, where we took turns like retards getting "crowned". Did you know it has a motion sensor on it, that prompts it to play "There She Is" when you get under the crown. Classic. Here's a shot of my "crowning moment" ...



After this, we toured the Miss America museum. It was awesome to see some of the old artifacts, like the crowns and gowns throughout the years, the old swimsuits (ACK, I thought I'd never have to see a "supersuit" again), and even the kitschy board games and lunchboxes (one of which I own). Good times, good times. After that, we rode the elevators to every floor of the Sheraton to see the portraits in the hotel. We then decided that we were hungry, but didn't want to eat too much (as we had dinner reservations). Subway it is! We walked over to Subway, and got some sammiches, and called MAV on the phone. We really missed her, it's hard to party like that without her. Next year ...

Anyhow, we all went back to the clown car and pile in. Our scientific weather report (sticking our heads out the windows) says that it's about to rain, and if we want to "toe dip", we should bust some ass and do so quickly. We ran back to the hotel, grabbed the "hardware" (for those uninitiated folks, that means "crowns") and we were off to the beach. We luckily ran into AM there (apparently she had sobered up too) and she took some great photos.

Here's a one of us, in the surf:



And I think this one says it all ...



After this, it started to sprinkle. A few of us went shopping, and had to take a cab back. A few of us went back to the room, and started the process of getting GORGEOUS for the evening's festivities (like we had to work at it ... but anyways). We had dinner reservations at Rainforest Cafe, prior to going to the pageant.

We got all dolled up (I'm still coveting Mombi's chunky irr-uh-des-cent die-uh-mond rings), and headed down to the lobby. We crossed paths with one of the many bachelor parties, and as we filed past, we heard a few low whistles and even a "HOT DAMN". You know, it sure is reassuring to hear that you're still hot after all these years. We took photos, and took cabs to the restaraunt. Dinner was OK, tasty but overpriced, and we took some fun photos (more will be posted when other of the girlies get their stuff downloaded). And then ... the downer of the weekend ... the pageant.

Now, I know that the whole reason we made the trip was to go to Miss America. But really, after Amanda didn't make top ten, we really didn't care much to be there. Our views were terribly obstructed because of the TV stuff, and really we didn't feel much like partying. The crew from Louisiana was behind us, and they were funny. The crew from DC was in front of us, and they were SMASHED. They were funny drunks though. Alabama won, and we were all shocked (and less than thrilled). She may very well turn out to be a nice Miss America, but she's not the bombshell hottie that Miss America needed. Louisiana was.

Anyhow, after the show was over, we adjourned to the suite again. We mixed ourselves up some screwdrivers and other assorted drinks (except mojitos. we drank all those.), and just sat around and dished for a few hours. We talked about so much, but the highlight was the discussion about Z eating her leftover sub in the morning ... I mused that she should eat it for breakfast, as "every girl needs at least six inches in the morning".

This prompted tons of penis talk, and then the bombshell hit ... Z's revelation that she once slept with a man with a 12-incher. Yes, boys ... size DOES matter ... it can be TOO big. It was revealed that AC's beloved worked with this guy. So what do we do? WE CALL HIM AT 2 AM to confirm the size of this man's cock. Apparently, he's a good sport because even though he didn't know the goods, he still talked to us. The jury is still out on whether Z will see that man (or his penis) again. Somewhere amidst the talk of cock (can't recall if it was before or after the penis discussion), we also decided that we needed ... you guessed it ... more boardwalk pizza. We finally passed out at about 3 AM, because we had to be up the next day at 8:30 to make the drive home.

TOMORROW'S INSTALLMENT: The Drunk Dial That Changed The World.

A Few Photos.
"Installment One: Friday" is below this post.

Leaving for Atlantic City ... 6:00 AM
front row, L to R: AC, L, Mombi, Miata.
back row, L to R: H, A, Z, and JK.


H and L make a toast!


At Bally's Bikini Bar. L to R: JK, Mombi, H, AC, and L.


Oh, and of course ... for Burdie.

Belligerence And Debauchery ... "The Others" Style.
Installment Number One: Friday.
warning: lengthy, but worth it.

So much happened over this past weekend, and I don't know precisely how much I actually remember. I think the alcohol killed my brain cells. I'll try to make this into a cohesive post, but I'm sure I'm leaving something out. I'll add more as it comes back to me in fits of lucidity. Some of it will remain just between us girls ... because (like Vegas) "what happens in Atlantic City ... stays in Atlantic City." Enjoy.

5:20 AM. Friday, September 17. My alarm goes off, and I promptly whine about it (because I didn't go to bed until after 1 AM the night before). As you all know, I don't function well in the morning, and this ungodly hour was not welcome. Until I realized that today was the day we were leaving. I got dressed quickly, threw on my trusty Hollister cap, and brushed my teeth. Finished up just as L was pulling into the driveway to pick me up. We arrived at Z's house, and promptly jumped up and down and squealed in the darkness ... we were really really going! EEEEEE! We all gathered up, took a quick photo, and piled into 2 cars (well, JK was still asleep ... so we just kinda folded her up, shoved her in the back seat, and shut the door). In Mombi's car was Z, L, AC, and Mombi. In my car was A, Miata, JK, and myself. We got out of the driveway, onto the highway, and then A let fly with ... "Soooo, H. Tell us *all* about TheBoy. We need to know. What's he like ..." Nothing like starting a road-trip out with a bang, eh?

So, we continue to talk, and then we cross into PA ... we've already ridden what seems like FOREVER. Meanwhile, JK is comatose in the backseat (was she drooling?), and Miata, A, and I are having a discussion about two of my favorite things: oral sex and McGriddles. We decide that we need food NOW (better than needing oral sex NOW, I guess ...) and that it's time for McDonald's. I mused that if I didn't get a McGriddle soon, that I was going to have a colossal temper tantrum in the lobby, and that I would allow Mombi to start cutting people for some tasty breakfast goodness. We then realize that we are in bum-fuck-nowhere Pennsylvania and there IS no McDonald's for another 30 miles. So we turn on the radio to try to find a worthwhile station ... and the radio spits out some crap at us about it being "Ghetto Friday". This, of course, launches us into a fit of giggles and West Side posturing. Yo, yo ... what up dog. As we pull into McDonald's, JK comes to, and asks us if McGriddles are good, because she's never had them but she's craving them something fierce. We all just kind of look at each other and start busting up laughing ... as she apparently caught part of our conversation in her sleep. Good thing she didn't absorb the *other* part, eh?

Then, we pulled over to top off our gas tanks at the travel plaza that had such things as a chiropractic office and its own church. Thought about stopping in to pray for our souls, but decided that it was not only a waste of time (we're going to hell anyways), and that it was too early. We went all "cheerleader" on the cars ... we took these red window marker things, and wrote on the back and side windows of the cars. I have photos, don't worry. Our work was masterful, and funny, and artistic ... till A turned on the back windshield wiper and smeared our artwork all to hell. Whoops. It looked like a bloodbath down the back of the CR-V! You should have seen the looks we garnered from others on the road ...

Driving there was fun, because we had walkie-talkies to chat from car to car. We had many shining moments of comedy, but Christ I can't remember them all. One involved the circa 1992 Miss America Trading Cards (they had Miss Ohio '93, Robin Meade ... she of CNN fame ... in there). And one involved Mombi having to pee so badly that we pulled off the side of the road in some industrial park in New Jersey. She tipped up on a tree, and just let it fly. At least she had the presence of mind to take a napkin with her ... we all found this particularly hysterical. JK puts in Coldplay to spin as we're going through Philly, and I'm pretty sure that Miata just about turned herself inside out. She was thrilled when we changed the CD.

So, we pull into Atlantic City at about 3:30. We drop the girls off at the hotel to check in, and Mombi and I cruise to drop off the other car at Sands (could only park one car per suite at the hotel), and to go pick up our parade tickets. While we were out gallavanting around the streets of Atlantic City, the elevators in the hotel were having some malfunctions (only two of the three appeared to be working, so they were overloaded). JK, L, and A get all freaked out and get out of the elevator. They decide to take the steps instead. TWENTY FLIGHTS OF THEM. Mombi and I get back, and we head upstairs. To the 31st floor. THE F-ING PENTHOUSE. Can I get a "hell yeah" for A's mad hotel reservation skills?

At this point, we decide that it is high time for the games to begin. Mombi set about cookin up some ROCKIN mojitos (my new favorite drink, even more so than a Cosmo). We toasted to The Others, and started drinking. We filled up some Dasani and Aquafina bottles with mojitos (mine was the big bottle, not the wussy 20 ouncer), and headed down just as the parade was starting. We got some photos of our group (which you've already seen), and watched the parade. They had the former Miss America's in the parade, and JK was lucky enough to get her photo with Susan Perkins (reference for you non-purists: the most recent Miss America from Ohio, and her local title is JK's current and final local title). It was much like JK meeting Elvis or something. Her weekend was complete at that point. Mombi also got a photo of her with the current Miss New Jersey, whom we have all agreed is her doppleganger. This was all amusing.

Then, we got up and headed down the boardwalk to meet up with Ree, Miss Ohio's Boyfriend (Mr. Ohio, for short), and Miss Ohio's Brother (MOB for short). We stumbled down the boardwalk, and Mombi lit a smoke. I must have had this pouty look on my face because she looks at me and goes "what?" and I say ... "can I have one? pleeeeease?". She then proceeds to tell me how she wasn't going to offer, lest I brand her as a bad influence for making me smoke. I tell her that even though I quit in May of 1995, that I wasn't technically falling off the wagon as I hadn't bought the pack myself. Ahh, the Queen Of Rationalization strikes again. I then proceed to curse her lighter, manage to light one, and we all run into Mr. Ohio and MOB (with AM, more on her later). Hugging and shrieking ensues, and I damn near burn Mr. Ohio with my smoke. He frowns at me, then I hand him my bottle of mojitos. I tell him to take a drink and he says he's not thirsty. I yell at him "JUST DRINK THE FUCKING WATER ALREADY" and it then dawns on him that it's liquor. He's a little slow on the uptake sometimes. Ree bops over, and we hand her the bit that's left in my bottle, and we finish it off. We send some of The Others back to the suite (did I mention we were in the penthouse ...), and I work on occupying Mombi and AC to give them enough time to set up the festivities. We had planned an impromptu bachelorette party for them, and there were fun things to set up. A half hour passes, I toy with going to NYC with Papparose (my former vocal coach) to see Deborah Gibson's cabaret show, and then decide that beer and cigarettes are infinitely more fun.

Off we go, back to the suite under the ruse of changing our clothes. We get back, surprise Mombi and AC, do some shots, and get ready to go out. L is plowed, I'm fairly loaded, and AC was workin on a good buzz. I'm pretty sure the rest of them were too, but those few instances are all I can remember completely. I put on a slinky black shirt and The Bra, stole a little nip of vodka (YAY FOR VODKA), and out the door we stumbled. We were in search of a kareoke bar, and we asked the rolling chair guys where to go. They said that Opa had it, so we were going to walk, then they talked us into taking the chairs ... they overcharged us, and we were uber pissed. And to make matters worse, Opa had no kareoke. Fuckers. Mombi starts the whole "wah I'm tired" thing (in her defense, she had been driving all day), and will only stay out to party with us if JK says "fuck". JK lets it fly, and we are all just dying with laughter because this is not normal behavior for JK, NOT AT ALL. We then are on the hunt for a bar to crash ... at this point, my cell rings and it's Mr. Ohio, MOB, and AM. We then decide to go to this place called the Bikini Bar, across the boardwalk from Bally's, on the beach. Why? Because it was the first place we saw.

We stumble in there, and the DJ is playing something (I can't recall what). I go to the bar, start a tab, get a beer, steal another one of Mombi's smokes (this is a recurring theme of the evening, can you tell ...), and we hunt for a table. We are unlucky, so we dance while holding our purses and stuff. Then, the band starts. They were pretty good, covered a lot of Maroon 5 and John Mayer and that type of stuff. Some of the girls find a table, we dump our purses with those not dancing, and proceed to get wild. Mombi and the singer from the band (who was super cute in his Yankees cap) were having cheer-sex (if you don't know what that is, I order you to watch "Bring It On"). They drug Mombi and AC on stage, and at that point the boys and AM show up. I head to the bar, add two more beers to my tab (me and Mombi), and stand there as AM starts doing shots with Mr. Ohio. A wicked funny prank was played on her, as she was given whisky to shoot instead of "something fruity". It was either Beam or Maker's, as I faintly recall both bottles sitting on the bar and thinking "mmm. Maker's. You know, I really should call TheBoy, he likes Maker's. You know what, I really like him. Damn it. *insert drunk and A.D.D.-raddled pause* OK, that guy over there at that table is cute. Really cute. Fuck, he's married. *pause again* Wow, I need another beer, did I drink that one already? *pause* Where are my shoes? Did I take them off?"

Meanwhile, AM takes the glass and shoots it, and then proceeds to nearly throw up. It is said that I had this look on my face like "bitch, if you puke on me, you'll be sorry". I polish off that beer in short order, and get "just one more" ... that means, I had one AFTER that too. Walk back over to the table, get into a discussion about The Bra with MOB and Mr. Ohio, and both of them promptly (and in stereo) cop a feel. Nice, boys. If I wasn't fucked-in-half drunk at that point, I would have decked them. Instead, I find this hysterically funny, and finger-wagging mock-scold them for grabbing my boobs without asking first. MOB proceeds to all but dry-hump AM (who is NOT one of The Others, she's the quintessential "good girl"), and she loudly announces that she and MOB are going to get drunk and go skinny dipping. Umm, honey ... you are already well past drunk, but thanks for publicizing your game plan. The band wraps up their set at midnight, and we decide that the music they play afterwards is sub-standard and intolerable, and we head on over to Bally's to play for a little while. It is at this point that I lose track of the events of the evening, attempt to drunk-dial TheBoy (who is on sabbatical in a yet-to-be-named Midwestern city), and slur something really horrid into the phone, I assume. More cigarettes are smoked. L and AM are blitzed, as am I. Everyone else had a fair amount of buzz going on, and some decided to turn in for the night. We then wandered around for a little while, went down to the beach and talked for about an hour, then walked around. Z turned some cartwheels in the sand (why I remember this is beyond me), Miata froze her ass off, and I just sat there in my own little place with a million thoughts running through my brain. We decided we were cold, and that we wanted to do something else now.

We then walked back up to the boardwalk, and started to mill about in a drunken stupor ... trying to decide what to do next. A discussion of anal sex ensued, revelations about a few of the group had been made, and we decided that we are really tired. So we take the elevator back up to the 31st floor and crash in the hallway to chat and drink the rest of our stuff. The security guard comes up and yells at us, so we decide to call it a night. This is at 3:30 AM. I had, at this point, been awake for a total of 22 hours. I apparently had the presence of mind to blow up my air mattress before going out (when did I do that?), and threw on my PJs and passed out face-first. I also vaguely remember letting MOB and AM crash in our foyer, as they were far too intoxicated to make it back down to the Trump Plaza without escorts. Plus, in AM's state of "diminished capacity", it was not a good idea to let her alone with MOB. I fell asleep while looking out the window, down onto the empty boardwalk ... lined with glittering casinos lit up in the night.

Weekend.

I'm home, and exhausted. I promise to get a full account of the weekend up at some point tomorrow, as well as download all of the more than 100 photos and get some on here. I have some GREAT ones of all of us, in varying stages of intoxication. Mombi was part of the festivities as well, so check out her account of the weekend (she was in a different car than I, so her perspective will be slightly different).

Amanda didn't win, but that's OK. She got a non-finalist talent award, and her total winnings at Miss America are $7,500. Added to all the other money she's earned, she's pushing $30,000 in scholarships. Not a bad deal, eh?

Before bed, I will share one funny tidbit: TheBoy and I spent the weekend drunk-dialing each other (he was doing a weekend away as well). I can't recall what was said when I called him Friday night, but I did call and apologize Saturday morning for it. Although he wins the award for the best "drunk dial" ... with a rousing rendition of the "Meow Mix" jingle into my voice mail.

Checking In From Atlantic City ...

Here's a shot of The Others from the parade last night. At this point, we had only been drinking non-stop for about two hours. Yesterday, we were going strong for a total of 22 hours before we finally gave up at about 3:30 or so.

More updates when* I get home.

* And by "when", I mean "if".

Left to right: A, -h., Miata, JK, AC, L, Z, and Mombi.

the dreams of a million girls who are more than pretty
may come true in atlantic city

It's here! It's really truly finally here! I'm like a little child on Christmas Eve, just drooling with the anticipation of what tomorrow morning will bring. As Dr. Frank N. Furter says ... "It's the antici ..... pation".

For those of you that have somehow missed the memo thus far: There are EIGHT of us (collectively known as "The Others", of course) that are piling into cars and heading to Atlantic City tomorrow morning. We are going because one of our gal-pals is Miss Ohio, and this is the end of the road for her (you only get one shot at Miss America). Beligerence and debauchery will ensue, hot tubs will be sat in, museums will be visited, hurricanes will be openly mocked, parades will be watched, copious amounts of liquor will be consumed, oceans will be used for a toe-dip (while wearing crowns, I'm sure), rhinestones will be worn before 5:00 PM, and there may even be a few lucky recipients of the coveted "Drunk Dial". Watch for us on TV (Saturday night, 9 PM, ABC). We're at the end of the runway. Section 114, Row A, seats 1-8. There should be signs that say "GO AMANDA, YOU'RE A HOTTIE".

Links:
The Unofficial Miss America Messageboard

The Official Site Of The Miss America Organization

The Unofficial Miss Ohio Messageboard

"Things" are OK for now. For those of you that have emailed me and inquired about the following items, here's a quick rundown:

• I'm not having a breakdown. Although I'm glad that a weekend with The Others is in order, so that I can use that time to straighten a few things out in my head.
  
• I'm not getting laid off (at least, not to my knowledge). Not after the last three days, I think. It *is* TheFirm after all ... so anything can happen.
• I'm not going back to R (it's just not like that ... he's my best friend and nothing more). It *was* weird telling him that I'm sleeping with someone (that isn't him) though ...
• I'm not planning on kicking TheBoy to the curb. Not this week, anyways. Although, I'm not terribly thrilled with his newfound inability to utilize a phone.
• I have finally answered an email from J. I was even relatively nice, given the situation. I did read all the other ones prior to deleting though.

Football: GO IRISH, beat Michigan State. GO BUCKEYES, beat NC State. And fuck Michigan, they suck ass.

Off to finish cleaning up my inbox, then I'm off at 11:30. Headed to mom and dad's for the night, then L is picking me up in the early AM (as in, 5:45 AM - *shudder*). Wonder if Burdie's fave joint will just save me the effort and help me mainline that frappucino with two extra shots of espresso ...

Have a safe and happy weekend. Keep the hurricane victims in your thoughts ... I've noted some photos on Yahoo News and they are not pretty.

I'll check in from the 'rents tonight and see if anyone has seen fit to litter my comments with things I should respond to, and answer a few emails. Love to all.

7:45 PM EDIT: On the semi-farm at the parents. Raining like hell here. Front yard is flooded. Cows that were next to my high school have been moved to higher ground. My cat found and killed a field mouse and brought it to me. I assume this is his idea of a sacrifice. And it's disgusting. I shrieked and made my daddy come and get it. Yes, the big bad-ass bitch is afraid of meeses. Go ahead and laugh.

sitting here wasted and wounded at this old piano
trying hard to capture the moment this morning i don't know

Have had a lot on my mind for the past few days. Lot of pressure at work, as well as other things. And tonight, this is going to be a "Standing Naked" kind of rambling post. I think that maybe I'm the only one that can understand it.

I spent a while talking some of my thoughts over with the one person that knows me better than anyone else ... R. I know it seems strange to most people to discuss your emotional issues and your love life with your ex-spouse. But it just kinda ... happened.

Princess and I cruised over there to check out her new bedroom (she got a big-girl bed at his house for her 2nd birthday). He noticed something wasn't "quite right" with me, and I tried to blow it off. He then said something to the effect of 'I know you're not being honest with me." So, I asked him, "I'll tell you if you really want to know." And he asked for it. So I told him everything. And I do mean ... everything. I babbled on for a good twenty minutes to a half-hour, talking in circles all the while (as I'm apt to do), and ended up with a full-on sobbing fit.

I don't know exactly what he thought of it (as I've yet to cop to dating anyone since we split), but the advice he gave me was great. Basically, he gave me the good swift kick in my ass that I needed. And he also said ... "Wow. My shoulder's wet. Must be snot, because you DON'T cry." This at least made me smile, because we both knew that I was sobbing because work and personal issues had just pushed me over the edge of frustration. Our conversation will stay guarded with me for now, but suffice it to say ... damn it, I hate it when he's right. On all accounts.

I'm looking *very* forward to my little trip this weekend. I think that spending a weekend with the girls is exactly what I need to regroup and recharge ...

Who Rocks The House?
Martini Rocks The House!

My presentations were great. I'll even go so far as to say ... fabulous. Got totally embarrassed (yes, it does happen) when I was recognized in front of several hundred people for, and I quote, "Keeping our division on the straight and narrow, and making it easy for me to sleep at night." The VP then went on to babble on about how my job is thankless and less-than-glamorous sometimes, but that it's one of the most important ones to our division. Oh, hell yeah ... I'll take that Officer title and pay now please, thankyouverymuch. As I told TheBoy this morning, I'm doing the happy dance a la Snoopy. Except I look hot. And I'm wearing a g-string under my Editors.

Other news:

Deleted e-mail count so far this morning? 2.

Blog hit count this morning? OVER 10,000 HITS since January. Thanks for reading Not-So-Dirty Laundry, and it's predecessor ..:: grey.goose.cosmo ::.. You guys are the BEST. I've met some great people (online and offline) from this little corner of the world, and for that I'm truly thankful. I know people read here that don't comment all the time ... so come on and join the madness sometime. We don't bite. Unless you ask nicely.

Cheaters And Liars, Redux.
Also: Random Smatterings Of Cranky.

Again, I generally hold the emotionally intimate details of my relationships, regardless of their status, in highest confidence. (Disclaimer: This is the haven for a little kiss-and-tell.) Usually, I won't emotionally expose someone that doesn't give their explicit permission. But this shit deserves to be blown WIDE open. This afternoon's conversation went a little somethin' like this ...

Had a stellar presentation. Have to do it again in the AM for [insert
SVP's name here].

Good job. Celebrate? What do you have in mind?

And then, after I made some suggestive suggestions (per usual), he grew silent. Not the usual cocky smack-talk that usually comes from him. Interesting. So I stop at Target for a little "victory lap" (complete with $50 cover charge, of course), and then come home to root through my Yahoo email with a glass of chardonnay. Logged on to AIM, and low and behold, there he is. So I wait about 10 and then drop him a note:

"Hey. You. What happened to my dessert?"

Reply: "Hang on a sec".

[elapse five minutes here]

So then the light bulb finally goes on over my head: "What, the girlfriend
doesn't care much for you talking shit to your FWB? Too bad, I could give
her a few pointers about what turns you on ..."

Then I got the message on my screen ...

[screen name] has signed off.

What a wuss. Apparently the truth hurts, and can get you in uber trouble with your girl. Both of 'em. I'll leave it alone now, and expect either one of two things from him: 1. A pouty "what was that all about" email tomorrow morning (which I will likely delete), or 2. The silent treatment for busting him out. Wonder which one I will receive? Taking odds on both options now.

But the more pressing question: Why did I just intentionally torch that relationship? Because really, I don't care about where it was going (because honestly, it only had one place TO go). But was it necessary for me to open that can of whoop-ass tonight? In a word: yes.

Why, you ask? Because damn it, I'm tired of this crap from people. Is it too much to ask to have someone that is honest, trustworthy, attractive, good in bed, emotionally available (and stable), attentive, not intimidated by a professionally successful woman, and worth introducing to The Others? I don't want anyone to kiss my ass, just a little kindness and respect. I'm firmly convinced that he does not exist, this mystery man.

As Carrie Bradshaw says: Are we just dating the same person over and over again?

Other crankiness:

• Miss Ohio didn't win her talent preliminary tonight, her strongest category. This upsets me.
• Why is my beloved Mike Valpredo on the evening news doing sports? He's supposed to be on in the morning. I like him on my TV in the morning to start out my day with a smile. The new morning anchor guy bores me.
• My Spidey-Sense tells me that something is amiss with TheBoy. The marathon conversations (most of which were smokin' hot) have diminished. In fact, I haven't spoken to him (live, not electronically) since he called to check on me on Sunday night. Hmmm.

Time for bed. I have a presentation to make at 8:30 AM, which means that I actually have to stumble into work around 8. Wonder what my inbox will offer then ...

Keepin' My Pimp Hand Strong, Catholicism, And Other Musings.

So, I've copped to J still being about. We had lunch plans today, but then he suggested a "long lunch" (which in Martini and J speak, is code for "call off for the afternoon, because you're spending it in bed with me"). As I'm on this kick to clean up my life this week, I called him out (recall earlier conversations of the whole "one woman man" crap from him, particularly that he had supposedly violated the trust of a woman he'd been seeing for more than two months. My sources have been unable to confirm the magnitude of their now defunct relationship as yet.) He's awful quiet now that I pretty much told him: put up or shut up, hotness. I think it shocked him totally that I called him out like that. Ordinarily, my conversations with J are limited to just random smatterings of chatter ... it's not often that I say "get with the program, or go away" to anyone. And he knows it. Side note: yes, I know this stuff comes in cycles ... it's seemingly two steps forward, one step back with me ... but it will happen. Eventually. Good thing that "50 is the new 30", as it should take me another 22.5 years at this rate to get my head on straight and all.

If all you want to read is raunch, then please stop here. Thank you, drive through.

Other life cleaning activities entail the perpetual quest for a higher being. As a college kid, I hit the "rebellion" phase of things. I've been Roman Catholic for my entire life, including coaching CYO softball and mentoring kids that were in CCD classes. When I was a kid, my home parish used to be VERY traditional (they used to offer Latin Mass once a week and everything). My freshman year of college, I was a fixture at Saturday night Mass. 5:00, be there or be square. But after B's dad died over the Christmas holiday, and I sat through the heart-wrenching funeral, some switch flipped in my brain ... and shortly after I turned 19, I went through a phase where I decided that I didn't want to be Catholic anymore because it was so patriarchal. The feminist in me just twitched uncontrollably as I attended wedding after wedding of my friends and family, and heard that "love, honor, and obey" line. I completed all of my confirmation classes, and then didn't actually go to the mass to confirm, I backed out a week prior. I, over the past year, went through the whole "Dogma" type of questioning my faith, as in "where was God when I needed him", "what did I do to deserve this", and "if God really loved me, would He be letting my mother go blind and then die in front of my eyes?"

My quest has led me down many paths, and I keep burning out with searching for "the right one". And in my quest, I've researched many paths (and tried a few), trust me (exception: DQ hasn't converted me her way yet). But none of them seem to fit perfectly. I guess I keep looking for this absolute fit, this "all or nothing" approach. And realistically, religion shouldn't be what's dictated to you, it's what you make of it. Most Catholics make God out to be this vengeful and mean kind of being, that will "smite you" for disobeying the rules. And in all reality, I don't think that's the case. I think that God is a forgiving being, willing to overlook minor infractions of "the rules" if you are basically a good person. I mean, I look around at some people that profess themselves to be "Christian" or even "Good Catholics", but yet they continually cheat on their spouse, hate other people, lie to the people that they supposedly love, and treat people with disrespect (T, anyone?).

No one's perfect. I'm a glaring example. But this morning I took the first step towards repairing my battered relationship with the Church. The parish close to my house starts daily Mass at 8:30, so I couldn't stay for that. But I did wander in there this morning, and spent a little time alone in the Sanctuary before I came to work. I just sat there for fifteen minutes, took it in, lit a candle for my mom, and left. I wonder what the little old ladies thought about that, ha ha.

I realize that I really miss that part of my life. I guess it's true ... "just because you just don't feel like comin' home, don't mean that you'll never arrive".

The Quiz Whore Jr/ Can't Sleep.

Was reading Jay's blog archives, and stumbled across this fun quiz. My comments in BOLD.

20 Questions To A Better Relationship. (Have to have one, prior to making it better ...)
eXpressive: 8/10
Practical: 3/10
Physical: 5/10
Giver: 10/10

You are a XSYG--Expressive Sentimental Physical Giver.

This makes you a Sex Bomb. (yeah, there's a big surprise.) You are sexy sex sex sex! (the fuck you say?) The sexness! You are the sexiest, hottest and most charismatic of all types. (oooh, tell me more.) You are a captivating speaker and a great dinner date -- relaxed, self-effacing, charming and generous. (doing well so far) Your type probably has origins in something sad -- trying to keep the peace in a tough family situation, or an early heartbreak -- and you'll probably want to address and resolve that at some point, but in your relationships that heartache is pure gold! (damn, what a downer. Yeah, I've had my heart broken. But it's made me a stronger and better woman, I guess.)

You lie effortlessly -- not necessarily a bad thing. (Umm, I can't lie. I am literally incapable of it.) You can have problems with fidelity. (WHAT? I've only cheated on someone ONCE, and that was in 8th grade!) You need frequent praise and validation, and in seeking it you can make decisions that aren't consistent with your general good judgment. (True.) In other words, don't cheat on your significant other just because someone is paying attention to you. (What is with this cheating shit? Again, I'm loyal to a fault.) You strongly dislike conflict, and will avoid it. (Usually true in relationships. Unless the other person does something that violates my boundaries and issues and shit, then IT'S ON. I have been known to make grown men cry.)

Like an XPYG, you give so much of yourself to your partner that you feel dismissed and unappreciated if you don't get the same in return. (True.) But you internalize your feelings more and have a hard time getting over them. (Very true.) You don't *want* to cheat -- you just keep finding yourself in vulnerable situations. (What the hell? More cheating shit? Sheesh.) But you'll stay with your partner in the long run from guilt and a desire to please. (Whatever.) Your sex life will always be hot. (There's a big surprise.) You are one of the rare people who can keep the fires of passion going forever -- if you find a good match. Find another XSYG and you will never need (or want) anyone else again. (Any one out there that's an XSYG?)

Of the 73088 people who have taken this quiz, 8.7 % are this type. (At least this is more common than my blood type, only 6% of people have that.)

Move Along, Nothing To See Here.
Just a semi-intoxicated Martini.

Went to happy hour after work for a little celebratory drinky-drink. Got my project approved by the VP, and it will be recognized at the confrence I'm presenting at tomorrow afternoon. I went with some of my coworkers (not the cute ones either, the bastards were all married or other shit - they just ain't theboy I guess) and I had one (OK, two), then came home. Had a bottle of wine in the fridge that I just consumed half of. Factor in the whole no dinner thingy, and tah-dah. *hiccup*

I'm amusing myself by watching Bulworth on Comedy Central. Do you know how hard it is to follow with all the anti-cursing beepy noises?

Did you know that the season premiere of Las Vegas comes on at 9? Ordinarily, I wouldn't forgo MNF, but ... mmmmm. Josh Duhamel. I'd like to put that man in my kate spade and take him home to momma. Saw a super-size photo poster of him when I walked by The Gap last week. Yummy! Maybe they'll start playing those commercials twice every half-hour on every channel instead of the annoying SJP ones. Although I don't like him quite this skinny. I much prefer men that don't appear to be breakable.

The OC starts on Thursday. Hell yeah.

Off to litter blogs with a smattering of senseless comments, then worship Josh Duhamel appropriately.

PS, when is the bunny going to update her blog? I am dying to hear what happened at the VMAs!

My Life Is A Movie.
Specifically, "Miss Congeniality".

Victor Melling: The interview is the most important part of the pageant. It counts for 30 percent of your total score.
Gracie Hart: What's the other 70 percent, cleavage?

This one is two-fold.

First, Miss America starts preliminaries tonight. I have a solid reputation to uphold by picking the top ten ... last year I got 3/10 (which is not shabby considering I knew little about most of the contestants), but at this year's Miss Ohio contest, I had 9/10 and even more impressive ... 4 out of the top 5. I'll be watching with great interest. Ree is already on her way to AC to support Amanda, but The Others and I don't depart until Friday AM ... as in 6:00 AM. That's a lot of lattes. 'Tis OK ... thus far, we have spoken for mojitos, cosmopolitans (wonder who volunteered those), two bottles of wine, and rum and diets. Party on, girlies.

Second, I have on The Bra again today, with the only high-neckline shirt I own (thanks to TheBoy, may I say it was well worth the effort of finding a high neck shirt, BTW ... and ironically, it's a Gap sweater, but it's not pink). I've noticed that several people, well just several men, have seen fit to talk to my boobs today. Hey, PEOPLE. My face? UP HERE. Thanks. As Gracie would say ... "I'm suddenly very aware and proud of my breasts."

Gracie Hart: I would so like to hurt you right now.
Victor Melling: As long as you smile.

I've been absorbed in meetings and playing e-mail tag all day long. When will people grasp the concept that a screw-up on your part does NOT constitute an emergency on mine? I've *never* been one to say "that's not my job", but I'm just about there with a few of these people. I like being the "go to" person for those that have legitimate questions, but Jesus H Vanessa Williams Christ On A Cracker ... USE YOUR COMPANY INTRANET, PEOPLE. We spent millions on it, and 99% of your questions can be answered with a simple search! Dumbasses, the whole lot of them.

Victor Melling: In place of relationships, you have sarcasm and a gun!
Gracie Hart: Oh, *I* have sarcasm? When every word that comes out of *your* mouth is dripping with disdain?

The usual crap from family (mom and sister ... my dad doesn't really care what I do) applies with this one. Self explanatory. Although, I have no gun in my house or on my person. Just a fair amount of sarcasm, stubbornness, and independence. And the reaffirmation of my position that I don't tell my family who I date.

Eric Matthews: Is this you not arguing? 'Cause you suck at it.

After regaling J with a profanity-laced and sarcastic speech about honesty and fidelity, he still exists (but only in email form for right now). I don't understand ... does he just like to be abused by me? I mean, really now. Everything in me just wants to pull a Mark on him (the guy I told to fuck off, and lose my number, just because he couldn't grasp the concept that he wasn't to call me between 8 and 9 at night). So why haven't I yet? Girlfriend mused that he's my "back up plan" in case things with TheBoy don't work out. I told her that was a rather shitty thing to say. But really ... I hate it when she's right. Even *partially* right. Although I always have a "Plan B", I don't trust J as far as I can pick his muscular and well-toned ass up and throw it, but she doesn't know the reasoning and the depth of it (just that I'd ostracized him to email lately).

And to top it off? The cocky son of a bitch has the nerve to tell me "You can't stay mad at me forever. I know you." Fuck. I hate it when he's right too.

Gracie Hart: You think I'm gorgeous... You want to kiss me... You want to hug me... You want to love me... You want to smooch me... You want to hug me.

No reason for this one, other than I totally plan on using this line someday.

drugs
rock 'n' roll
bad-ass vegas hoes
late-night booty calls
and shiny disco balls

So, on my little road trip yesterday and today, I busted out The Big Guns. It's not often that I listen to house or trance or techno anymore, but there is one CD that just makes me want to dance, and makes all the troubles melt away. And I had $856 worth of truck repairs to work off, among other stressors. And a 3.5 hour drive. So, here's Martini's review of one of her favorite CDs. Enjoy.

12 Inches Of Cox
Mixed By Chris Cox

Now, this isn't the regular fare for me. Generally, I'm an indie rock or a harder rock kind of girl. (disclaimer: occasionally I will pop in a little Jordan Knight or Britney Spears.) Dance music usually doesn't do it for me. But there is something about the way Chris Cox (half of the now-defunct Thunderpuss) mixes some of the songs on this CD. He even makes Moby's "We Are All Made Of Stars" sound masculine and not so ... well ... Moby. (Have I mentioned that I think Moby is an egotistical douchebag that only had one decent song? But, I digress.)

You may have heard some of Cox's work (some with his former partner Barry Harris) on Queer As Folk (several of his mixes have been featured in scenes at Babylon), or maybe heard some of their production work (Janet Jackson, Whitney Houston, Joan Osbourne, and one of my favorites: Billie Myers).

Anyhow, if you haven't heard this CD, I'd strongly suggest giving it a spin if you're in a dancing (or working off some stress) mood. I'm a fan of not only the track that gave me the title for this post ("Shiny Disco Balls"), but I'm smitten with "Addicted To Bass" (and it's overly sexual message) too. I don't think there's really a *bad* song on the disc. Let me know what you think.

Martini's Road Trip.
A Photo Essay.

To make a road trip, you must have the appropriate provisions: A Xtra size Big Wednesday, and your trusty Hollister cap.



This sign was on the side of the road in southern Ohio. They are correct ... Hell IS Real. It's called "Columbus, Ohio".


When I arrived in KY (heh heh. She said KY.), I hooked up with my friend Beej!


After spending the night with TheBoy, I headed back north. Hooked up with MAV at this fun little diner place. Check it out ... "The Anchor Grill"!


Back in Cow-Town ...

This is the building that houses the restaraunt in Columbus that I'm DYING to try ... M at Miranova.


Of course, I took a photo of Waffle House for Birdherder ...

Never Forget.


This message posted at the exact time that the first plane hit the towers.

I Need My Own Pit Crew.

Well, I don't have to clean out my truck tonight ... apparently, the car gods decided that I needed to spend disgusting amounts of money on repairs this month ... my truck decided to nearly stall, and it's idling really rough. I managed to limp it to the dealership and exchange my kick-ass Pathfinder for a Chevy Aveo rental-mobile. Here's hoping that the repairs are minor (and cheap). At least I managed to talk the guy at Enterprise into renting me a car for super cheap.

Off to nap on the couch. Getting up tomorrow AM to drive down to the state to my south. Lunch with Beej and Steph, and then to enjoy an evening with TheBoy. Per previous experience and instruction, I will not speed through Sparta. On the way back north to Columbus on Sunday, I'll stop to see Miss MAV for a late brunch.

This time next week, the eight girls will be partying it up in Atlantic City! Who wants to be the person we use our "one phone call" on?

*back to watching beavis and butt-head*

A Nooner.

As it's been mass chaos 'round TheFirm this week, Girlfriend and I decided to escape the confines of our captors and head to our favorite Asian restaraunt for lunch. I had intended to drown my sorrows of the day in mass amounts of sake ("drinking my lunch", as it were), but decided that this wouldn't be a prudent course of action. So we sat down and I tried to convince her, once again, that sushi is indeed very tasty ... I lost. To save her from actually seeing me consume raw fish (I think this would have sent her over the edge of sanity that she was already precariously teetering on), I ended up with a shrimp tempura, 4 California rolls, and some fried rice (their brown sauce is to die for). She shuddered when I told her precisely what the CA Roll was wrapped in. I'll convert her, just give me time. We also sat next to who was quite possibly the hottest guy I've seen in a long time (think: J with a few extra pounds, and a goatee). He ordered sushi. Not the lame cooked shit I ordered, but the real deal. He didn't even look at the menu, he just ordered. I would have been completely smitten, but I noted a glimmering band of gold on his left hand as he answered his cell phone. Again I will ask: Why are all the good ones either married or gay?

Anyhow, we chatted about the recent goings-on with me. She was quite inquisitive about TheBoy's status, what had become of J, and what had happened to T after I unloaded on him ... as well as all the other wackiness that is my life. Never mind the fact that she sees me nearly every day, she just generally doesn't pry ... but I digress. She laughed when she said "Really? TWO months with TheBoy? Wow, that's a record for you. What's the deal with this one?" Of course, I rolled my eyes at her. But only because she's the second person today to say that exact same thing to me.

My friends are either terribly perceptive, or terribly sarcastic.

Where My Girls At?


Exactly one week from today, at this specific time, we should be halfway to
Atlantic City.


Can I get a "HELL YEAH"?


*bored at work*

She Gives Good Boardroom.

Lately, I've been finding myself in meetings with many of TheFirm's "power players". Today, I managed to land smack-dab in the middle a meeting of the team that will steer the integration of the reporting structures of the two heritage companies. I was a bit confounded that I had made "The A List" to be invited to that meeting, but once I got there I understood the reasoning clearly.

I know my shit.

It's rare that I actually "toot my own horn" when it comes to work. I know I'm young (27 and a Senior Analyst), and I have a lot to learn. But I get off on knowing how everything works. I have kept my mouth shut and just absorbed information from anyone willing to share it. And it all came in handy this afternoon. It felt good for my department's VP to ask me what I thought, and then tell the other folks in the room that he didn't know, that's why he has me ... I'm the go to person.

Oh hell yeah. Job security at its finest.

I just have to suffer through tomorrow - then WEEKEND! I have no meetings scheduled, and my month-end reporting is finished ... just waiting to arrive at work tomorrow to send it to the appropriate parties. Tomorrow will be filled with blogging, chatting up The Others and TheBoy, and gearing up for the weekend. Fun times will be had by all.

Thursday.
also known as: Almost Friday.

I'm tired, I didn't sleep well last night. I have no reason for that to happen, as I had a great night with Princess, indulged my OCD-like need to disinfect my kitchen, and had a fun conversation with TheBoy. But inexplicably, I just couldn't seem get to sleep. Really liked the boy that was the musical act on Leno last night, good stuff there. He's even kinda cute, but I was pretty into the music. I finally passed out at about the middle of Conan's monologue. Then I tossed and turned. I also dreamt a lot last night, had a *very* interesting dream that involved TheBoy.

I woke up this morning, and I was cold. Apparently, fall is on its way to Cow Town. I actually broke down and put on socks and regular shoes to go to work this morning. This saddens me. My feet are already claustrophobic. I hate wearing socks with shoes, I much prefer my standard-issue leather slides or stiletto sandals.

To top it off, my favorite news anchor wasn't on this morning. Therefore, I smacked the snooze button until the Today show came on.

Not sure if I like this new bra. Grew bored of my old ones (most were Body By Victorias), so I'm trying a few new ones. It fits OK, but I think it makes my boobs look weird. Johnny? Any feedback? You are the resident rack expert and all.

Countdown to Atlantic City: 8 days. Yee ha!

NEWS FLASH: The Hamm Brothers (whom Miata and I are set on tag-teaming) will be in my hood for lunch today. It was on the radio this morning. Although they are a bit short for my tastes, they are still super-cuties. Is it weird to want to go to lunch to see them? I did have a good hair day after all ...

OOOH the lawn guys are outside mowing ... gotta go watch ...

*stalks the hotties*

The Donald.

He was on the Today show, promoting the new season of The Apprentice (starts tonight at 8:30, after the drivel that is Joey).

I didn't realize it until today ... but that cocky son of a bitch is funny! Really funny!

Make sure to watch tonight. That is all.

Here Kitty Kitty!

From Birdherder's world, may I present to you ... the wonder that is Catster.

Click Here to see sweet little Salem.

*needs a life*

PS: About the friend that was supposed to meet me for a glass of wine ... he had a rough day at work, and was tired. He rang in on the cell while I was chatting up TheBoy on my home line. Just as well, as I was in the midst of a spirited discussion with TheBoy. OK, to bed with me ... as tomorrow will likely be a long day again. Come on Friday ... momma needs a little weekend.

We'll be getting rid of these people here.
First, Mr. Samir Naga... Naga... Naga...
Not gonna work here anymore, anyway.

Well, it's all public knowledge now, I can write about it. I knew a lot of it was coming last week, that's why I've been so high-strung.

TheFirm cut more than 150 jobs today, in my division alone. Another one of my favorite VPs took a voluntary layoff to save her staff's jobs, and as soon as she signed on the dotted line ... they canned her staff. Fuckers.

Then, the Human Resources locusts ate their way through the Methods And Procedures department (canned them all), and then it was off to the Six Sigma team (their administrative team and a few officers, 7 people in all). Tomorrow they will feed on Girlfriend's department.

"But H," you say. "Weren't they supposed to do that today?" Well kiddies, they didn't. Because they are all AVP level, and policy is that HR can't come in and can anyone that has Officer privileges without their VP or SVP being present. That's right, the jackoff that replaced my favorite SVP two weeks ago CALLED OFF TODAY. Why? Because he had a tummyache. What a damned girly-man ... he stayed home because he wasn't ready to face the music of playing with the big boys, and consequently he made his entire department (Girlfriend included) throw up from nervousness all day.

'Tis OK, I took her to Arby's for lunch. At least she'll have something to barf up later. [sigh]

An old friend (who has been mentioned here before) is supposed to stop by tonight for a glass of wine. Guess I'd better go clean the house and run the sweeper before he gets here ...

PS: Guess what ... Mr. Valpredo is back! YAY for the morning news! ha ha

I'm still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I'm still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

One of the times I was there, I cried tears of joy as I walked down the aisle between the pews, on my father's arm. The most recent time I was at that place, I sat on the step, alone, and cried tears of sadness and grief. But on Sunday afternoon, it was a calm and orderly farewell, without tears ... just a fitting goodbye. I stood in the courtyard and just looked around. I walked up the few long steps, and stood in the doorway just one more time. I walked around, barefoot, in the green grass, and the empty parking lot, and just sighed. I touched the building and said my goodbye, then got in my truck and drove away without looking back. See, I needed the closure. And I finally got it, almost a year later. Thank you to the Unitarian Universalist Church of Akron for reminding me who I am, and where I've been. Now, it's time to get going with the rest of my life.

Today is Princess' second birthday. We had a lot of fun at Chuck E. Cheese. I even have photos of me crawling in what looks like human-sized hamster tubes with my little girl. A fun night was had by all.

On a whim this AM, I invited R to go with. He happily accepted, and we had a blast. It's really nice to have my friend back. I even got the chance to give him a fair ration of crap about the hickey on his neck. I forgot how blissfully fun it is to make that man tap-dance. I got the "wait, it's not what you think ..." and I just unleashed a good dose of sarcasm on him, much to the effect of, "Oh really. You don't say. Well, since I think that it looks like a woman was sucking on your neck and left her calling card, I'll just assume that I'm incorrect." I think he spit out more "umms" and "ahhhs" in a matter of five minutes ... oh it was amusing. I finally let him off the hook by looking him squarely in the eye and telling him that "a real woman doesn't leave a mark. Well, at least not where you can see it anyways ... [insert knowing grin here] Plus, what you do in your bedroom is no concern of mine, as what I do in my bedroom is of no concern to you. Or my living room. Or my shower." Christ that man can blush.

Time for bed. Had to stay up to watch "Bands Reunited: NKOTB" and a rerun of the premiere of "The Surreal Life 3" with Jordan Knight.

What's up with you folks this weekend? Friday night, I need to pick up Mombi's sweetie (he's working in CowTown this week), and she's going to meet up with us about 8 or so to pick him up from me. I'm sure dinner and a little drinky-drinky is in order. Then, I am planning to hook up with Beej on Saturday afternoon, and then spend a little "quality time" with TheBoy on Saturday night. Sunday, I'll cruise through MAV-Land for brunch, and then zoom on home.

I am safe at TheFirm, by the way. I'm presenting at a division-wide conference next week, and am initiating another project tomorrow. So, I'm OK for a while. But .... tomorrow is "D-Day" for Girlfriend's department. Can you all do a little dance, or say a little prayer, or make an appropriate sacrifice ... just to be sure that she's still gainfully employed tomorrow morning? Thanks.

PS ... thanks to AoB for inspiring today's title.

8:17 AM EDIT: Blogger is retarded (Oh My God Don't Say Retarded). This didn't publish last night for some reason, so I published it intact this morning.