"She's out."

Some people walk away from Washington, DC with memories of museums, monuments, and an overall sense of American pride. Me, well - I got kicked out of a bar. This may surprise you, but it was (legitimately) my first time. Oh sure, I’ve been with people who’ve gotten kicked out but it was never because of me. If nothing else, I’m usually the one who is on the up with the bartenders, but not this time. Let it be known here and now that I’m 90% sure I was unfairly targeted because at the time, I was near penniless and drinking water. (Note: it was 7:05 PM.)

A series of events led up to this, events of which I had nothing to do with but somehow, I was the target of the jerk bartender’s offensive demeanor. Well, Nicole had enough. The phrase, “What’s your problem, asshole??!” has never pierced with so much venom. He immediately got in my face and fully expected me to apologize. No fucking way. When I was unrelenting, he called for my removal. I suppose it’s debatable who was in the wrong, but as the guy who slings drinks, he holds the trump card.

As requested....

The guy who sent me this doesn't even know I have a blog but I've got little else to publish, so here it is... unedited.

"What the fuck is going on? Christ you only holler at me when a) you miss me (well not true otherwise I couldn't get you to leave me alone) b) when you need a laugh or c) what the hell is up with the letters I think I know my abc's shit....how is it going? almost done with work here sorry for the 3 hour difference I'll be out in Vegas soon for work again but have to meet with someone so looks like you are out of the picture....when were you coming here....I'm out there from next month month..? April I think 12 or 13th for a couple weeks. wow did that make any sense...fuck it...write that in your blog...."

I know - wow.

IHOP

I have a buddy; he’s in a band. This sentence could easily be spoken by 94% of those living in Los Angeles, give or take. This weekend, he brought his show and his friends out west. This made for a grand ‘ol time in Los Angeles, West Hollywood, Santa Monica, and Venice… yeah, ridiculous. I’m in no mood to get into the fact that I slept with one guy for three days (visiting for the valentine’s day weekend) and then two different guys in the following seven days because it’s dwarfed by the random celeb sightings.

Ok, here’s the deal. Every time people come into town I tell them don’t expect to see any celebrities because I, personally, never do – less one Tina Yothers brush at a Boston’s bar. Well, without fail, they (we) always see someone. I mean, I’m not really stepping up my game or anything just because people are visiting, but fuck it’s weird like that. There was smoking on the patio with “Kevin” from the office (I said hello), eating at STK and sseing Sex in the City’s Kim Catrell, and drinking with Selma Blair and her husband guy on Kath and Kim (who knew my friend's friend), and then there was IHOP.

So, we’re winding down our night at about 4:00AM and decide to hit up the nearby IHOP in West Hollywood and wouldn’t you know it – in walk Nicky and Paris Hilton... at the fucking IHOP. (My companions were very unimpressed.) Fine whatever, but the strangest part is that this was my SECOND brush with Paris. Maybe I should’ve been on that BFF show because clearly, we are practically the same person… I mean, we both love movie premier parties with free booze and we both love pancakes at 4 in the morning. This calls for a blood test, we could be related!

.... This just in!!! http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/29354575/?gt1=43001

Worth the Growing Pains?

When I was a senior in high school, I penned a term paper titled, “Live Longer, Smoke Pot,” hailing the medicinal purposes of marijuana. At the time, I had yet to take a hit of the stuff. That would all change some weeks later, but I digress. Needless to say, I’ve been a quiet advocate of the stuff, for the most part, because it seems to me in a society that regulates legal barbiturates, steroids, and alcohol – what is the harm in marijuana? I suppose its historical infancy is to blame, but that would be taking me off-topic.

Marijuana is a recognizable legal medicine in the state of California (but not federally, which causes some major hang-ups). Mary jane is also the state’s largest cash crop, twice the value of the grape and vegetable crops COMBINED. So, do we set up a standards system, deregulate the stuff, and gain billions in tax dollars or would in doing so create a series of other demons to fight? I could go on, but some things are better left to others… like my laundry, cleaning, and grocery shopping (thanks, Leticia - please don’t get deported.).

http://www.thebigmoney.com/articles/judgments/2009/02/11/audacity-dope


Later losers.

Wow.

I recently got a new iPod and spent a significant amount of time and money only to learn that growing up, my taste in music really sucked ass. I just started downloading at whim, without preview, the tunes that when played I immediately said, “I love this song.” As one of those songs comes up on shuffle, I take pause and quietly say to myself, “What on Earth was I thinking – this is crap.” So, there’s that. And oh yeah, Happy Valentine ’s Day. Love, Nicole.

ENOUGH!!

Oh wow, it’s cold… in the Midwest and upper Eastern seaboard… in January?!? You’re kidding me? Duh.

Enough of the bitching about cold weather already. I get it – it’s fucking cold. I have no doubt were I still living in Chicago, I would be bitching too but I’m not living there and I’m sick of my mailbox filling up with weather related posts and facebook statuses so I just don’t want to hear any more about it. I lived in Duluth fucking Minnesota. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night to trudge into the cold because it was my night to start the cars. I’ve had to forgo contacts for fear of them freezing to my eyeballs. I know cold, as does every other person enduring it. And those that don’t know, never will (Southern California, I’m looking at you... you and your ironic governor who played Batman’s villain, Mr. Freeze). So, enough already. Why don’t you take that energy and sign up for some environmental group to stave off the industrial impacts causing all this climate upheaval? While I don’t really believe that hype, it helps my argument so I’m willing to climb atop the bandwagon this time.

Note: I was tempted not to write this as by asking people to stop talking about the weather, I am in fact, talking about the weather.

So, KJ has been on my ass to blog again. This is almost as bad as when Alex gets on my case. KJ started a little blog of her own and is (almost) averaging one post a month... and between the baking stories and weather reports, contracting a flesh eating skin disorder actually sounds more appealing than reading another post. I realize I am being harsh – I need to put things in perspective, she lives in a woodsy house in Alaska. And until Russia starts firing rockets at our asses, there is really nothing exciting to report, less the occasional moose attack… fucking moose. Seriously, anything with such a huge melon atop such scrawny legs just ain’t right. This also includes that one guy from the movie Road Trip.

My blog started falling off the wagon when I got on. A series of events led me to give up my wicked Midwest ways and become a homebody loser like those of you reading this. It’s not to say I haven’t had my run-ins with fun here in Los Angeles, it’s just different.

During my prime, I was a pretty big deal in Chicago… now I live in reality tv Mecca where anyone with a fake pair of tits or rich parents can land you into some “celebrity” circles. Los Angeles and me – well, it’s just not the same.

So, here is my declaration to redeploy the blogging brain cells. I’m not saying it will be daily, or even weekly, but I’ll try to throw something up there fueled by the little niche of the left coast I’ve managed to carve for myself.

XOXO,
Nicole

Parallel Universe

I am living in southern California, KJ had a baby and moved to Alaska, and TBC is running fucking marathons... wake me when the spaceship lands.

La Résurrection

I thought I would put a French title so you would know it was really me. Many times, I have been moved to post but at this point, I thought it would be too weird; like calling an estranged friend or ex for a favor. But when the alternative is catching hell from a once-a-month poster of all people, and I’m looking at you Alex, maybe I just need to suck it up and get back in the swing of things.

In my four month absence, I have move to California, celebrated a new birth (Ryvre Rose) and a birthday of my own, got back into shape, fell out of shape, sold a house, bought a jeep, moved in with a roommate, and partied with Paris Hilton.

I will get into all that in the coming days (re: weeks) and am starting off with the alarming realization that KJ is a mom to a girl by the name of Ryvre Rose, pronounced “river” or if you’re a smartass, “riv-ray” and “reev-ruh” are also acceptable. Obviously, I was a little disappointed with the name selection (Nicole being the only acceptable choice, of course) but it’s grown on me and I should have expected nothing less from her husband, a man who seriously considered the name, "Five" and has himself lived with the name Chadd (two d’s). So Ryvre it is and these people can go to hell, where incidentally there are no RIVERS!!! (yes people, that was a play on words, try to keep up): http://www.babynamesworld.com/forum/topic137007.html

(pictures used without permission)

The Argument for Bonds

I know I don't usually sports blog, but I need to get this off my chest... my huge, gloriously large-breasted chest. The Daily News reported today that NY Yankee Jason Giambi failed an amphetamines test and in the past, he has been quoted as saying, "I was wrong for doing that stuff," which some say is an admission of guilt. We also know that he admitted in the BALCO case, to using steroids obtained from Greg Anderson, weight trainer to Barry Bonds. (See what a smooth story transition that was.) Anyway, back to Barry Bonds - a man who has probably been less than honest about steroid use.

I am personally not necessarily in the mainstream of public opinion on Barry Bonds. What was it, 2002 or 2003 when steroids were ruled illegal? Right or wrong, whoever took whatever before it was banned, did not act illegally. Right or wrong, think what one might, those balls he hit went over the fence and you can't take them back. His records were made in a legally, officially sanctioned baseball game. How do you place an asterisk on something as though it did not actually happen? Next, Barry Bonds has never admitted anything, and since it has never been proven without a doubt that he has done what some say, America's system of justice deems him innocent. Unfortunately, just the same, one can be found guilty by being tried in the court of public opinion.

Shit, man. I'm moving back to California.

Mexico recap

Ok, I’m just not feeling it... creatively, that is. I'm kinda over it, I guess - the people I started this damn thing with have tapered off and I'm finding little motivation in everyday life. That, and I’m a lazy slob.

Well, I just got back from a wedding in Mexico… and am finally starting to get over the depression of being back. The four days were everything I could’ve asked for in a vacation – family, friends, drinking, drugs, and sex.

Let’s start from the beginning. Months ago, one of my dearest friends (Jocelyn) from back home announced her engagement and her intent on a destination ceremony… in Los Cabos, Mexico.

I was looking forward to the wedding for several reasons. First and foremost because I am friends with Jocelyn and was honored when she asked me to be at her side for the occasion. Second, not only were some of my closest friends were going – my parents would also be there, which translates into an all-expenses paid trip for Nicole. And third because the wedding was in Mexico. Sure, this means flights, delays, fuss… but it also means sun, sand, and a private pool. I like that.

Date
Because I’m possibly the only person over the age of 23 not dragging some asshole home with me every holiday or other special occasion and I think it’s a little strange to go alone to a wedding - even though I’m single and ready to mingle, ladies - I told Jocelyn that I’d be bringing a date (also, everyone else was bringing a date and I didn’t want to be the only lonely one). I’m pretty sure 43% of the guests took me for a lesbian, so having a man on my arm was also a nice surprise for everyone (parents included). For this cause, I enlisted my friend, Roy, who I convinced to attend the wedding with me after a long day of drinking and sunning on the boat this summer. He, having known me for years and slept with me a few times, took pity and agreed. This made me happy because although it may surprise you, I had a pretty strict set of criteria for my date and Roy met just about every one: he’s attractive and charming, smart and funny, a fantastic boozer and not afraid of a little smoke.

Preparation
As time went on, the small intimate ceremony grew into an all-out production and the guest list grew from am estimated 40 to a confirmed 90+. Since I have about as much interest in high-end weddings as I do in a glass of cranberry juice, I was a bit stressed. There were scheduled dinners Thursday and Friday and the with the wedding on Saturday, this meant 2 dresses, 3 pairs of shoes, accessories, make-up, hair and nail appointments, tanning, and the ever-dreaded Brazilian wax. Not to mention, when I tried on the bridesmaid dress for the first time, my scream of horror possibly killed a small dog although nothing has been proven.

Speech/Toast

Since I was the maid of whatever, I knew I was under some obligation to say a few words. I enlisted our dear friend, Ross, also in the wedding, also a friend from home to join me up front. My timing was impecable and my toast was near flawless. I know I am one to boast, but in all humility, I killed. I didn't have anything formally prepared and was probably five glasses of wine into the night but two fantastic one-liners coupled with a tear-jerking end... flawless.

Cabo
I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve been quite spoiled when it comes to vacationing and typically, we mix clean, breathtaking beaches with the colorful lush countryside. Mexico – not so much. To be quite honest, unless you were on the resort side of the highway, it looked a lot like West Texas… dirty, dead, and desolate. The resorts were groomed with vegetation and by the end, I could see the appeal… but nothing I’d re-visit time after time and pay millions to do so.

West Texas: vs. Los Cabos

Destination Weddings
I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t quite understand but it was made very clear. Everyone is in vacation mode. No one has to get up for church, or drive home, or is tired from working in the yard all day… etc. During the reception, half the guests were on their feet dancing… before the salads had been served!! The last wedding I was in had a strict no alcohol before the wedding policy, whereas this one was not a question of if you drank that afternoon, but rather how much.

Vices
Coming off of a vacation to Mexico, I was a bit of a Cinco de Mayo downer because if I don’t have another margarita until the next time I go to Mexico, it will be too soon. They served their purpose for the week and were gloriously made with the alcoholic in mind. However, after my fifth I.V. of the stuff, I was ready to move on. I don’t actually remember a time when I wasn’t drinking but could only think of one way to enhance the trip, getting some green. Landing weed proved to be very easy, as the first vendor I asked hooked it up and after smoking, it didn’t take me long to remember what a wonderful friend she has been over the years.

Nothing Much
I’ll spare you the details of the trip because, quite honestly, it was near perfect. Jocelyn looked absolutely gorgeous, my parents paid for everything (except the weed and condoms), I partied every night with the friends I love most, and getting messed up is pretty awesome.

Day of the Green

A month. Wow. Well, so much has happened. So many fascinating tales. So many nights of take-out food. So many men… well just one... and he's engaged… to his pregnant fiancée. (And don’t give me that look... you're no Saint.) This all took place before St Patrick’s Day, so let’s pick up there, shall we?

We had grandiose plans to drink early at a friend's place, watch the river being dyed green, take in a little of the parade (only to say hello to a couple friends working it), and bar hop a bit.

We made it as far as the first bar.

At this point, I knew the river was out and began texting some friends. A few hours later, we had a nice group and my buzz was nothing short of glorious. After we had pushed our welcome as far as possible, we decided it was time to go see our friend in the parade.

We made it as far as the next bar.

While everyone was pouring out, I was offered some smoke and yous knows how I likes the occasional treat. (Drugs, like cupcakes, are hard to turn down.) Sure, we were on the street and yes, I may have felt a little silly bent over a pipe like a crack whore when the Glen Ellen Country Day School strolled by, but it's all in a day's fun.

Now I love drinking heavily and I love drugs, but you really can’t mix both. Before we smoked, I was doing “fine” - pretty drunk, but I had my shit together and was ready to go. After we smoked, I was still drunk, but now I was high. Not surprisingly, here’s where things get fuzzy… and a bit whorish.

I was minding my business, talking to some college kids on an impromptu road trip from Missouri, when without warning, I was deep throat with some stranger. Welcome to Chicago... Happy St. Patrick's day. This was the first of four not-so-intimate moments that afternoon, but I’m pretty sure the fourth guy only kissed me to feel up my breasts.

We went to my buddy Justin’s place and continued drinking, although by this point I had hit the "one more drink and I'll puke" stage and was drinking water. We were there for what seemed like thirty minutes, but, since it was nightfall when we left, it had to have been the better part of three hours. News to me.

I made it home without incident and woke up, surprisingly, feeling like a champion because I am a champion.

No Jazzy News

After tears, sleepless nights, and two grand, I was not able to recover anything from my old PC. I did no lose my job but I may as well have. I don’t really know how to describe the feeling. Having to essentially start all over again in a job I’ve had for two years is so fucked up. Even finding a new job is going to be a big pain in the ass because I lost my resumes. I empathize (to a certain degree) with people who have lost their homes to fires and natural disasters because not a day goes by that you don’t think of something else you are without. I’m trying to move forward, but it’s been difficult and has made work EXTREMELY busy.

Since work has been so stressful, I was looking forward to unwinding some. For some unexplainable reason, when I get extremely stressed out, I get really hot for some heavy making out, like the kind you did in high school (and I did in jr high). This weekend was no exception but as it turned out, this was the wrong year to sacrifice heavy make-out sessions with girls and gay guys for Lent, as the odds would’ve totally been in my favor.

It was a girls’ weekend with my dental friends and I took them to my favorite little dive karaoke bar, where we ended up partying with Nate Berkus. (If you know who Nate Berkus is, chances are we won’t be able to make out this Lenten season.) And even though there was no making out, it was a rousing good time, for sure. I did make a no-gay Lent exception for Nate, who gave me a lovely peck goodbye. Yes, gay guys adore me.

Chicago was pounded by some lame polar ice shield on Saturday night so we took a low-key approach to the evening by eating an amazing meal, having a few (a lot of) drinks, and falling asleep to SNL (which was terrible, by the way.)

See – this post was totally not worth the wait. I was going to come out with JAZZ HANDS, but didn’t really have the creative bug today. I’ll hit it on Friday, when I usually relinquish myself to the thought that there is no sense in doing the work that no one will care about until Tuesday.

Everything's Lost.

Friday was, without doubt, the worst day of my life. I am not talking about with relation to when there was a death or something like that, I talking about the worst thing that could happen to me, personally. (Like I said, my life is full of peaks and valleys.) My work computer’s harddrive crashed and I, foolishly, had not backed anything up… ever.

I lost everything, personally and professionally.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be looking for a new job next week… it’s too bad my resume was also on my harddrive.

And to think I was going to write an Anna Nicole Smith post.

Merci mes amis

I would like to say, “Thank you.” Thanks to each and every one of you… in fact, since there are only like four of you – a double thanks! I’m not sure if you prayed for me, thought of me, or simply masturbated to a picture of my tits, but whatever you did – it worked. (And to the latter – you’re welcome.) Last night, I went into work (bartending) and found out I won the Superbowl pool – to a tune of $400! Seeing as how I generally lose at life, it was completely unexpected. Then, this morning – I had hot water!!! I’ll still need to get a new water heater, but not right now and most certainly after I’ve smoked, snorted, or aborted the better part of that $400… and by “better part”, I mean “all”. So, keep up the good work, friends, mommie needs to go to the clinic.


I know, another French title.. wtf, right?

Water Woes

Some days are winners, others are not. Today would fall in the “not” category. Last night, after doing a few dishes, I went to bed. This is only significant for one reason- last night, I had hot water. This morning, however, I was less than delighted to find out my water heater was again on the fritz. I showered at the gym and came into work, only to find out the building I work in is completely without water. Not to fret, however, a Port-a-potty is on order I was told… which is fabulous news considering the -3 degree weather. I don’t know if any of you have ever been ice fishing and had to go to the bathroom… it’s a lot like that… and nothing short of awesome.

You know - overall, things really aren't so bad. Sure, it wasn't a great day, but it was hardly a horrible day... not like when I totaled my new car, sent my best friend to the hospital, and was admitted to rehab for the first time. Maybe I need more grey in my life – fewer peaks and valleys. But that is another post for another day.

Well, I have to go pee now... which means bundling up and walking a quarter mile to the building next door because I'll be damned if I am going to sit on frozen feces.

je ne suis pas responsible

At my job, we have two basic rules to follow when a fire alarm is sounded:
1) Get out.
2) Meet at the flag pole.
It’s the same damn instructions you’ve been following since grammar school. Generally, this complex applied science is easy but not today, not on my watch. Apparently, one person decided these instructions don’t always apply… and that one person just happened to be the floor supervisor.

Have you seen that commercial where the monkeys are partying and the buzz-kill guy turns the chart around? Yeah, I’m that guy and I am the one working with monkeys. Not to mention the eerie accuracy of the commercial to my facility’s productivity, which is, in fact, on the decline despite what the supervisors want to believe.

Anyway, back to the fire alarm – so, only a handful of operators and the front office people are standing in the cold ass wind while the supervisor has casually mentioned to the other operators to just mosey over to the adjacent building and wait for further instructions. Unfortunately, the fact that unreasonable safety violation was made by the supervisor was brought to my attention AFTER I marched over to the other building and yelled at the remaining operators for not following procedures. Is the 1961 Eichmann trial coming to mind for anyone else? Probably not since most of you have below average IQ’s… which is probably why you also continue to read this below average blog. What I am trying to say, other than “you’re a solid six on the smarts scale,” is that if following orders is going to get you tried on crimes against humanity and ultimately hanged - don’t do it.

Is that vomit on your collar?! Ewwe.

It’s Friday and we all know what that means?!? Sex? Clubs? Drugs? Well… no, this weekend, it means painting and preparing for KJ’s baby. I hate babies – anyone who shits themselves cannot be trusted – this includes my Grandmother Margaret in her later years – a very shady character, indeed. And you know what – find out the gender. There’s plenty of surprises in store for you, like when you find their first tin of cocaine, so just save us all the annoyance and find out if you should accent in metallica blue or so hot for pink.

The drunk

A number of things have happened over the last several weeks. I am hesitant to list them all here under the idea of cutting my losses and moving forward. But, they’re your losses, really – because I lived the moments. From time to time, I may reflect on the black hole existence of our relationship, but that bridge will be crossed when we come to it.

This weekend, our favorite gal, KJ, came for a visit. She’s nearly seven and a half months pregnant, but it didn’t stop us from having a good time because let’s face it, most of the time - and I’m not ashamed to admit this - I am the drunk one.

I’m the one buying shots and beers for everyone, running up my credit card bill to an exorbitant amount, because love and friendship can be bought.

I’m the one harassing guys way out of my league, showing them my breasts and saying things like, “My Dad was a former NFL player,” and “I’m a yoga instructor.” It’s rare when I am out with friends and sober but Friday and Saturday nights were such occurrences.

Unfortunately, Kelsey left before Sunday's Bears playoff game. All sober bets were off.

In hindsight, I should’ve taken a vacation day on Monday because even though I don’t really care about the Bears, I like to drink and a local team’s playoff game is as good of a reason as any. In fact, it’s better than most reasons I come up with like, picking up my clothes off the bathroom floor.

A friend and I headed down to a large sports bar around a solid 1.5 hours prior to kickoff. The place was packed. Like, I think I was either just raped or I’ve been standing on a small child packed. Lucky for us, I’m a bitch and rules are rules – so we were able to overtake some “saved” seats. (Before I proceed, I should mention that I have taken on the task of expanding our circle and by that, I mean meeting new people – the kind that don’t require a follow-up trip to the health clinic. And this was one such opportunity.)

I, of course, initiated the conversation with the males because what I lack in looks, I make up for in social skills. (Isn’t that what all fat chicks say?) We were having a great time. I was making a number of new friends with my charm, wit, and pleasantried when it happened. Sometime after the victory, I turned a corner in my drunkness and when I did, I smashed into a pile of “lonely drunk with a big ego acting inappropriately”. Nice play, asshole, – nice play.

All in all, though – a good weekend. I had a great time with KJ, kept my spending habits under control, added some new people to the roster of cool, and, had I not acted like a total asshole at the end of the evening, probably could’ve gotten a couple dates.

Now, if you’ll excuse me – it's lunchtime.

Hurricane Ditka

Ok, I’ll say it – Go Bears! It’s very difficult for me to be excited about Chicago’s bid for the national championship because 1) I am a Vikings fan, through and through, and 2) it’s all I am going to hear about for the next 6 weeks – maybe more if they actually pull this off. Truth be told, I really want the Colts to win because, among other things, I think Peyton is eight thousand times the guy Rex Grossman is. I have had random run-ins with them both – sometime, I’ll tell you about it.

It's 2007!!

Is anyone still coming to this place?

(If not - maybe it's time to hang things up.)

It's 2007!!

Is anyone still coming to this place?

(If not - maybe it's time to hang things up.)

I’m too busy; I'll catch you later.

Composure

This weekend's company Christmas party was fun. (And since I live in the Midwest, I can still say Christmas not refer to it as a Holiday party.) I ended up sporting a date after all, inviting a gal friend of mine whose boyfriend was having a guy's night downtown. I have no doubt this increased the percentage of facility operators who think I am a lesbian from 43 to 67. But, I could give two shits because I can still take them in arm wrestling. Hmm… that doesn’t really help my case for the “I’m not a lesbian” argument, does it? Regardless, I still represented by 1) looking totally amazing, 2) being impeccably dressed, and 2) having the hottest date there, even if it was a chick.

I had made a decision very early on to not go balls to the wall and moderately pace my drinking, as to not become the talk of the town on Monday. I know what you’re thinking, "There’s no way Nicole stuck to that." But, I did and it proved to be a remarkably wise decision because even thought I drank enough to have fun, I didn’t wake up to a half-eaten bologna sandwich and a fully-nude Parisian man…. although, that was a pretty fun night, too.

So as much as I hate to disappoint the four of you, it was a relatively low-key Christmas party.

Company Christmas Party

Am I crabby today? Yes. Did I just pick myself up from a canned-chili induced coma that left me passed out on the kitchen floor for the better part of Thursday night? Well, that is a yes, too. My week started off with a couple low self-esteem days and maybe the combination of a few sleepless nights is beginning to take its toll. The $600 bill for repairs to my vehicle didn’t help, either. Sunday, I was on top of the world, by Tuesday night, I was in the middle of a low-lying flood plain during the rainy season. Some people may call this a bipolar disorder, I like to think of it as being spunky.

This weekend is the company’s annual Christmas party. Although my date bailed on me for a fucking hockey game to suck his bosses dicks (can you sense the bitterness?), I am still looking forward to it. Why? Because 1) there is a free meal and 2) alcohol... lots of alcohol. Some may shy away from drinking around the whole work crowd, I call them "responsible professionals", but not this engineer. Game on, my friends.I was also invited by a to a housewarming party uptown although I wont really know many people there, I am considering it. Why? Because I would rather have meaningless sex with a person I don’t know than have meaningless sex with a person I don’t like. Either option means one thing – drinking alcohol, and lots of it. Seriously, Danny Bonaduce levels of drinking, and it's going to be awesome.

**this is, of course, if I can get out of my fucking driveway due to this whole snowstorm bullshit.

So, look for something juicy on Monday or if things go really well this weekend, Wednesday afternoon.

Thanksgivings gone by

Remember last year at this time, I had just gotten back from Tobago… and the year before that, Costa Rica… and the year before that, Brazil… and the year before that, Hawaii.

Hmmm, it’s no wonder why gambling in Milwaukee or dinner in Skokie just didn’t do it for me this year. (Hell, even before the vacations, I used to go back home and get drunk with friends.)

Sure, real turkey gravy is good… but not as good as it is when it’s tasted on the kiss of some local who has just licked it off my tits.

Numerous platefuls

I have nothing interesting to say today. I think I'm still a bit lethargic from the mass amounts of food I consumed these past 5 days. Seriously - holy fucking shit.

Blue Balled

Do you ever have one of “those days” at work? Now imagine having that day for 7 straight weeks. 7 weeks is an arbitrary number, really; it certainly feels more like a year but I’m sure there had to be at least one highlight in the last two months… but I think “those days” have stunted my ability to see the sun through the clouds. Maybe this is what it feels like before you divorce.
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This weekend was all right. Sure, serving dollar drafts and sloe comfortable screws to the local trailer park community isn’t everybody’s idea of fun, but what else is a gal with horrible spending habits to do?
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It’s a good year to be a Buc!! Saturday was spent like any other of recent – cheering on the mighty Ohio State Buckeyes to another victory. Some friends and I met up at a local bar featuring the game. I was throwing around a bit of game myself... the game of a true lady playa. I was talking to (aka: flirting with) some guys at a nearby table prior to leaving mid-game to go work. Here was the later exchange between my friend (also OSU alum) and I.

Jen: Those guys asked about you after you left, undoubtedly because of your sparkling personality, fabulous features, and monstrous breasts.
Nicole: Did you give them my number?!
Jen: Nicole, don’t be ridiculous, they were cheering for Michigan and probably had cocks similar in size of that of a small welch corgi.
Nicole: You’re right, Jen – wanna to make out?
Jen: Go Bucs!
Ok, so that may have not been totally verbatim, but it's close.

In other news, I expressed interest in the California position that was offered to me last week. I told them I was not interested but after two glowing talks with my supervisor on Friday and today, my facility manager, I've had a crazy change of heart. So, yeah… looks like I just may be moving back to the West Coast.

Will I ever get out of this place?!?

Did I get the new job in Minnesota – no. Am I disappointed – yes. Did I just spend the last two hours completing my annual contributions summary for my yearly review – yes. Do I feel I gave it my all in 2006 – no. Did I spend 90 minutes of the time trying to embellish my meager performance – yes. Will I come out with a below average performance rating – no. Is this part of the reason I am not yet ready to leave this company – yes. Did I make effective use of my time this week – no. Will I leave early anyway – yes.

I am bartending all weekend. I am also quitting after Thanksgiving. It’s been too much lately and, to be perfectly honest, I am really just so above putting up with all the bullshit from the loser assholes.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Tough Guys

I would also like to mention I took more than $40 off the

poker-playing, big talking fellas in poker... suckers.

Bad Weather Friday

As I write this, I am sitting approximately 30 miles south of Eau Claire, Wisconsin… sitting… in my rental car… on the interstate… not moving. The first Midwest winter snow storm hit late last night and it’s taking its toll on the idiots of the road. But, I should rewind, like, a lot. There is much to recap and hopefully the anger you feel as a result of my inattentiveness to this blog in the last week will be lessened.

My trip back to South Dakota was a good one. My friends and I got completely wasted (and my parents paid for the whole tab) and although I did not have sex myself that night, I derived some pleasure from pimping out my friend to another friend. Sometimes, giving really is better than receiving because these two kids were in need, even moreso than I.

The wedding on Saturday was as “rural” (PC for "white trash") as expected. The mullets, shaved heads with long ponytail, and 16-year-old hookers that adorned the groom's side of the church were a stark contrast to the suits and dresses of our side. I ate dinner (free meal, duh) but didn't hang around for the dance portion of the evening because, well, I had better offers elsewhere.

All in all, it was fantastic weekend with my amazing friends.

Monday started off with a real zeal for my job. I worked from 7:20 AM Monday morning through 2:30 AM Tuesday, with only a pause for lunch. I returned to work a mere two hours later (at 4:30 AM) for 4.5 straight hours of meetings. Tuesday did have an up side, though -another division of the company I work for wanted me in Minneapolis on Thursday to interview for a position I applied for.

And here we are, in the middle of a snowstorm, on a Friday. The only benefit to topping out at 40 mph and/or not moving at all is that I wont get another $261 speeding ticket like the one I received yesterday. Fucking Wisconsin... beer, cheese, and expensive speeding tickets.