Thermostat Woes

We office in a rather old building downtown. It's been a car dealership, a radio station and who-knows-what-else since the early 1900's. Our department is designed as a ring of offices around a central cube area. My space (you can't call it a cube since it's triple the size of a normal cube and is stuffed full of shelves and boxes) is on the outside of the cubes, right by three of the offices.

One of the offices is an unoccupied archive room that happens to be freezing cold, and its door opens right next to my area. Can't shut off the vent, because it has no vent - just a large (read: 1-foot diameter) air shaft tube that juts inside, plus windows that love to let cold air seep in. The second is my jefe's office. She's smart...she shut off her vent completely, so her office is cool, yet tolerable. (Bless the intelligent ones.)

The last is an office that must have been built in hell. No matter how cold it is outside, or how low the thermostat is set, it gets swelteringly hot overnight. It's as if little demons are using it as a nocturnal home base for their marshmallow roasts and furnace testings.

Hence, when occupier of said office gets in, he turns on the air conditioner to cool down his office. It was 36 degrees outside this morning when I got in and felt the A/C kicking at a balmy 55. My nipples probably won't ever be able to relax again due to perma-frost. When I went to visit his office, I was swaddled in my scarf, clutching a cup of hot cocoa and chattering my teeth through azure lips.

We made a pact: he turns off the A/C and I won't turn on the heat. Which will work. Now that I have permanently hard nipples, the constant wearing of the scarf will be both warm and a method of disguise. I feel rather like a sexy Bob Cratchit with a fabulous sense of style.


I DO believe in fairies!

Due to hefty doses of tea, vitamin C and sleep over the weekend, the bug is on its way out. Thank goodness. Being sick is the worst. On the flip side, now I can go to work tomorrow. Joy.

I'd forgotten how soothing chamomile tea is. In fact, I just finished a cup, and it hit me like a freight train. So, goodnight, all. Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.


Wrench Monkey

Even though hungover and battling off a potential case of swollen tonsils, I had the best time this morning. I caught a glimpse into the world of brotherly/male bonding over car repair, and it was a blast.

My roommate and numerous others can vouch that my brakes have sounded horrible over the past month. The front brakes were replaced a year ago and a just a little dirty, but the back brakes have never been changed in the 82K life of my car. So, the Pops and the Uncle offered to help me change the back brakes today. We didn't take the car for a drive beforehand to listen to the sounds; we just got crackin' on the job.* (This will be important later.)

Turns out the back brakes are fine for the next 10k miles. Kind of odd, considering the squealing I've heard, so we checked the front brakes, too. They were perfect. A definite head scratcher. We put the wheels back on the car and took it for a drive to try to determine the noise. NOT ONE DAMN SQUEAL. Murphy's Law.

Fine by me. I can save and/or go shopping with the 100 bucks I had set aside for the repair. But man, it was a really great time getting my hands dirty and learning something new. Pops and Uncle were great, explaining each part, how it should look in good working order, and the signs/noises to be really concerned about. I'm not a total babbling eejit when it comes to cars, but I had no clue what brakes really even looked like or how all the components came together. And during this whole time we were laughing our asses off and shooting the shit.

What a fantastic way to start the morning. Wake up pissed and hungover, spend three hours in a garage getting dirt under my fingernails, and leave with a little bit more knowledge, some good belly laughs and a whole lotta love in my heart. My cup was refilled this morning.

*A note to the ladies: When getting your tires changed or rotated, insist that the garage tighten the lug nuts by hand. The last place I went apparently had the air wrench set to tighten way too far, and it took half a can of WD-40, a lot of muscle straining by the Uncle, and three different tire irons to get the darn things off. I would have been completely screwed if I had to change a flat on the side of the road.**

**And if you don't know how to change a tire by yourself, learn. Heck, I'll teach you.

Shoulda bet on the dominoes...

Poker night was fun. It was definitely a sausage party, as there were 11 males to our paltry 4 females. My girls and I handled ourselves well amidst the testosterone. Not well enough to win the poker, though, unfortunately. Looks like the vibrator is going to have to wait. (Should've bet on the dominoes, dammit.)

In other news, a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup is going to be thrown in the face of the chick that passed along the crud to me. People, listen: If you are sick...Stay. Home. Especially if you have a temperature...Stay. Home. Going through an entire box of Kleenex in one sitting? Stay. Home! It's a novel concept, I know.

So the crud has settled into my throat. Granted, the hangover from last night's debauchery isn't helping, but I'm right on the cusp of where it could be really bad in a few hours. And while missing a few days of work sounds pretty nice, tonsils the size of golf balls and a knifestabbingly painful throat do not. Cross your fingers, clap your hands and believe in the wellness fairies, folks.



After the buds showed up unexpectedly, this is how the convo went tonight...

Grunt. Me have woman friend. Me must act like prick. Me must be dad, uncle and godfather all rolled into one. Me must talk drunken shit to people me don't know. Me must drag woman friend by hair and embarrass shit out of her. Grunt.



This is not an invitation, but...

Well, the week and a half dumping regrets have set in, and my fingers are just itching to call the ex. It's not going to happen, though. (All you feminists out there can breathe easy.)

It's not that I miss him at all...I miss the sex. Getting earth-shattering, thigh-quivering nookie on a regular basis has left me spoiled. I feel like an adolescent boy with the DTs. Unfortunately, my first vibrator (Eddie and the Batteries) was sadly lost in the move from apartment to house over a year ago.

After the paycheck comes in this week, I'll be dragging my roommate to the local adult playthings store to help me buy a substitute schlong. (She needs one, too. If we don't get these soon, our water bill is going to be through the roof.) Nothing is like the feel of skin on skin, but a buzz toy will do nicely for now.

And I don't know about you, but I have never been in the local 24-hour porn store during the daytime (or sober). I get the strange sensation I wouldn't be as pleased with my purchases in that scenario. Thus, Friday looks like it may have a trip to the ATM, Sam's, the liquor store and a sex shop...all in one day!!!!

Mama would be so proud...sniff.


Whole Lotta Nothin'

This has been such a lazy weekend. It's wonderful. Nothing pressing to do, nothing much going on. Currently, I have all the lights turned out and shades drawn to make the house as dark as possible while watching Alien for a good scare. On board after that is Aliens. (It's a freak-yourself-out-with-sci-fi Sunday morning/afternoon.) Then there may be a frothy bubble bath or a long walk. Or both. Or nothing. It's so rejuvenating to have no plans whatsoever and move through the day at a lackadaisical pace.

Oops...commercial's over. Time to joyfully clutch a pillow in terror. Toodles!


Being a Good Girl...For Once

Even though I claim "recovering Catholic" as my religion, I still practice Lent. Last year, I did what I had done every subsequent year beforehand. From midnight Fat Tuesday to Easter Sunday, no more:

  • Sweets (included any candy, ice cream, soda in my adult beverages, or sweetener in my tea or coffee. Nothing refined sugar-based.)
  • Junk food (a pain in arse when you only have 10 minutes to get lunch. Dinner was much anticipated for 5 1/2 weeks.)

It went to a new level in 2004. Not only did I give up the above for Lent; for other non-religious reasons I also gave up:

  • Smoking, of which I've been a fan for many, many years.
  • Sex (Women stuff. Ordered to not have sex for 6 weeks. For someone with a hair-trigger sex drive, that's not a welcome suggestion. At. All.)

Note to self: it's a bad idea to give up all vices at once cold-turkey. Needless to say, I caved on two of them before time was up. 10 days before E-Day, as a matter of fact. I'll leave you to guess which ones.

So, I'm looking for suggestions this year. Two is probably the most I can handle (as learned in '04). But, I've noticed the absence of something that's either a habit or a crutch becomes a habit in itself. Over the years, I weaned myself more and more from "badness", in either body or mind. It's crazy how it's so easy to adapt to something that saps you mentally or physically, but leaving it behind can be the hardest thing you've ever had to do.

I have plenty of ideas on deck, but all suggestions are welcome. And no, I'm not giving up sex this year.



Just had a drunken parade judge try to set me up. On a blind date. On our busiest day of the year. While watching titty dancers. 'Cause apparently I might just be the perfect woman - single, no kids, never married, and busy all the time with work. 'Cause guys don't like it when when a chick is around too much.

I really hate people somedays.

Time to channel that icky feeling into some candlelight goodness and post-protest drinks.


I carried a watermelon?

Most people would consider lil' ole me to be pretty intelligent. Not genius, mind you, but smart enough to carry on witty, intellectual conversation. I get plenty of practice since I gab all day long and half into the night. I can even carry on urbane prattle or lucid, well thought-out arguments with people I may despise, just 'cause I enjoy conversation.

So why in world do I get tongue-tied and stutter-faced around certain people? The brain works fine, it just won't connect to my mouth. It's rather like watching a horror movie - you KNOW that the buxom blond definitely SHOULD NOT run up the stairs and hide in the closet when the killer enters the house, but yelling at the screen can't change a thing.

Case in point:
Funny, Intelligent Person: blah, blah, insert witty remark here, blah, insert awesome life story here, blah, blah, asks question.
Moi: (neurons freeze, make tongue stick to roof of mouth like a dog eating peanut butter) Wowwwww. Cool.
Brain: What the fuck did you just say? I had a great response lined up for you. Where'd it go?
Moi (to myself): I know. I'm sorry. Please don't make my motor skills go away, too.
Moi (to FIP): Awesome.
*awkward silence*
Brain: That's it, bitch. I'm outta here.
*trips over a bar stool*

It's like when Baby tells Johnny she's at the sexy employee dance house because she carried a watermelon in Dirty Dancing. Only much worse, since I can't even form a complete sentence. Horrifying. Ack.

Next time I'm going to pretend I went temporarily deaf, and use hand signals and body language. The telling red blush may give it away though.

In other news...

Tree Hugger (she hugs, I swing), TheLil'estSis, TL'eS's boyfriend and I plan to participate in the candlelight vigil tomorrow night at the Kennedy Memorial. It's My First Protest(tm), and I have to say I'm feeling a bit excited.

That's the wrong word - let's say it's more of a sense of purpose that finally is getting used. All the vehemence I felt before the election whooshed out like a deflated balloon when I saw those states turning red. It's been hard to read about American political news because the nagging little "why bothers?" keep popping up in the back of my head.

This seems, though, like a renewed source of energy. It spoke to me in elegance. I can get behind this. I can remember and mourn the way this country I love used to be. I can remember and mourn the needless deaths associated with a needless war. I'll proudly light my candle to remember, and I'll proudly hold my chin up and state that I protest this inauguration. And I won't be alone.


Calgon needed

I take it back. I take it all back. For some reason, the crack monkey is rebelling and refuses to come out and play today...she just wants to sit in her tree and throw coconuts at the I.Q. deficient lumberjacks. (Bananas are too precious.)

Tuesdays are deadline days here at XYZBusiness, and today can just whisk itself on by, thank you very much. Between font problems, placement problems, email blast 911's, middle-manning, and general googly-eyedness, I'll never leave at a decent hour.

Even if I do get to leave, I'm a bit carless due to the fact my poor widdle ride is currently having it's guts checked. How in the heck does a heavy plastic bag (i.e. - camping tarp thick) get wedged IN the engine compartment, conveniently burning and melting right next to the passenger air intake? The fumes have been just lovely, that sublime mix of dizziness and nauseousness every bulimic model tries to achieve.

At least they caught a potentially major problem, though. Seems the engine valves were leaking oil and the spark plug tubes were shot to high heaven. Which probably explains the odd wetness I saw down in the deep recesses two days ago* and the jumpiness of the RPMs. But I ain't no certified mechanic.

Please. Send beer quickly. Or young Adonises willing to feed grapes. Either will help.

*Yes, that sounded gross. At least I'm talking about a car, though.


And she shall be called...

The entire reason for my (current) nickname* is upon us. I give you...Events Season.

Please excuse me if I seem a little cracked out over the next few months. It's completely natural, I assure you. See, I'm one of those people that thrive on having many, many things to do all at once. If there are only one or two things to accomplish in a day, it's rather boring. Ok, it's miserable. Being that we have 3 1/2 major events to plan, organize and execute in the next 5 months, my inner crack monkey is raring to go.

It serves two purposes:

1.) Keeps the job from being dull. This is the longest I have ever worked for one specific company, due to the fact that the others got droll so quickly. Nothing is ever the same at XYZBusiness, and boy-oh-boy, it's ever so much fun.

2.) It makes the days go by faster. Winter and spring speed right by, and before I know it, summer's here and we can start planning for next year. Because I'm not a crack monkey all the time, I do love the fact my favorite season coincides with the time to take things at a slower pace for a while. And then with fall comes the rev up for the next Events Season...and my inner crack monkey is happy again.

It's not a magical banana gumdrop land - there are the bad days as well. And the days that I still feel restless and want to start afresh somewhere else. But it soothes the savage monkey that ooh-eeh-aahs to the surface in the winter months.

Darn it...I really need a banana now. (Euphemism not intended.) Stupid imaginary banana gumdrops.

*Previous nicknames have included: babycakes, squirrel-baby-kid, punkin' and Funky Diva of Soul on Rye Hold the Mayo (don't ask).


Gold Lame' Goodness

A friend and I went to a bar last night to catch one of Dallas' best blues acts. He's a perennial favorite of local blues fans, magazines and newspapers - constantly nominated for yearly awards and, more often than not, winning them.

It was fantastic. The music alone would have been enough, but the atmosphere magnified it three-fold. There in the front was his entire family, cheering and clapping and dancing along; his son is the bass player in the band, and you can tell daddy's had a world of influence; his student came out to hear him play (and sat at our table since the place was PACKED); former drummers and friends were allowed to sit in for a couple songs; he was engaging and funny and full of life, and that translated to every person in the room.

And the music. Oh, the music. It pulled on your soul and made you laugh at the same time. The guitar solos reached a piercing poignancy, and when the keys kicked in you couldn't help but bob your head along. It's been a long time since I've seen a show that was completely fulfilling in every way, right down to the guy in the leather bomber jacket doing the white man's overbite and having a blast no matter how silly it may have looked. He felt it, and I think it'd be safe to say so did everyone else that walked through the doors last night.

Thanks, Junior Boy.


Square Peg. Round Hole.

And yes, that's a metaphor.

So, it's done. It's over. Life can go in the direction it was supposed to before the detour came along. With better airbags, knowledge of the warning signs, and a TollTag, hopefully my next travail will not be as heart-wrenching. Or not heart-wrenching at all. That'd be nice. (Sorry...I just went to my puppies-and-rainbows happy place.)

It may take a while to get accustomed to the new freedom my all-terrain life offers. But, it's going to be good. I can feel it. And damn, I'm going to save a lot of money on gas.



OK. Somebody please explain Anna Nicole Smith to me. 'Cause I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

"Wanna Viper?"
"Want some monnnnney?"
"Like my baaa-dy?"

I seriously want to take her aside, slap her repeatedly, check her into a program, and then put her on an acre of land with a house and electrified fence all around the property line. Or beat my head against the wall whenever her commercial comes on.

Sorry...just had to vent.


And the award goes to...

I'd like to thank:

  • the guy that decided to turn left from the middle lane,
  • the power-that-be that had mood swings powerful enough to supply North Texas with energy for the rest of the week,
  • and my ovaries, who decided to kick it in high gear five days early.*

It really wasn't *that* bad, and it's getting much better now that my fuzzy slippers are on. Most women have a shoe fetish - pumps, stilettos, and boots. I have a raging slipper fetish - pink cow, Marvin the Martian, Elmo, ballet Isotoners, and vacuum-the-house-then-go-buy-a-1/5th-of-Jack-Daniels style. You know the ones I'm talking about. And don't get me started on the mountains of flip-flops in the closet.

It's the slippers that make all the difference in the world. Had a bad day? Put on some slippers and get cozy. Had a good day? Put on some slippers and celebrate. Feeling a little goofy? Put on your cartoon slippers and go to the bar. Need a change? Buy a new pair of slippers. It's like crack (without the gaptooth/skin and bones side effect).

There could be worse escapism techniques, but man-oh-man I can't think of a better one. And now if you'll excuse me, Elmo needs a drink.

*Better early than late, though. And better late than never. Or something like that.



Do you ever get those tugs in life that say, "Hello?!? Go in THIS direction. And consequences be damned."

It applies everywhere. Job. School. Relationships. Downtown. Music. Grocery store lines. Hiking. Strangers. Life. And, the crazy thing is, when you follow that tug...everything is o.k. Consequences ARE damned.

It's a beautiful thing.

Yeah, so...um...Hi.

Well, here goes. The foray into the bloggers world has started. To be honest, I was starting to get tired of reading. Of watching. Of being a blog voyeur. It just seemed so...dirrrty.

So, enjoy. I can't promise every entry will be enlightening or mind bending (in the good way), but at least I'm a joiner now. And that's good. Right?

And those reading, shame on you. ;)