Boxes. Boxes are everywhere. Full of items that are necessary. Full of items that are necessary junk. Full of just junk. They're piled behind my desk like a heap of legos, just begging to be arranged in some sort of fort. It's rather Tetris-ish. A hodge-podge of brown cardboard that fits together just so.
We're moving offices as befits the image that we want to portray. Many of us are sad about it, and see it as forgetting the roots of the community that launched us from a semi-known to a well known. The old building is a conglomerate of brick and wood moldings, of hardwood floors and (slippery) stairs. It has character, charma and uniqueness. If only it had been able to grow with the business.
The new office is...nice. Very nice. Completely new everything - walls, floors, windows, furniture, space. It's so *office* though. Cubed and sterile throughout. I do appreciate the extra storage (vital to our department), the bestowment of an actual office, and the safe parking lot. The personal quirkiness will just have to added in bits and pieces, I guess. The next few weeks will be weird. A finding of that perfect mixture between buttoned-down and alternative attitude.
And how much fun is the fact that I'll be moving apartments at the end of the month? Change is in the air...
Now if you'll excuse me, I must shut down and pack up the computer.
After lying in bed for 40 minutes in the all-out effort to fall back to sleep, I've given up. So, what am I doing instead? Drinking cowboy coffee, searching online for a suitable domicile for when my current lease is over, cursing the uber-antibotics that my normally smart doctor placed me on, and writing all about it to you lovely people.
On the subject of antibiotics, am I the only one that somehow feels worse when prescribed something that's supposed to make one feel better? "You're going to feel so much better - more energy, etc.! It'll be great!" Great as in massive headaches, lethargy, and nausea? Excellent...mission accomplished, doc.
Through the !fun! side effects, though, this weekend was pretty groovy. Friday night I sweated my ass off while preparing for a gig, only to realize that they wouldn't let me back in because my name somehow didn't make it to the list. Which was fine. by. me. Went home and chilled like an ice cube in an Eskimo's freezer.
Saturday I drove Miss TreeHugger out to Ft. Worth for a hair appointment, and then we tooled around downtown F-Dub for a few hours. I *love* that part of Fort Worth - so pretty, well thought out, and so much to do. If I worked there, I'd definitely stay in one of the lofts. Funny how F-Dub beats out Dallas in the "big-city feel, vibrant, pulsing downtown" area.
Sunday started around, oh, 1am or so, when I pinged awake and got the urge to clean. Don't ask - I have no idea why it happens. Dropped back off around 3ish, woke up at 8 and finished off everything - laundry, closet organizing, kitchen, sweeping. Afterwards, caught the Rangers game with some buds. And even though Teixeira didn't play due to his designated hitter status (and thusly I didn't get to drool as much), I don't consider the game a total wash due to the fantastic save by Gonzales on the first base line. Yowza - that was good baseball. (Regrettably, the rest of the game wasn't nearly as stunning - the boys lost it 8-3.)
Ooh. Just remembered something else to research right now - Teixeira beefcake photos. Ah, there's nothing like coffee, duplexes for rent, and baseball butt early in the morning.
Standing in line at the local convenience store, I was second in line to a man that was quite obviously down on his luck. He had a public intox ticket in one hand, a liter of gatorade in the other, and was trying to buy four packs of cigarettes, to no avail. As the line behind us steadily grew, he and the clerk drove each other nuts trying to understand what the other was saying, and due to the fact that the poor man didn't seem to be able to count his money very effectively or understand that 4 packs of smokes and a drink cost roughly $18. All in all, really, only 5 minutes passed by. But, the people behind me grew frustrated, with one guy storming out and another yelling, "Hey, buddy - we're all in a hurry here. Get moving."
I've been kicking myself in the head for the rest of the afternoon. Not only did I not offer to pay for his purchases (and hopefully save him some dough he could have used on food), but I didn't stand up for him when the dickhead with his arms full of Dr. Pepper and beef jerky started yelling. The situation was a little sad until that point, and it grew monstrously uncomfortable after Mr. Impatient opened his yap. The only thing I did was tell him (and the clerk) to take his time, to which I heard a massive collective sigh from the line.
Really, have we become so rushed and self-important that we can't allow someone that's down on their luck a little courtesy? Yes, he may have been tipsy, may have needed a shower, and may have needed to buy a good sandwich instead, but dammit... he also needs a little kindness now and then from perfect strangers.
I can't believe how callous we - collectively, as a society - have become today. And I feel completely ashamed that I didn't do more.
Sometimes, it's *not* the little things that matter. It's the big things, and in large doses, that are better.
Deathgrip on the doorknob notwithstanding, the weekend pulled me out the door by the hair and flung me around a bit a dog's chew toy before I was allowed to relax a touch and take a breather.
It's written in the Event Planner's Commandments that ye shall not have an event without something going wrong thrice, anywhere from 24 to 2 hours before said event. But, c'est la vie, it was good for what it was, and no one can say I didn't do my job. People had fun, and there was plenty for all.
Follow an outdoor event in the Texas heat with a quick shower and a dash to a country club for a wedding reception for a nice dose of going from 100mph to 5mph. It was very nice, though it took a while (and a gin and tonic) to calm down from the beginning of the day. Great music and dancing, some interesting memories from people I haven't seen in ten years, etc., etc. The usual wedding stuff. Plus, my fella was tre' sexy. Rawr. (And no, wise arses, that wasn't due to the typical female hormonal response to weddings.* He'd be teh hawt in a burlap sack.)
Sunday brought that ulcer-inducing fun known as "introducing your S.O. to your family". I wasn't worried about him making a good impression at all, but more of the "dear God, please let my family behave themselves. PLEASE." persuasion. Through a fluke, not only did he get to meet (deep breath) the pops, the sister, the stepmom, the grams, the Neo-Con uncle, the twin brothers, the step grandparents, the stepsister, and the stepsister's arm candy, but also the moms. I owe him a large bottle of alcohol for taking that all in stride. Either that, or some hours-long nookie.
Afterwards, we headed to the 'burbs for more grilling, feasting and friends fun. It's completely amazing how you can throw a bunch of adults into a pool and watch the years melt away. I haven't been that entertained by watching pool volleyball in a long time...if ever.
So, that's that. Yes, I'm alive, and yes, I plan to take some days off soonish to recharge the crack monkey batteries. And as a throwback to the Mad Libs post below, I've ___(verb)____ that ____(noun)_____ that's been _____(verb)_____ me, so I guess we'll ____(verb)_____ if the _____(plural noun)______ have been ____(verb)_____ or not. (I promise to fill in the blanks - for both - after it's all said and done.)
*Why do most women fawn and moan and get all riled up for marriage after going to a wedding? I don't get it, but I guess we'll just add that to the list of things that make me an atypical woman. (First and second being no makeup and a strong hatred of day long shopping excursions, respectively.)
So, Wednesday was fun. Found out that friend of mine is an even bigger flake than originally thought. Flakiness is fine in the forget-birthday-too-tired-to-go-out-whoops-I-went-here-instead-of-there- what's-that-word-again regard. But, when it starts affecting your life personally and professionally, it's time to take a step back and analyze what's making you so flaky. And then, quit doing it, because you're going to shoot yourself in the foot repeatedly until you do so.
I think we're all smart enough here to realize I'm talking about substances. I have *no* problem with people doing what they want to do. Want to shoot heroin*? Fine. Snort a line of coke*? Have at it. Drink yourself to oblivion? Enjoy. Inhale a massive THC cloud? Go for it, and drink some water for the cottonmouth afterwards. Just don't expect any sympathy from me if you end up a.) broke from your habit, b.) screwing up your life professionally, or c.) alienating your friends and family.
And please: don't think I'm being a conservative hard ass on this. I've done d.) all of the above in my life, and thankfully I was young enough and grew enough smart enough to correct it. Being young and stupid is never an excuse, though. (And neither is being old and stupid, for that matter.)
The first years out of high school were rough on me. I barely graduated due to skipping school to hang out with my boyfriend to smoke pot. We moved in together after I left/got kicked out of my mother's house. I ended up working three jobs at once to support both of us since he never felt like working and had developed a massive (secret) coke habit. We were constantly broke, often living on only $10 a week between the two of us for food and gas. Electricity and water were constantly being shut off. I had to take out a loan to have surgery, only to have the pain pills for afterwards stolen and sold by the boyfriend. Most of my furniture and CDs ended up being pawned to either pay a bill or support his habit. My family and I had rifts larger than the Grand Canyon.
I was blind to everything, especially to what I thought was a healthy relationship. The final straw was when the boyfriend disappeared with my car and all our cash for a day and lied about it (he said he was in jail, of all places). It was a huge moment in where I looked at my life, and saw a pathetic girl clinging to vestiges of a long forgotten puppy love. I saw a life of constant struggle with no possibility of getting better. I literally saw the end of my life, and it wasn't pretty, because it had gotten so bad I was hoping for it.
That was the moment where I decided to never let a substance rule my life, whether through my doing (pot) or another's (coke). I may still drink, and I may still smoke a bowl here and there, but dammit if I'll ever let it affect my career, my dreams, or the ones I love ever again. Many of you may wonder why I throw myself into life, doing to much or working to much or driving my self insane with obligation after obligation. The answer is simple. I live too much now because I didn't live enough before.
This is why is pains me to see people waste their lives on drugs and alcohol**. It's also why I became so angry the other night when my friend revealed how much of a flake he's become. I have not been that angry in a long time, and it hurt that it was directed toward someone I hold dear. I've been thinking for the past few days about why my temper rose so high, and writing it all down has provided somewhat of a relief, because while I realized that my past is still somewhat affecting my life, I can still trust and love and cherish people. That's the biggest catharsis of all.
*Regardless of what the trends have been/are/will be, I will never, ever do or understand the allure of these drugs. That goes double for crack and meth.
**Mind you, not the random night out here or there, but multiple nights in a row, week after week? Find something better to do already.
So many images from this past weekend. So many memories to cherish; some mundane, some worldly, some sweepingly emotional.
It shouldn't take a holiday(ish) to remind one of the good things in life. I hope you and yours have cherishable moments every day.
Special thanks to: - Half-yards - Dart games - Davish grins - Mikey chuckles - Barrett innuendos - Brake shops, for letting me realize how real my knowledge is of the coche. - Final games in major sports arenas (which sadly but hearteningly remind me of small town rodeos.) - Drum circles - Watching the Little Bros take on their own personalities con mucho gusto. - Bike tubes that hold air - The dishwasher - Breakfast - Cooking shows - Swimming - Laughter in someone's eyes when viewing a dragonfly perched atop your head. - 20% dog; 80% stuffed animal - Reflections of fireworks in the glass facade of a 40-story building - The Be-Good Tanyas
:::My juice has questions::: The cap on the mandarin/carrot juice I bought this a.m. had a question on the inside: "Would you cheat on your boyfriend or girlfriend with a supermodel?" Is juice trying to measure the moral fiber of humanity now? What's next? Broccoli asking if I'd rather lie to my mom or to a priest?
:::Mumble, mumble, what?::: Hysterical music video for Pearl Jam fans. Or PJ haters. It's equally good.
:::Books I wish my Mom had read me::: Or, erm, not.
