Shrove Tuesday

I woke up later than I wanted to this morning and remembered I had a 6:00am meeting, so I took a shower and busted ass to get here semi on time. When I didn’t see the right cars in the parking lot or the lights on in the conference room, I thought I had gone to the wrong building for the meeting… nope, the meeting is NEXT Tuesday. Ugh, I’m so stupid. Since I didn’t get ready at all, I just sorta feel sloppy. I mean, I look professional and my hair is up and I rarely wear make-up anyway, but I just don’t feel put together. Weird.

Moving on, as the title suggests, today is Shrove Tuesday; also known as Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday to you hedonistic types. Today marks the last day before the season of Lent, which happens to be my favorite Church season. And just so you know, Lent to us freaky Catholics is not just about giving something up, it’s not even required - common penitential practices can include prayer, fasting, and works of charity. (You didn’t know today was going to be so educational, did you.) Last year, I didn’t give anything up, per se, but went to Mass daily. This year, though, I am giving up dairy products. (C’mon, you didn’t actually think I would give up any real vices, like substance abuse, cursing, or reality television, did you?) When you think about it, though, it’s not going to be easy – especially for someone who loves cream food and cheese as much as I do. My reasons stem back to the whole golden calf and the Israelites being sent to the desert blah, blah, blah, thing. I won't bore you with the story or the details, just know it makes sense in my head and that’s all that really matters, bitches. But then again, that 6 am meeting today made sense in my head too - shit. Well, it will really be Fat Tuesday for me… I’m going to overindulge on pizza for lunch and nachos for dinner. And for dessert – Cadbury Mini Eggs. If crack were a candy – it would be these. Seriously, make a good Mardi Gras a great Mardi Gras and go purchase a bag – but make it a small bag because I don’t want you getting fat – I hate fat people… and Jews.

Mom, Dad... about the bills...

It was a very fun weekend and to be honest, I was pretty reserved. The whole water pipe fiasco ended up costing me much more than I anticipated and since any savings I’ve accumulated has pretty much been smoked, snorted, or used to bribe South American police officers, the ordeal was quite the financial burden. With money being a little tight, and us being way too cool to party at the Cro all night with free drinks, I didn’t go balls to the wall like usual. (You may or may not remember the last couple times I’ve drank free at the Crobar; two words: not pretty.) Also, since we were in “my city”, I sorta felt obligated to babysit the drunks… and drunk they were. Five women, two nights, countless drinks, numerous shots, and only one girl in tears and one credit card left in a cab – all in all, I’d say it was a success.

But, the bars are one thing; it’s easy for me not to drink. Shopping, however, is a whole ‘nuther vice. With me not having any self control and knowing my parents will offer to pay the damage expenses, and knowing I’ll take it because I have no pride, I dropped some serious numbers shopping. (Mr. Plastic, he's magic fantastic.) This morning, I made the mistake of looking at my statement online – So. Many. Charges. And although it could be the herpes talking, I am pretty sure the buyer’s remorse is making me ill

Unconventional Crushes

Kel and I went to Brokeback Mountain last night and I was very under whelmed. Although, I had no real expectations and am relatively ok with seeing male-on-male (the first aggressive ass job took me a little by surprise), I just didn’t think the film deserved the acclaim it’s received and as for a touching love story – it all seemed pretty corny. Plus, I know actual cowboys from Wyoming that’s not the correct dialect, which made the characters a little less believable to me. I dunno, maybe I just didn’t “get it”. But, I’m pretty well versed in the artsy-fartsy indie genre flicks and this one just seemed to be missing something. With that all said though, I’m glad I saw it.

I am so over this day, you have no idea. A few pals are coming into town so it should be a fun weekend. But before I leave, Friday’s Five Celebrity Crushes I Have

14) Derek Jeter (of whom I’ve been dating for over three years now)
38) Chris Kirkpatrick (N’Sync member and no, this is not a joke and yes, I have my reasons, and no, I don’t care if you think less of me)
17) Luke Wilson (ever since the movie Bottle Rocket and it was totally reaffirmed when I met him at a concert in South Dakota of all places)
42) Conan O’Brien (I know, another weird choice, but A) he’s tall and B) humor and wit are so fucking sexy)
23) Pamela Anderson (seriously, who wouldn’t fuck this woman!?)

I'm a star.

Wow, there were so many good blog ideas racing through my head this morning. As it stands now, I can think of none. In work news (snoozefest, I know), the big VIP meeting I have been slaving for went well yesterday. Although no one knew that I had done all the work, I was able to really turn on the charm when I presented a couple projects and I made quite an impression… and not the “you think those cans are real?” impression I usually leave men and women with. As a treat for a job well done, I am going to Brokeback Mountain tonight with one of my girlfriends. The guys are out of town and when the cat’s away, the mice will play.

I'm 25, thanks.

Fucking thirty. Do you even remember a time when thirty-years-old sounded old? I do – three weeks ago. It was three weeks ago when my first real friend turned thirty years old and since then, people in my life have been turning the big 3-0 as fast as taking a shit on a cold morning. I knew this day would come but I never anticipated the profound effect it has had on me. I was always the youngest in the family, the youngest student in the class, and the youngest among my friends so I’m used to people being older than myself and them hitting age milestones before me. For some reason, though, I am taking this getting older thing much harder than the people actually having the birthdays. It’s nothing a few sessions on the couch and a very hard prescription (one I don’t take just for fun) can cure. I thought turning 26 in August was difficult, it can only get worse before it get better because seriously - fucking thirty.

House For Sale by Owner

Well, one of my worst fears as a homeowner was realized this weekend. Yesterday afternoon, a pipe burst in my house and what’s worse, I didn’t know where my water shut-off was. I raced over to the neighbor’s and luckily, the daughter’s boyfriend came over and took care of it... but only after gallons of water had poured into my finished basement. What a nightmare.
*** On that note, I would personally like to give a Fuck You shout out to all of the people who argued with me when I said I didn’t want to buy a house, insisting it’s the smartest thing and that paying rent is throwing your money away. Oh, and I would also like you assholes to come over and clean up my basement.

Nobody stops at just one.

Against my better judgment, I went out last night with some work people. Against my better judgment for two reasons – one, I hate work people and two, I had about two hours of work unfinished for an 8 o’clock morning meeting. But, hey, it was only going to be one drink, right? (You would think I would’ve learned this lesson in college.) More people joined than I expected and of course, one pitcher led to another and I don’t think I need to tell you how this story ends. Not wanting to totally disregard the work I still had to complete, I made it to bed by 10:30, but not before setting my alarm for 3:00AM. So, I’ve been here just short of eight hours on the day (it’s almost noon for you math geniuses) and am nowhere near where I need to be to enjoy my weekend. I had planned on hitting up a museum exhibit and seeing a friend in Milwaukee tomorrow, but it looks like that’s out in lieu of working… fucking work.

I apologize for the same whiney shit day after day lately, but seeing as how my personal life is in the toilet and my professional life is suffocating my existence, there’s very little inspiration. My spirit is broken right now, but undoubtedly on the mend.

Anyway, here is Friday’s Five Movies I’ve Never Seen That People Seem To Freak Out Over When I Tell Them I Haven’t Seen The Movie:
25) Fargo
90) The Notebook
66) Fight Club
69) The Matrix
44) Million Dollar Baby

Thursday's nothingness.

Do you miss me? All eight million thousand fucking pounds of me? Yeah, thought so. I'll be back tomorrow. Luv ya in the L-U-V way Talon luved Taylor on last season's Laguna Beach. And to think I went almost the whole season without watching it and got sucked into a weekend marathon - damn you, Mtv.

02/14/06

Oh, is it Valentine's Day?? I guess I didn't notice.

In this light, you're really ugly.

This weekend was pretty fun. My friends and I met at my buddy’s place. I hadn’t planned on doing a lot of pre-partying, but with a fully stocked liquor cabinet just staring me in the face, it was hard to resist. Seriously, what dog doesn’t go for the piece of meat dangled in front of him/her? Ok, those creepy show-dogs probably don’t go for it, but let’s face it – I’m hardly a show-dog. Hmmm… that was even more self-insulting than I had anticipated. Needless to say, the drinks went down like water... two words: game on.

The club's doorman gave me the most evil look when I came stumbling up and even through my blurred vision, it was pretty clear he couldn’t wait to turn me away. I politely told him I was a guest, and by politely, I mean not at all, I’m pretty sure it was a slurred yell. My friends were just drunk enough to find this amusing and not be completely mortified.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that on the night, I A) made no friends whatsoever and B) will undoubtedly be invited back. I was drunk and feisty – a lethal combination in Nicoland. I decided it would be really fun to periodically call people out in the most insulting way possible… bad shoes, bad hair, ugly, you name it. (I’m not a total bitch, though, I have rules - I never insult people for things they have no control over – handicaps, malformations, naivety, etc.) At first, I insulted myself and my friends enough to make it lighthearted because I had to get the hosts and bartenders on board and on my side; after that, I knew most people would just have to suck it up. I should make note of the fact that I was not only running on liquid courage, but also on Michael courage. My friend, Michael, is about 240 lbs of solid mass, it also doesn’t hurt that he is quite good-looking (and somehow still hangs out with me – wtf? – oh wait, I’m great in the sack.). Had I not been in his company, I’m quite sure I would’ve gotten more verbal and physical rebuttals.

Eventually, I got bored with the whole being mean thing and we just drank, and when we got bored with that, decided to leave. I made a big scene as we left because A) I’m just that lame and B) I just don’t give a fuck.

Life's Not on Hold

I’ve got big plans for the weekend - monster truck rally, replace the linoleum in the trailer, and drinking beer with my dart league team. Oh, and right after that, I’m pretty sure I’ll be shooting myself. Actually, I don’t have too terribly much on the weekend’s radar. I will be working most of the day on Saturday, which I’m pretty sure is some sort of record or something and I definitely deserve an award or something. Saturday night, I’m “on the list” for the VIP room at some new club downtown. I’m not sure how it will rate on the fun meter, but I’m willing to give it a shot. Since I’ll be drinking for free, it surely can’t be all bad, “Bartender, I’ll have a Tangueray 10 & Tonic, please, light on the tonic.” I don’t think I’ll really know anyone but because of my uber important and fabulous status, I managed to weasel a couple of my friends’ names on the list, too, so I wont be totally alone in a sea of hipsters and wannabe’s. But it’s still official - I’m still a shell of the gal I once was a still long to be as tonight, I am planning a series of costly shopping trips to Menards/Lowe’s, Target, and Best Buy to purchase things for my house.

Have a great weekend. And if you hear something in the distance and see a rustling of leaves – it’s me, I’m watching you and yes, it’s in the creepy sort of way.

Work Fatigue

I haven’t really given a lot of detail as to why I am so viciously overworked as of late. The short of it is that someone screwed up and as a result, it jeopardized the status of the other engineer’s working Visa. Until the matter is resolved (and you know how fast the federal government works), she is not allowed to do any work – no e-mail, no phone, no nothing. Since I am the best engineer ever (and that we work so closely on most projects), her workload has fallen soley on me... such bullshit. To worsen the matter, most of the projects have a firm completion date of Feb 22nd – two weeks from today. So, while the other engineer is enjoying a PAID vacation, I’m being worked to death… such bullshit.

OMG!! Girls night out!!!

This weekend, I was officially a part of the biggest cliché ever – a boys poker night/girls night out. Ugh, it’s so totally cliché and lame that I am truly ashamed to have been a part of it. Plus, as a single gal, the whole ‘girls night out’ thing doesn’t quite carry the same significance. Although, it should be noted of the four non-single women, only one is actually married; the rest live in sin with their male partners, so they are hardly single by traditional means. I thought by meeting up with the crews later in the evening that it wouldn't be quite as bad, I was wrong. As shocking as it may be, on this particular night, I actually had a guy to pawn off on ‘the boys’ for the evening. I think he was happier to play poker with them than be just with me. Fair enough, it is me we’re talking about. I guess that makes me his friend wingman. Being a ‘duff’, I’m pretty good at taking the wingman/wingwoman role… oh the sorrows of being the wingman and never the man, er woman... hell, I'd settle for being the wing. Well, as I stayed sober and suprisingly still managed to lose my dignity at the bar (another story entirely), my guy friend was getting completely blasted and not-so-suprisingly losing a large sum of cash to the other fellas. I requested a sucker-finder’s fee from the male group and after they declined, I stole their wallets… oh yeah - who’s the sucker, now!? So back to the girls night and being single and not ever having as much fun with non-single girlfriends. No wait, I totally take that back… KJ is married and she is still a super fun single friend. I'm sure it was a number of things, my attitude in particular, but maybe it was this group of girls, maybe it was attending a bachellorette party just last weekend, maybe it was my inflamed labia, maybe it was the ridiculous amount of work i had to do by Monday, maybe it was the single line of coke I snorted, maybe it was the cock I sucked, or maybe, just maybe…. it was something else entirely.

Wow, ok, this post was all over the place but I’m far too busy to revise, you’re smart, you’ll adjust.

Nun of your business.

There was a time when I thought about “joining the call.” This does not mean I wanted to become a call girl; although, there was a time when that appealed to me, too. What I am referring to is quite the opposite, really. Sometimes I think God is calling me to be a Nun. I’ll give you a moment to get over the shock and wipe up the beverage you just blew out your nose. I know it sounds strange coming from me of all people, but it’s true. In fact, there was a time I considered it pretty seriously. I mean, why else would I be so unlucky in love and lack the desire to grow a human inside my midsection because I think human gestation is the creepiest thing ever. I always snap out of it after a few days, eventually coming to grips with the major fundamental issues I have with the whole affair. There is the whole poverty, chastity, and obedience thing, not to mention the major hang-up of never being able to heighten my status to Priest, Cardinal, or Bishop. I could go on, but I won’t. You would think someone who contemplated the Cloth would live a much more Holy life – but you would be wrong, bitch.

Hey therre, y'all

Hey yo, niggs - how dem tings wich yoube flow’n… shiiiit, iz coo herre, juw kno… jiz chillwen. Sorry, I’m just so engrossed in the culture, I lost my head for a minute. No apologies for the semi-racial slur, either. What? - like I really give a shit if I alienate the four ‘regular’ readers…. nigga, please. Chinks, Spicks, Jewbies, Redskins, and Carpet Pilots – there, did I miss any?! (don't answer that)

Anyway, the weather during the walk from the hotel to the car and into work has been pleasant – oh wait, not it hasn’t - it’s been raining… for all fifty feet. I’d complain about how crappy this trip has been, but I’m afraid of jinxing it because truth be told, it could be a hell of a lot worse, for sure.

I’m way strapped for time but here’s Friday’s Five Things I Think About When I’m Pretending to Listen:

28) What the speaker’s orgasm face probably looks like.
35) The statistical odds of the Timberwolves actually winning their upcoming game (and fyi - they're not good).
53) What shoe I would be wearing if I wasn’t in unfashionable steel-toes.
78) An estimation of volatilities under a Merton's jump-diffusion model and an uncertain volatility model.
40) Food.