And then she was ten minutes late from lunch ..

making those who hate her at work even angrier.

Doh!

Nekkid - Painter Conversation

I'm nekkid.

You're the painter. Your ladder is outside my window at 9:30 on a Monday, admittedly a time in the morning when people should be at work, but considering my landlord had _already walked in while I was taking a shower_ you'd think he'd have told the painters not to set up shop outside my window to TALK TO ME.

Anyway. Back to the buck-ass-nekkid part of this story.

So, right, I'm nekkid. Heading to my dresser, incidentally for my panties and a bra. Reaching for bra (which means both boobies are fully exposed) when I see painter guy and sort of duck-hide behind my dresser/wall and in my closet.

Unphased, the man starts to talk to me.

I'm naked.

Covering my breasts at this point with my arms. Feeling kind of vulnerable but also laughing in that weird, maybe-I'm-just-having-a-naked-dream kind of way.

Asks me if my bedroom windows open since they've painted.

"No. Well, the right one opens, but the left one doesn't."

He nods.

"Can I come in there to look at it?"

Which part of buck-ass-nekkid have you guys missed? Because seriously, dude is staring at me, I'm covering my privates, huddled in a corner, and hell no, he cannot come in to my apartment while I'm alone and naked.

"Not right now, but in about fifteen minutes [when I'm dressed, you DA] you can."

"Okay."

Painter climbs down ladder.

I exhale. Uncover my boobies and proceed to start to put my bra on. Which means, of course, boobs are completely free to bob around.

Painter's head peeps over ladder again.

WTF, mate?!

"Do your bathroom windows open?"

(Do I even remember if I have a bathroom?)

"Umm .. the window on the right opens, but the one on the left doens't."

"Okay."

Then he leaves, this time for good, but still.

Bad, bad, horrible, awful, perverted painter who wanted a cheap front seat shot of my boobs.

Man.

New Car -

I'm buying a new car in Redwood City on Thursday.

But I'm not gonna tell you what it is yet.

I will say this:

It's all wheel drive, a wagon, and I'm getting it after much research and many test drives.

I'm very excited because after a lot of calculating it turns out my monthly car payment will barely be more than what I was paying!

And, I just got approved for my loan to pay for my new car. (Which, by the way comes with a roof rack built in!)

So excited.

Trying to pick a color right now.

It's between light blue, dark blue, and dark grey.

Friday is the worst day in the world to work.

The worst.

There's always an emergency.

ALWAYS.

At the end of the day, and everything has to go to shit, every fucking Friday. It's the law.

On Monday, you expect everything to go to shit, I mean, it's Monday for Chrissake. It's the law.

But Friday?

Give me a break.

I just want to go home, hide my head, take some drugs, and sleep.

That's it.

That's simple.

Not stay at some petty job because Osha needs an extra person here incase crazy Alzheimer patient up and dies and we need someone extra to dial 911 while the other two do CPR.

Jesus.

Now I get to go home in all the Raiders-49ers-Giants traffic.

Gah.

In a fit of nostalgia

I sprayed on some Noa perfume that I got while in Miami some ridiculous amount of time ago - in fact, I don't even know why I still have the bottle.

I realized I smelled like part convalescent home, part perfume, and part Jocy, gagged, washed it off, immediately got a migraine, and threw it away.

Migraine didn't leave. Now I know that raunchy stale perfume is definitely a trigger. Yay! Dosed up on drugs, came to work, and drank a soda. Discussed my new rental car which I secretly like more than my real car because it has a sunroof, and so far the day has been pretty good.

Haven't done much work either which has been nice.

Can't wait to go home and sleep this thing off though.

Rule of thumb (or head, whatever) don't hold on to crusty old perfume for five years. That's gross. They weren't kidding when they said perfume expires, and nobody wants to smell like a bedpan.

Whatever is in bloom lately

is slowly killing me.

If I could determine what it is, I would definitely kill it first.

Even in the concrete happiness of San Francisco, I sit and sneeze and drip and wheeze all day long.

Do you ever wake up

ridiculously hungry?

Like so hungry it hurts?

Or so hungry you are nauseous?

That happened to me today - even though I ate last night, and not what most people would consider to be a "light" dinner, although it didn't have a whole lot of protein in it.

I didn't have time to eat breakfast before I left for work, however this isn't that unusual. I typically eat as soon as I arrive at work, oatmeal and a latte or something like that.

But today the pain in my stomach couldn't be tolerated so I thought maybe I was really thirsty too - you know, since sometimes your body just _thinks_ it's very hungry when it's dehydrated?

So I chugged about half a liter of water in 1.3 seconds.

Then I walk/jogged to carpool because I'm trying to be better about coming in early to work. This made me want to throw up because not only am I ravenous, but now I've got a belly full of liquid, no food, and I'm jostling the liquid around.

Got to work and Norrrmahhh, my second favorite co-worker gives me half a bagel with cream cheese to mitigate the hunger pangs, but still things aren't working out.

Everything is off somehow - like I totally messed up my internal schedule.

And, leaving the house at 7:10 still got me to work at 8:00. Normally when I leave the house at 7:30 I get to work at 8:00. I should have slept for twenty extra minutes. Sheez.

This morning

A cute boy totally gave me the "up-down" and then he smiled at me and said "Hello".

But not in that overly forward smarmy way. In that nice way that makes you smile and say, "Hi," back and raise your coffee cup to his.

It made my morning on my walk to work.

Thanks cute boy.

It must be the pink top. Boys like pink tops.

At Seabright Brewery

I knocked over an entire pint of stout, on my clean pants, soaking myself, in front of Adam and his girlfriend.

It was my second beer and it was completely full.

It's the second time I've ever met Adam's girlfriend. Jeezo. I felt like such an idiot. I was wet for hours. The guy at the table across from us offered my his shirt I was so wet.

Dork.

Ready to leave O-Town

And maybe even ready for a roomie.

It's time to not have to worry about carrying my cell phone every where I go because I live in the ghetto.

Thinking it might be nice to have a girlfriend in the house too.

Maybe not for a few months though.

We'll see.

Things are good. Insurance company did the comparative negligence thing and found out that, no, I'm not nearly as at fault for my rear-end accident as they thought I was so hopefully I'll be getting back a sizeable portion of my deductible once I get the car fixed (like half). Although honestly, the validation is much more important than the money.

Looking forward to ski season with much anticipation even though I'm terribly, horribly out of shape for it. I need to start going to bikram again. Like twice a week. Maren, where are you when I need you, darn it?!

Start school again (ugh) very soon. Like immediately soon. Bleh. Gotta do it though. Final leg here I come.

And grocery shopping. I should figure out a way to incorporate that into my life too. I want some peaches. And bagels. All I have is oatmeal. And peanut butter.
Eep.

Been really busy lately - dealing with job stuff. It's going well though. We are making do in that space called work and that's making me happy enough. It's evident that change is occurring and I think that pleases both TRB and myself.

Don't like to blog about work though.

Today

I got a ride from my new friend Sven A. Udeesphore.

He drives fast.

And he let me listen to the music as loud as I wanted.

Thank you, Sven.

Crazy Dream

I'm sitting in a strange apartment surrounded by a sea of faces I know, coworkers, some knownickers, Nick and Maria are there for sure, and someone *rolls* in this huge birthday cake.

I mean, we are talking queen size bed huge. And yes, I mean rolled, as in on it's side. In between the sea-foam green coach and the coffee table. The birthday cake is for no one in particular, and it's got fireworks inside instead of candles, but everyone is afraid of lighting the fireworks because they don't want the apartment to blow up.

Nick and I _really_ want to light the fireworks because a) we think it will be cool and b) we think it will be funny.

So Nick stuffs a giant pancake/rag into the cake, and I decide to yank it out. When I pull on it, it ignites all the fireworks and the cake starts to roll around the apartment, nearly setting people on fire, Nick being one of them but he's too busy laughing and trying to eat the cake, which has magically turned into a pasta dish, to care.

Very weird.

And very funny.

It worked Suckas!

Evan Goepfert totally found me!

Woo hoo!!

And now I get to tell him all about Vegas since he's been telling me to go for umpteen years!

Yes!

I love the power of Google.

Squish Squish Floosh Floosh

Lately, while walking around work, I've noticed a weird sound coming from my Steve Madden's.

Squish Squish Floosh Floosh Squish Squish Floosh Floosh

I thought maybe I was wearing particulary cushy socks or something (every day?) but tonight, while getting ready for my walk with Liz, I noticed that half of my shoe has pratically torn off the at the sole.

I'd like to blame this on the manner in which I remove my shoes at night, but I think that would just be silly.

I suppose it's nearly time for new shoes anyway -- it is nearly ski season again.

I broke myself tonight

at Bikram.

That's what happens when you don't go for three months.

I feel like dying.

Cigars are disgusting

and they seem to be following me.

Ick.

Go away you smelly things.

Belly Dancing

is seriously fun.

And very cool.

I did feel slightly retarded wearing a sports bra and running pants to class though - and I attended the culmination of an eight week program, so I felt completely out of sorts.

The veil dancing - very sexy. I loved that and I was better at it than anything else. I can totally do the cocoon thing.

Taking a $70 cab home from Tiburon at 11:30 because my friends refused to listen to me say I wanted to sleep in my own bed over and over - well, that part kind of sucked, but definitely worth being in my own space.

I think their dog wanted to come with me too.

When I do buy my next car,

And it will be soon, because I drive for pleasure and trips and skiing way too much to not own one, I will not have it's identity be that of some gay Russian history professor.

Too ambiguous, number one.

Secondly, both Sasha and Dimitry have had violent, untimely deaths (as I suppose is fitting for gay Russian professors).

Anyway, I'm already thinking of what to buy.

It will not be the car I _really_ want, but I think I will like it more than I liked Dimitry or Sasha.

Oh my neck.

My back.

My neck and my back.

And I'm the one at fault for this shit.

But her brake lights didn't come on?

Give me a fucking break.

Hah. Get it? Break/brake?

Hahahaha.

Tonight I sleep with laundry

because today was just that hard.

So tonight, I'm gonna snuggle my clean clothes and snuggle them good.

This commercial break is brought to you by Tide.

I had a looksie at lunchie.

Not my best idea ever.

The fender is kissing the engine block.

With tongue.

Augh.

Calgon take me away.

Dimitry is hurt this time.

I think he might have to be put down.

We got in a car accident because some motorcycle fool fell down and then several cars slammed on their brakes trying not to hit said fool.

Anyway, some young girl threw her emergency brake trying not to slam into the car in front of her because her brakes, "don't really work".

I wasn't tailgating and wasn't even driving too fast.

Tried to avoid the collision but instead hit at that magic three way spot where your hood and fender and side panel intersect.

All three are totally fucked.

Her car - fine. Some scratches and paint from Dimitry is all that accident wrought.

The cops came - but the report won't be ready until tomorrow.

The worst part is that everyone I've talked to since then seems to think this girl is not going to be trustworthy even though she's the one that admitted to pulling the brake in the first place.

My dad practically yelled at me. Great pappy, just what I need.

I mean, not that it matters really - my car is fucked. At least $4000 - $6000 of work judging by the little hole I was going to have fixed. Insurance company will probably total it out.

At least I have belly dancing to look forward to tonight. Yay. It's too bad I'm not excited about it anymore. Boo.

Gah, happy Tuesday everyone. Do something fun for me.