t w e n t y e v e r y t h i n g

chicken bones in the bathroom

or, a brief recount of my Labor Day weekend.

So right now I am listening to Christmas music because apparently I am insane and on this cold and rainy day where I would like to be anywhere but sitting here at my desk, it makes me feel better thinking of warm fires and white snow and presents waiting to be unwrapped. And yes, I know that I am truly weird and strange. I am ok with it, are you?

On to the weekend. Friday night brought happy hour at Hard Times and many, many half-price margaritas and beer (they even had Magic Hat jinx on tap! it was delicious!). From happy hour, our happy group of ten headed to Bobalu's where we played a hours worth of raucous quarters, most of which I do not remember other than that I was awesome and at the conclusion, Dano gave me a breadstick and it made me happy. Hours later, I made it home safely. (in other news, how many times can I use the word hours in one paragraph? geez.)

Saturday morning began what became the 36 hour cleaning and unpacking spree of 2006. Despite the fact that I moved in more than six weeks ago, my room had not been completely unpacked yet, let alone decorated. And it was not a pretty site nor process. But, when all was said and done and I had produced about 1234314 bags of garbage and put about a dozen unnecessary holes in the living room wall, it looked lovely. I will take some pictures when I get home tonight to display the wonder of it all (that is a Foxwoods reference for anyone who is reading this in the Northeast and to the rest of you, pfft).

Sunday night was the impromptu housewarming extravaganza. The fact that at one point there were about 20 people in my backyard shotgunning beers should be an indication of the insanity that occurred. The hundreds of beers, the tournament style flip cup matches on the porch into the wee hours of the morning and the fact that the dreamcastle smelled eerily similar to a frat house the next morning should be additional indications of the craziness. Oh, and yesterday a chicken bone was discovered in the bathroom garbage can. This, of course, led to several other questions - where did one get the chicken? There wasn't any chicken to be found. Secondly, why was it consumed in the privacy of the bathroom? Was someone trying to hide their chicken consumption? Was there a closet, er bathroom, chicken eater in the bunch? I guess the world will never know.

What I do know is that I apparently destroyed my friends. Sarah came downstairs yesterday proclaiming her sorry state of hungoverness. Virtually everyone who was supposed to go to Alicia's bbq bowed out due to hangovers. I, on the other hand, emerged bright-eyed and feeling fine. Booyah.

In yet other news, I am bored. I am freezing cold (and I am never cold). I have moved on from Christmas tunes to music that I haven't listened to since the spring and it is making me oddly nostalgic and bringing back feelings that I thought I had successfully filed away. I don't like it.

And in conclusion, Nip Tuck starts tonight. Yippppppppeeeeeeeeee. However, it has been discovered that I have absolutely no idea what happened at the end of last season (other than who the bad people were) and thus I desperately need to find a cliff notes version of season three or I will be eternally confused. (the sad part of this is that I watched every episode, but yet, can't remember).

Oh and somehow I forgot this fun fact: I was REJECTED while trying to buy the booze for the housewarming party on Sunday. How old am I? 24.5 years old. Not old enough to be flattered, just old enough to be pissed off at the inconvenience. I really need to get a Maryland license.

Reasons we don't take them out in public...

This weekend was additional proof as to why a certain group of my friends refrains from going out on the town on a regular basis. Literally, as the old adage goes - you can dress 'em up, but you can't take them out. Or at least, you have to be ready to handle the consequences.

Like, for instance, the honored birthday boy making out with a married mother of two. In the middle of a bar. While she was wearing her wedding ring. Or perhaps, after dragging a certain friend away from a stranger that she had randomly bumped lips with on the sidewalk, her screaming, "You guys suck! I could have hooked up with him! You guys suck!" much to the amusement of the seemingly thousands of passersby making the exodus from PowerPlant. Or, two of your friends PEEING in the parking garage because they didn't have the foresight to use the facilities before leaving the bar. And lastly, a wonderful nightcap, a friend throwing up in the car on the way home. We're a classy bunch, no?

These antics sound more appropriate for college freshman or newly minted 21 year olds. We were out celebrating Ken's 25th birthday. TWENTY-FIVE. And it's not like my friends are a bunch of losers or low-lifes - they are teachers, computer programmers, managers - respectable people. Except when they are fed Patron shots. And then they are tactless. And embarassing. But yet, I still love them...

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Weekend in review:
-Friday night - Happy Hour in the office, followed by Happy Hour at 1223 for Caroline's bday, followed by dinner at Bertucci's with Alpert. Our waitress was literally Ana Gasteyer's character from the infamous sweaty balls skit on SNL. The food was great (especially after consuming a few cocktails).
-About 2 a.m. Saturday morning - I awake. And remain awake until 9:30 in the morning. Not because I wanted to but because my old friend insomnia came calling again.
-11:45 a.m. - I give in and crawl out of bed, put on bathing suit and walk out of apartment only to find it 60 degrees and cloudy. I return to apartment.
-3 - 6 p.m. - I sleep on the couch. Apparently, when my cell phone rings, my toes dance along to the beat, all while I am sleeping... interesting.
-6 p.m. - Get lousy butt up and get ready to go out.
-8 p.m. onward - see above.

Sunday
-10 a.m. - wake up
-11:30 - get home
-12 - 3:30 p.m. - sit at pool, reading a good book and admiring the hot Russian lifeguard
-Sunday night - Brooks & Dunn and Sugarland concert. Possibly the best concert I have ever seen.

And guess what, I SLEPT last night. Like a full six hours without waking up once. Or thrashing about. Or having haunting dreams. THANK GOD. I was about to lose my mind.

Because it's protocol...

Tonight I stopped on the way home and bought five bottles of wine. F-I-V-E. You didn't mishear me. I decided to forgo the lure of CVS or Safeway (the joys of working in Virginia where you can buy wine along with your cornstarch or Tampax). Instead I stopped at Calvert Woodley's (CW's), one of the finest places to buy wine in Greater Washington. Not only does CW's have very well informed sommeliers but they also have cheap wine. Not cheap wine - but more expensive wine at discounted prices. Hence, the five bottles I bought for a shade over $41. At any of my usual places, they would have cost me at least $60. In the end, my wallet is happy, my wine rack is full and well, me - I am approaching drunk. It's the recipe for success.

Since bottle one was cracked almost immediately following my arrival at the casa and the lean cuisine I had for dinner was less than filling, I reached the happy point just as I took the last sip of the last glass of wine from bottle one shortly into hour two of the season finale of 24. Call me naive or tipsy, but I had the gumption to ask my lovely roommate as to whether I should break into the second bottle. And in the true spirit of 24, she said, "it's protocol." And so what else was a girl to do.

I must say that the second bottle, a lovely pinot noir, does taste even more delightful than the initial malbec that I popped. I might be looking for excuses here but, I mean really, this is the last show of 24 that I will be 24 years of age to enjoy. I mean really, it's cause for celebration - no?

There is no doubt in my mind that I will come to regret this fete tomorrow - but seeing that my only plans for tomorrow are to move the contents of my desk to my new space and revel in the fact that my "successor" is starting work in a mere week - I think I am equipped to deal with the consequences of my actions.

I am actually looking forward to moving my desk tomorrow. For some reason, the WhizBang has a tendency to keep even the most mundane things secret. As a result, only a handful of people are even aware of my transition to my new role. I know that my relocation to a different cube will spark much conversation and gossip amongst my peers, and I am looking forward to it. Most don't know the extent of what I do on a daily basis - the fact that I write Man Boss' speeches or do the work of two people. I can't wait to see their reaction to my new responsibility.

In early February, I was already at the verge of quitting. The fact that I have managed to withstand the past three months and endure six events is cause for celebration. Hence, I am celebrating. And tomorrow, I will be in pain. Not unlike my pain for the past few months. But at least now, it will involve wine. And wine, it's my bestest of friends.

So to counter my heartfelt tribute to my mum, this is merely a post about wine. And my love for it. And how it doesn't make me do silly things like spend the night in my old boss's guest room (Friday night) or hookup with a guy after a wedding like vodka tonics tend to do.

In the end, wine just makes me happy. And I will take happiness anywhere I can find it these days. Even in the form of a mirassou pinot noir.

I'd really like to hate MI3...

but I just couldn't. It was not bad. I might even venture out to say that it was enjoyable - entertaining even. I say these things begrudgingly because, like so many other people, I dislike Tom Cruise. I don't appreciate his crazy Scientology views - his running commentary on others' personal choices - or the fact that he feels that his stardom and fame make him a veritable expert on everything.

So it's with great reluctance that I admit that he remains a great actor. He's charming - he's retained his boyish good looks over the years - and I felt for him in this role - he made me like his character. And I resent all of that really. In some ways, I wish the real Tom Cruise was more like the characters he plays.

I'm kinda embarrassed to even admit that I went to see Mission Impossible III on opening night. As a disclaimer, I will say that I merely went along with the whim of the group. And the boys like them some action movies, thus, MI3 it was. It seems like a lot of people are resisting seeing the movie because they don't want to pad Cruise's coffers. I do regret that a portion of my $9 will go towards the continued brainwashing of Katie, pardon - Kate, Holmes.

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I woke up at 7:15 a.m. on Saturday to drink. Yup, kegs and eggs baby - or rather, brews and horses. It doesn't have quite the same ring to it, but it was definitely a fun change of pace.

The WhizBang had a railside tent at the Virginia Gold Cup races on Saturday. So early I woke, picked up Caroline in Bethesda and hit 66 to make the long journey to The Plains, VA. Earlier in the week they were calling for morning showers, but thankfully, I awoke to clear skies and warm air. It was absolutely perfect weather for a day out at the races.

Dressed in my new favorite spring/summer dress and ready to spend the day at the "grand spring tradition and fixture on the Washington social calendar" that is the running of the Gold Cup, I was ready to hobnob with the local elite - and all of those lesser people (such as myself) who donned the hats, madras printed jackets, colored khaki pants and spring dresses in an attempt to fit in. There were terrier races and hat contests and dollar bets on the individual races. All of my picks lost - my best bet - "Fappa Fire" was leading for most of the race until, according to the announcer "he decided to take his own course through the woods." Such is my luck. During the actual Gold Cup race - Caroline and I had a 2/3 chance between us of having the winning pick, which would have netted us a $20 purse. However, neither of our horses won and we ended the day in the red.

All in all, the races were amazingly fun. I popped the top on my first beer shortly after 10:30 a.m. and wrapped up my drinking around 2 p.m. so that I would be able to make the long journey eastward towards the city. During the interim, I laughed, mingled with our clients and determined that I WILL be going to many more Gold Cups in the future.

My drinking hiatus was a short three hours in length - enough time to dry out, drive back to Greater Washington, drop off Caroline, pick up beer and make my way to Bobby's to celebrate his birthday with a BBQ. At this point, my mojo was gone. I was a broken soul - a dehydrated, exhausted soul who looked at the beer in front of herself with great disdain as all those around her were merely starting their imbibement for the day. I managed to choke down a few over the course of the next few hours until my internal organs (mainly the liver) felt as though they were slowly contracting and turning into shriveled, hardened, useless shells of their former selves.

Bobby, on the other hand, after drinking a 40 of King Cobra malt lick-a, taking a few shots of vodka, drinking a healthy amount of beerz, was passed out in his bed at 8:30 p.m. Except for his whole crawling to the bathroom thing to throw up, I was jealous. I would have killed to curl up in bed early and pass out.

During the course of the afternoon and evening before the sun set, we played many games of volleyball during which it was not uncommon for players to be drinking, smoking cigs or talking on the phone - or some combination of all three - on the court. Let's just say that the volleys were few and far between and the ball was everywhere. The highly original rule that stipulated that anyone who hit the picnic table with the ball had to take a shot managed to lessen the already-limited playing ability displayed. It did, however, make the game a lot more entertaining.

And with that, I settled for curling up on a loveseat with a pathetic blanket for the night as I was too tired and unmotivated to make the drive home. That is, until 6:30 in the morning when I drove home, curled up in bed and slept till 11. It was delightful.

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What will the world be like without West Wing? I'm not sure, but I don't think I will like it. Somehow the idea of me blowing a small fortune and purchasing the entire seven year series on DVD and spending months captive in my apartment watching it from start to finish isn't beyond the realm of possibility...

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Tomorrow begins day one of hell week. Not so looking forward to it.

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I sent out all of my Mother's Day cards on Thursday seeing that I won't have any time to do that this week. When I told someone at work this, they asked me how many mothers I have.

I sent cards to:

• My mom. Duh.
• My grandmother. Duh again. I also crossed out "Grandma" wherever it was mentioned on the card and replaced it with "Memere." I also managed to practice the Sprinkel tradition of underlining all of the important and meaningful parts, such as "unconditional love," "kindness and compassion" and "I love you." I've got to make up for breaking her heart and living six hours away somehow...
• My godmother.
• My sister-out-of law. Somehow I restrained myself from putting the "sister-in-law" in quotes on the card...
• And my aunt Sa-Sa who never had kids. Who knew they made cards for such situations? My own mother jokingly accused me of trying to weasel my way into my aunt's will. Jeez. I swear I'm just trying to be nice and it has nothing to do with ensuring that I continue to receive Coach bags and nice jewelry for future Christmases and birthdays. I promise. But in all non-snarky honesty, it has everything to do with that while my cousins and I are graduating from college, getting married, having kids - bringing our parents much pride and joy - my aunt is missing out. And I feel for her so much as her situation is one of my bigger fears in life.

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Time for Sunday night TV. I am even sitting on the couch to watch it to ensure that I do not fall asleep and miss Grey's Anatomy as I did while curled up in bed last week. Oh, and there's also the fact that I am nearly 100 percent positive that I managed to throw away my TV remote while cleaning my room awhile back. It's no wonder why I choose to clean the room so rarely - something important always inadvertently makes its way into the trash.

Vince Vaughn in Training...

So I made a life-changing discovery last night. One that will undoubtedly alter the course of my existence - one that I can never take back - one that left me hungover and sleeping in someone else's bed this morning.

Vodka tonics. When combined with an open bar, a heavy-handed bartender and a comfy hotel room to crash in - it's a recipe for disaster or what I choose to call: the most fun I've had in a long time.

Obviously, I've always known that vodka tonics existed - I just never chose to try them. And, quite frankly, I'm pleased that I made it 24 years into my life before I took the first sip. Because honestly, my college years would have been an even bigger blur than they already are. They are the equivalent of alcoholic water. And for that reason, I think I drank the same number of them as years I have lived. And that is where the story begins.

Mariya and Will got married yesterday. And with marriage comes a reception. And booze. And dancing. And what can only be described as buckethead Liz.

Cute couple:

I began the night conservatively - with beer. I was afraid of the bartender who was pouring 3/4 liquor to mixer drinks at 5 o'clock in the evening. Somehow this fear subsided during the course of the evening and I switched to Cosmos and fuzzy navels and then - the almighty vodka tonic.

Granted, it's all a bit hazy but over the course of the evening I started ordering drinks in multiples of two, instigated a conga line and was told by numerous people where the afterparty was and that my presence was required. I somehow changed out of my dress and continued the post-open bar festivities by chugging budlights and smoking Marb Reds in a hotel room. Classy, aren't I?

I awoke this morning in that very same hotel room (granted, not the one I reserved and paid for). My only clues as to the previous night's activities was the burning sensation in my lungs and the fact that I was not in my bed. I returned to "my room" to find my purse, all of my belongings and subsequently I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Amazed at my lack of a hangover, I slowly realized that as the minutes and hours since I awoke passed, the worse I began to feel. There is only one explanation for this phenomenon - yes, folks, I was still drunk. It is not the first time this has happened and I am quite sure it won't be the last. We checked out and I headed on my way.

Somehow - I allowed Caroline to convince me that spending the afternoon at the Save Darfur rally on the Mall was the perfect cure to my hangover.

And somehow, I believed her when she said that the rally organizers said that Federal Triangle was the closest metro stop to the location of the rally. A few miles of walking later, we arrived at the Rally. And three hours of sitting on the grass surrounded by thousands of well-intentioned but fashion inhibited people later, I could then say that I have seen George Clooney, Al Sharpton, Chris Rock, Russell Simmons and many other quasi and legitimately famous people. Albeit, from very very far away.

Here, he's clearer on the big screen (and yes, since I spent the afternoon watching the speakers on the screen because they were too far away, it was basically the equivalent of watching it on CNN in the comfort of the casa, but I digress)

I also own two more t-shirts and managed not to throw up on unsuspecting and disoriented tourists. All in all, I would call it a productive afternoon.

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Friday was intern's last day. I will mourn her absence when I am once again drowning in phone calls, emails and pain in the ass people.

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Thursday night was the big "event that shall not be named." Just as Harry Potter's foe tries to kill him at every opportunity, the ETSNBN wreaks havoc on my health and happiness. It truly is the embodiment of evil.

However, apparently it's a chilly day in hell, pigs have taken to the skies and a rather obese lady is performing vocal exercises. The ETSNBN - really wasn't all that bad. Actually, one might even call it "overly successful" or say that it "went off without a hitch." I'm still in what most would call a state of shock. The event really was just too easy. In previous years, we've had to beg, plead, pester and harass people to attend. And on that note, we were selling tables up until the night of the event. This year? We sold out two weeks prior to the event. SOLD OUT, as in maximum capacity - as in - made TONS of money. As in - made Man and Woman Boss VERY happy. Seeing that there is a direct correlation between their happiness and mine, I emerged from Thursday night pretty darn happy myself.

Going into the event - I was on high alert. The fact that we had sold out, I was able to leave work by 7 p.m. on Wednesday and had no reason to get to work early on Thursday morning seemed too good to be true. Let me give you an idea of my state the night before last year's ETSNBN:

Setting: My car, driving down the George Washington Parkway
Time: 9 p.m.
Physical State: Pit in stomach, tears rolling down cheeks, general hysteria and anxiety

At this point, stressed would have been the understatement of the century. My hatred for my job was unparalled. I had already prayed to God numerous times requesting that he spare my life and allow me to make it through the next day. I had hundreds of nametags to stuff. I was an absolute mess.

Fast forward to this year:

Setting: My car, driving down the George Washington Parkway
Time: 7 p.m.
Physical State: Windows down, music blaring, I'm singing along to the music rather loudly

I have no work to bring home with me. I feel so relaxed that I decide to reward myself and get Chipotle. I am truly a different person than I was a year ago.

So basically, the event went without incident, we made lots of money, we had 660 people in attendance, I retained my sanity and at the end of the night: I went to the bar with my co-workers and got home at 2 a.m. If every event could go this smoothly, I would consider staying an event coordinator.

Addendum: I just realized that I have three events in a three-day time span next week. Now I am freaking out.

BAH.

Boozercise

I will spare you the details of the wine-induced exercise video routine performed at 11:30 p.m. last evening, because, jeez, I am sounding more and more like a wino. However, the good news is that I managed not to fall off the exercise ball or otherwise injure myself with the weights (though the movement of the crunches was giving me the spins).

So during my two hour commute this morning (that's right, TWO hours), I couldn't stop listening to Bad Day by Daniel Powter. For those of you who are unfamiliar, it's the song that they play each week on American Idol when someone is voted off. And while I am not ashamed to watch the show (since there are tens of millions of other losers around the country tuning in), I am a bit ashamed to admit that I may have tried to vote in the past. Hey, give me a break, it was last season and I really wanted Bo or Carrie to win. I never actually got through.

Anyways, back to this song. It's catchy and I find it to be a bit relevant to my life. As the song says, I am in desperate need of a blue sky holiday. And where is the passion when I need it the most? I think that's what the main problem with my life is at the moment. It's without passion. An old friend called me out of the blue this morning to grab coffee because she was in the area. While I was sitting there and talking to her about past memories, our current situations and where we hope to go in the future, I realized that seeing her was just what I needed. She is one of the reasons why I was so involved at Maryland - she's always been one of my biggest champions and an incredible person to use as a sounding board. Just seeing her brought me back to that time when everything was going right and it seemed like the world was mine for the taking.

After our conversation - I'm going to really try to figure out what will make me happiest and find a way to make it happen. And, most importantly, I am going to view the unknowns as opportunities and not as liabilities. I have the opportunity to completely change my life if I choose. I can make it into whatever I want. So, with that, I am imposing an injunction on any bitching, moaning or whining about my job in my blog. No more. Here's to a new outlook.

Hangover sandwich

I learned a tough lesson this morning - whatever you do, do NOT count your chickens before they've hatched. In this case, the chicken was the improbability that Verizon would be able to fix our phone/internet by start of business this morning. And, well, the unborn chick did not hatch. It died, a horrible, dizzy, lightheaded death. As a result, I was at my desk at 8:45 this morning.

Last night I pretty much behaved like a kid who is sooooo confident that an impending snowstorm will cancel school the next day that she doesn't do her homework. When she wakes up in the morning, there is but a lone snowflake on the ground and she is screwed. Enter the wine.

I picked up a few bottles yesterday at lunch in preparation for a laxed night at home. After my less than rigorous afternoon, I was looking forward to continuing the laziness and plopping myself on the couch, avec the laptop and without a worry. And I did this well, very well and with wine! Lots of wine! I intended to cut myself off at a bottle, the second bottle was to be saved for a future couch potato marathon. However, after calling my work number oh, about 12 times and being completely overjoyed that it remained broken, I did a daring thing: I popped the cork on the second bottle. "Oh there's nooooo way that they will have it fixed on time. I will at least get to go in late. Another glass of wine won't kill me. How awesome will it be to watch Ellen in my PJs on the company's dime tomorrow! Etc. Etc. Etc."

While the problem wasn't fixed when I went to bed (i.e. passed out) around 11, it sure was when I woke up parched and dazed at 4:45 a.m. I knew I was in for trouble. And the remedy in this kind of situation? Hangover sandwich. Off to Dunkin Donuts. STAT.

So with a bagel sandwich in one hand and a large iced coffee in the other, I felt much more prepared to start my day. And the dizziness and slight woozy feeling melted away midway through the drive. Either I was finally sobering up or the food and caffeine was helping. Regardless, I felt much better when I pulled into the garage.

This really caused me to think about alternative advertising campaigns that Dunkin Do' and McD's could implement. Forget the smiling happy people eating their Egg McMuffins, they need to show someone with bed head, smeared mascara and toussled clothing digging into the greasy goodness. Perhaps then flash to the same person a mere hour later walking into work all put-together with a smile on their face. The slogan could be something like, "When nights are rough, we make the morning smooth." Or something equally as cheesy. Yup, I'm a dork.

Revenge, it is sweet

"I didn't are u 2night just 2ou 2night. Just earlier"

That, my friends, should give you an idea of my Friday night. In a long line of drunken text messages, this one is definitely one of my finest. I have no idea what I was trying to say as apparently, I had lost all command of the English language. I could bore you with the details of the evening - the eight Long Beaches (Long Islands with cranberry instead of coke), the chain-smoked pack of cigarettes, the drunken cab ride home at the conclusion of which I shoved a bunch of ones at the taxi driver and said, "I have this much money," and judging by his very excited "thank you," means that I probably paid the man $20 for a $5 fare. From there - I've got nothing. I have no idea how I got into the house, got to bed or how I managed not to get sick or the spins. But, against all odds, I emerged from the wild n'crazy night unscathed. When I woke up on Saturday morning, I felt fine. As in, no hangover. Nada. I am not sure how I consumed a gallon of hard liquor without any consequences, but I did. And for that I am thankful.

Have you ever seen Final Destination? You know, the movie where the people who cheat death in one situation end up dying later on? Yeah, I have a bad feeling that while I skirted a hangover Saturday, I will pay the next time I see the bottom of too many pint glasses at the bar. But, I guess until then, it's smooth sailing.

So back to revenge. Saturday night I was more than happy to head back to the casa after petsitting for a week. I couldn't wait to plant my ass on the couch, put my feet up and throw in a few loads of laundry. Heaven, or so I thought. It was lovely until the people downstairs decided to throw the party of the century. With absolutely pounding 90's dance music. At full volume, with people screaming and laughing as backup. Sure, we've had our share of parties, but in all fairness, we never play music and we are very careful about making too much noise. However, these people have pushed us too far. We are constantly subjected to their LOUD Latin music. At all hours of the day and night. And we have been very tolerant. We've never called to complain - chalking it up to thin ceilings/floors (you should hear the 500 pound children upstairs). But Saturday, I had had enough. I picked up my phone and dialed our rental office. After being informed that they didn't have after hours noise patrol, I dialed the MoCo police to file a noise complaint. The highlight of the call was when the dispatcher asked if the noise in the background was from the party. And it was. About ten minutes later, I heard the familar siren and about a minute later, beautiful, all-encompassing silence. And you know what, I haven't heard a peep from downstairs since. HA. HA HA. HA! Sweet, sweet silence.

Friday

Yesterday began as a quite horrendous day. It concluded with me at the bar with four of my more fun co-workers until 9:15 p.m. With the SoCo Lime shots and the beer, the day ended well. Before the bar, we had a company bowling outing for which I almost sent everyone to the wrong alley. Thankfully, I caught the mix-up at the last minute and thus was not subject to 30 uppity reporters and advertising reps lost and in search of beer. I played two games and had FIVE strikes. Of course, I also had about three times as many gutter balls. There's that whole fleeting moments of brillance thing for ya.

So I went home to feed the hungry dogs, shut the doggy-door and collapse into a beer and SoCo induced coma. Got a hysterical (as in crying) call from a not-to-be-named friend at about 1 a.m. I woke up thinking it had to be like 4 a.m. and felt old when I realized the true time. Tried to counsel her. Went back to sleep.

Woke up this morning and realized that I had already worn virtually everything that I had brought petsitting with me. Decided on a very-not-practical short sleeve black t-shirt, jeans and flip flops (only shoes I had there with me). Felt like an idiot when walking to my car in the 40 degree weather. Felt smarter when I realized I had a suit blazer in my trunk. And that I have nice heels at work. So, I went from looking like an utter freezing tool to a put-together blazer-wearing fashionista. Or at least, a less-idiot-looking normal person.

For some reason, today started off on a much more chipper note, and I walked down to Safeway to get a Starbucks sugar-free vanilla skim latte. Best. Drink. Ever (non-alcoholic that is). As I'm walking over to grab some yogurt for breakfast I hear, "Good morning beautiful." I look around confused because honestly, while my outfit is infinitely more acceptable than the previous version, my hair is still wet and I am not wearing any make-up. To say that I look beautiful is the overstatement of the century. I spot a Hostess delivery man re-stocking the shelves. He's smiling at me and says, "have a wonderful weekend gorgeous." I smile rather skeptically back at him and wish him the same. While I think he must have eaten a few too many twinkies, it was a nice way to start off the morning. I wonder if my bosses called ahead and paid him to do it...

So anyways, today will hopefully be a low-key day. I'm heading out a bit early to meet VP lady for dinner and then off to Caddie's for Janer's birthday. I have a feeling that this is going to be a most ridiculous evening. And I cannot wait.

The Morning After...

So as you all can probably see below, I had quite the night last night. As I poured out the leftover wine this morning, slightly repulsed and a bit unsteady on my feet, I had to laugh. Yesterday would be what most people would consider a relatively horrific day at work. I swear more and more bad things keep happening - things that are not my fault but initially put myself under scrutiny. When it all has played itself out, I am vindicated and found to be without fault. But, it's exhausting, especially when it happens several times in two days. I hate having to defend myself, my work, the actions and decisions I make a million times a day. It causes me to doubt myself - gives me so much insecurity - and greatly affects not only my happiness, but my ability to do my job.  I think I've managed to already ruin Man Boss' trip to Park City and it's only Wednesday morning. But I guess that's what he gets for having his BlackBerry on him at all times.

Anyways, back to last night. I managed to consume about two bottles of red wine, give or take a bit. Pretty soon I felt myself relaxing, putting the nightmares of the past two days behind me and enjoying the book I was reading (Bitter is the New Black). Then American Idol came on the TV and I danced. Like nobody was watching. And no one was, well, except for the dogs. It's alright, they already think I am crazy due to the rather lengthy one-sided conversation I had with them when I got home. I'm not sure if that is weirder or makes me more crazy than when I talk to myself outloud (I do it all the time). If anything, it's proof positive that if I don't find myself a beau, I will indeed become the crazy old cat lady, wandering aimlessly around and talking to myself.

So I drank and laughed and talked on IM and texted and then passed the fuck out. At like 9:30. Sounds awesome right? Yeah, except for the fact that I woke up at about 4:45 this morning. And could not go back to sleep. So I watched the news and am very informed about the current state of world affairs and the weather forecast for the next five days. And that a family survived for 17 days in their RV in like four feet of snow in Oregon. With a TV. So they watched the coverage of the rescue efforts to find them. Crazy. (initial thought was - they have a TV with reception, why don't they have a cell phone?)

Anyways, I now have faith that this week might not be horrible. Dinner and hanging out with Mike tonight and then dinner with VP lady on Friday followed by Janer's birthday celebration in Bethesda. Good times.