4 Years Together (part 2)

TheBoy did good this year. Really good. Because y'all know I wasn't expecting much. I mean he did forget the whole birthday thing. And we generally aren't so good at the whole EXPRESSING OF EMOTION .

So first right about lunch time I get a call from the receptionist to come up front. Where I see these:



The card reads:

Happy Anniversary!
I love you
Ryan

Very cute. And thoughtful. And unexpected. Because I think in 4 years TheBoy has given me flowers two other times. The first Valentine's Day. And my 24th birthday. But I do love getting flowers at work! Yes, I am a RockStar. Also, very loved. Maybe even important. Thanks for asking.

Then at the end of a very long work day, and after I had missed the first of my summer tennis classes, TheBoy and I head off to dinner at LaFondue. Yes, the lactose intolerant girl loves her some fondue! Thank God for Lactaid.

Here's a picture of us cuddling at dinner:



So. Picture with me if you will. We're at dinner. We've just come from having a beer (him) and martini (me) at a cute little restaurant bar and have just sat down and ordered wine and fondue. All of a sudden a little jewelry box appears in front of me.



And TheBoy says: "Before our dinner arrives - Happy Anniversary babe."

And me? Totally freaking out for a nano-second.* The waiter even backed hastily away from the table. The people next to us were trying not to stare. And then it dawned on me. This is a kind of big jewelry box. Like the kind that would hold earrings.

And it did.



I love them! I cried. It was embarrassing. And when I had to run to the bathroom to look at them the lady from the table next to us came too. To look. And because they are real diamonds, as opposed to the glass I've been wearing for the last 10 years, they have fancy shmancy screw on backs. Because I am coordinated enough to screw backs onto earrings. I am. Except, did I mention there was vodka involved? Also red wine. But I managed to get them in.






TheBoy did good y'all. Real, real good. I'll keep him.






*Yeah I didn't really think... But for a split second...

Hugh and I will be drinking Bloody Marys at the Grotto if you need me...

Your Aries Drinking Style

Impulsive Aries people like to party and sometimes don't know when to call it a night. Your competitive streak makes you prone to closing time shot contests. You're a sloppy, fun drunk, and you get mighty flirty after a couple tipples. Getting you drunk is a good way for people to get what they want out of you, should other methods fail. You can become bellicose when blotto, but you will assume that whatever happened should be forgiven (if not forgotten) by sunrise. You can be counted on to do the same for others -- so long as they haven't gone and done anything really horrible to you last night (ahem, sneaky Gemini!)

Your Signature Cocktails

Aries, born under the hot-stuff planet Mars, is the ruler of spicy food and red things -- and for balance, astrologers recommend they eat tomatoes, onions, olives and greens. That's right, Aries, you were born under the sign of the bloody Mary. Aries also rules grapefruit, and they've been known to kick back a salty dog and a sea breeze or two. For extreme hotcha, try a concoction with cinnamon liqueur in it.

Your Celebrity Drinking Buddies

Conan O'Brien, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Sarah Jessica Parker, David Letterman, Jessica Alba, Jennifer Garner, Jack Black, and Hugh Hefner.

What's Your Alcohoroscope?

Northern Lights?

Your Hippie Chick Name is: Aurora

Get your own Hippie Chick Name

4 Years Together (part 1)

Yep. It has been 4 whole years since TheBoy and I looked at each other over the head of a mutual friend and thought "yep, I dig him/her". 4 relatively drama free and happy years. The first truly grown-up, mature and adult relationship I have ever had. It's been good y'all. Real good.

So what do I, in my infinite wisdom and years of insider knowledge, get for TheBoy as an anniversary present after 4 years?

A power washer. So, so romantic.

But you know what? He LOVED it. LOVED it y'all.

Here's a picture of him hugging it:



And gleefully pulling it out of the box:



Reading the instructions. Okay yeah, wait, let me pause here to mention that TheBoy? He does NOT read directions. Ever. I think it might be a common trait with men but, myself being female, I don't know. Or understand. But with the power washer? There was a whole 30 minutes of reading and re-reading of instructions. AMAZEMENT! Something about having to break in a motor? Yeah. I was shocked. And a little worried. But here is photo proof that he did in fact, READ THE INSTRUCTIONS:



Power washing the cat urine* out of our mat and off of the concrete outside our front door in the Ghetto. It was the first task, specially requested by moi.



Someone's a little AR - yes he is actually power washing the cover to our BBQ. While it's still on the BBQ. Yes we ended up with wet ashes. I don't pretend to understand.



Isn't he cute? Yep. And mine. All mine.

Happy Anniversary Babe. I love you.

*The story of the cat urine will have to wait for another day. But it's horrible y'all.

Keeping up with the Jones'

I fully blame this on Michele. Absolutely her fault. Because if Micah has his own webpage, then obviously Bator has to have his own webpage! And I of course NEEDED another web addiciton. *Ahem*

http://www.catster.com/pet_page.php?i=163061&j=t

How just utterly adorable is that? My lunch break is certainly not long enough now.

More Triathalon Pics

Okay "someone" went a little crazy with the photography... 145 pictures?!?!?

http://cc.eichermueller.com/Pictures/Almaden%20Lake%20-%20Triathlon/index.html

Enjoy!

San Jose international Triathalon

Catherine, Linda and I competed in the SJIT yesterday out at Lake Almaden. It was very fun, great atmosphere out there, all the competitors were friendly and generally a good time was had by all.

Catherine started us off with her wave of the 1.5K swim at 7:40 am. It was still a little chilly out and I'm sure that water was not warm! But Catherine swam like a champ and was out among the front runners all the way through her swim. Here she is running out of the water up towards the transition area. Forgive the slightly wobbly look, it's a combination of TheBoy's stellar photography skills* and the fact that it is truly difficult to stand up after swimming and just start running. Uphill.



Linda rode off on the next leg, a 50K bike ride. Now y'all know me and the bike do NOT see eye to eye so I am in complete awe of Linda for riding the 26 +/- miles! WITH apparent chain problems on BOTH of the hills. Yep. I think she did well considering I think she'd have rather been competing in the whole triathalon like she did last year before she broke her foot and ended up working tons o' hours at work. But it was fun and I'm glad we got to do the relay thing. Here she is riding into the transition area. Forgive the fact that this is a rear view. Did I mention TheBoy has stellar camera skills?



Last but not least it was my turn to run out on the 10K run portion. The knee was feeling fantastic so I *might* have taken off a little quick and been a little over-zealous in the pace as I made it to the 1 mile marker in less than 10 minutes. Yeah. Someone needs to learn to pace herself. So I slowed down a bit in miles 2 and 3 but the knee started getting to me at mile 4. I switched into the Jeff Galloway mode (which I originally wasn't going to do on such a short run) and finished right about where I predicted I would. Of course, y'all know, I always try to under promise and over deliver so secretly I was trying to get a faster time. But given the knee injury and all else I felt pretty good about the run. Crossing the finish line was awesome! Here's a photo of that. Yes, it's once again a rear view.



And you know what the best part of the whole event was? Walking out to the car TheBoy put his arm around my shoulder and said "I'm so proud of you babe". Yep. He did. I think I'll keep him.

*Thankfully, Catherine's husband has better camera skills than TheBoy so I'll post a link with better photos once he gets them uploaded.

3 Weeks, 1 Day and Counting...

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince is almost here y'all! Almost. Here. AND we all know someone dies... I. CAN. NOT. WAIT.

I've only have it pre-ordered since Christmas!

Do you see what I mean when I say patience is not my strongest virtue?

Proof that I am NOT a horrible person.

I do not particularly like children.

That comment above usually wins me a look of horror (you monster how could you not like the most precious gift of all!) or one of abject pity (oh poor woman something tragic must have happened to her in her childhood). Well I am here to set the record straight.

I am NOT a horrible person. And I've also come to realize that it's not children that I don't like, per se, it's parents. Now don't get me wrong, I definitely don't like the drooling and the whining and the general messiness that is children. But what really gets on my nerves is the parent's sense of entitlement. Just because you think your children are brilliant does not mean that I do or will.

Child/Parent combinations that have driven me crazy in the last 24 hours:

To the screaming (and I mean full on hyena wails here) child and mother in Starbucks, OBVIOUSLY there is something wrong with your child. Please do not stand calmly in line waiting for your mocha. Take the screamer outside and figure it out. Do you not notice the glaring looks of EVERYONE around you INCLUDING the employees? It is early in the morning, none of us have had coffee, there is a distinct urge to drown your child (or you) in a vat of steaming Breakfast Blend. You have been warned.

To the couple with the hyper-active school age children at the Taqueria, please put a leash on your children. The rest of the patrons in the restaurant do not want to be jostled, or have our feet stepped on, or our food inspected by your two grubby little brats. This is not McDonald's, notice the lack of a PlayLand? If your children can not behave in a restaurant I have two words for you, Drive Thru.

Yes. I know, I'll give you a second to let the gasping die away. But I really am NOT horrible. I'm not. Maybe just impatient. And a little anal retentive. I would now like a chance to redeem myself.



That is the adorable Miss Elly, about a month after she was born. The fact that she is now a bouncing toddler of 2 does not mean I don't like her. It means her mother moved to Watsonville and I am a bad friend. Also, notice I totally have my mother's nose!



The adorable Mr. Will. Notice the smile on my face while holding him? I LOVED it. He had a little arm wrapped around each side and just nuzzled in and went to sleep. Too cute! Major stress reliever. Also, note the double chin. This was several months ago. Before Christmas.



That's the equally adorable Mr. Jack eating/napping on his "Auntie" Liz. There is no point to this story in relation to that photograph. I just thought you might want to see both Park twins. Aren't they cute? They're HUGE now apparently. And not quite as fond of cuddling. But still adorable I'm sure.

My cat is FAT.

Yes he is. I tried putting him on a kitty diet but he just ended up vomiting every where. And Laurie* can attest to this... If there is anything worse that kitty poop, it's kitty vomit.

So I put him on kitty diet food. Kitty diet = human baby food = wicked expensive.

Then after I was broke, and the cat was officially eating better than me, I switched him to cat food for sensitive stomachs. Because my cat is high maintenance y'all. But then you know what happened? After all the kitty vomit and the expensive baby food? Yep. He put back on all the weight.
















At least he's fat and happy.

*Do you like how I casually threw that in there? Like I actually KNOW Laurie? And am friends with her? And we regularly discuss cat poop? I'm of course refering to Crazy Aunt Purl (http://www.crazyauntpurl.com/) whom I blog-stalk and think is hysterical.

Beautiful little Orenjestad

It may surprise some of y'all that I have actually been to Aruba. Twice. I know! Country girl travels! Well actually, my parents have a time share thing and normally we go as far as Tahoe, which is you know less than 4 hours from here. But never the less. I have been to Aruba. Cute little country. So long as you are facing out towards the ocean. The middle is a huge de-salinization plant. But I digress.

It makes me very sad to see all the hoopla around that poor missing high school girl. Because I was that little high school girl several years back. And I went to the casino and to all the little bars and night clubs and well, I didn't meet a boy because I had MeanEx at home (who was obviously not MeanEx then) and I am a good girl, but Lisa met a boy and went out with him on the beach at all hours of the night. And we were safe. Because if nothing else on Aruba, you feel safe.

I mean I have now traveled to a couple places in Mexico and have partied pretty hard in various US destinations but never with that carefree, small Island attitude like Aruba. Aruba is unique in that. I hope that this one isolated incident will keep people from there. Because y'all would be missing out!

Things that make you go... Blech!

So that article linked above got me thinking back to the days when I used to go, on a fairly regular basis, to Great America (now Paramount's Great America), a local theme park. I love the roller coasters! Yes I do. The faster the better. Loops? Give me three. Sharp drops? Love them. Spinning in circles? Bring it on.

But you know what I didn't like? The teenage boys that would spit on me and my friends in a juvenile attempt at flirting. Oh yes they did. There was one ride that was notorious for it. You know the one, with the large boat? The one that rocks back and forth until you finally go up and over and around in circles for a bit? Yeah that one.

So given the potential precedence the case above would set one could, in theory, call the roller coaster spit flirting a form of assault. Yep. Assault. And it could possibly carry a prison sentence. Or at the very least some community service...

Ha! We should put the spit-assaulters to work scrapping gum off the under-side of tables! Two equally gross things! Heh. Damn, I should have kept those scraps of paper with phone numbers on them from Jr. High. I could make some serious arrests here!

Ahem. Michele and Liz.

I have decided to (belatedly) tag you both for the MeMe. Because I now know you both read this. And also I am bored and want a new post on your blogs!

Here's how it goes:

Pick 5 of the following questions and then complete the sentences. Then pass it on to 3 more of your blog friends! (No tag backs allowed.)

If I could be a scientist?
If I could be a farmer?
If I could be a musician?
If I could be a doctor?
If I could be a painter?
If I could be a gardener?
If I could be a missionary?
If I could be a chef?
If I could be an architect?
If I could be a linguist?
If I could be a psychologist?
If I could be a librarian?
If I could be an athlete?
If I could be a lawyer?
If I could be an inn-keeper?
If I could be a professor?
If I could be a writer?
If I could be a llama-rider?
If I could be a bonnie pirate?
If I could be an astronaut?
If I could be a world famous blogger?
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world?
If I could be married to any current famous political figure?

Now, get thee to blogging!

See! I am not crazy! Not, not not.

Thank you to Michele for the article that totally proves I am not weird. Or heatless. Or crazy.

Well maybe a tad crazy. But that's the fun part!

http://women.msn.com/1186631.armx?GT1=6559

Soul Mates

I've lately been curious about the whole "soul mate" thing. I grew up believing that there was one man out there who was going to sweep me off my feet, complete me, be my better half, etc... As was becoming for a little Southern girl. However, I am not that little Southern girl any more. So I started thinking... Do I believe that?

The answer is no. But before everyone assumes I'm just a wee bit jaded, here's what I do think.*

So let's talk about what a "soul mate" is exactly. I've heard it described as someone which whom you can be completely yourself, at ease and comfortable. Someone who really gets you as a person. Who understands all the little nuances about your personality and embraces them. Who makes you laugh. Who lets you cry. Am I getting close here? Does anyone else feel like this person must be either a) psychic or b) completely over-burdened?

I feel like I have several soul mates. Of which TheBoy is one. He makes me laugh and loves all of the quirky habits I have that make me, me. We've always said our relationship is easy. We're both very comfortable around each other, we respect each other, life is good. But, he doesn't necessarily get me as a person. While he knows what things I like and need in my life (because we've discussed them) he doesn't understand WHY I need them. Does that make him (or me) a bad person? Does it mean our relationship is doomed to failure? I don't think so. Because I don't think it's right to expect one human being to encompass all the relationships you need in your life.

I would also call my friend Liz a soul mate. She gets me as a person, understands my faults and accepts them, treats me like a sister. Is harsh with me when needed, yet comes to my rescue if I'm down. Our relationship is comfortable in a way that only years of joint experiences (and one major falling out) can make it. I couldn't imagine life with out her. Same goes for a couple other girlfriends as well. Girlfriends are important (as our group is realizing more and more). But there is no sexual chemistry there and soul mates are most commonly described as someone you are in a romantic relationship with. But does this make these relationships any less vital?

Also my mother and I are close and share a unique bond. I wouldn't be me without her. She loves me with an understanding that only comes from having lived through my teenage years, my drunken and distracted college years and the ups and downs of various decisions (both good and bad). She understands my wants and needs, sometimes before I fully understand them myself. Isn't that a kind of soul mate?

So you see, I think that there isn't just one individual out there that can complete me and make me the best person that I possibly could be. And I am not so selfish as to expect there to be. I'll take the best parts of all of the people in my life who touch my soul, who complete me and who challenge me. Wouldn't that be an impossible mission? To be everything to someone? To be solely responsible, based on your interpretations, for someone's happiness.

And there you have it. Hold on while I climb off of my soap box.

*Because I may, in fact, BE a wee bit jaded. But that's beside the point.

To the Soldier who works at Taco Bell in Corning, CA

So, I'm just going to take a second here and confuse people. Well at least those of you that don't know me really well. (You lucky people are ALREADY confused by me -- and love me anyway.) Because something touched me this weekend and reminded me exactly who I am and where I came from.

Now I've made no secret of the fact that I don't like this war, that I'm not particularly fond of ol' Dubya and that I'm just generally what some would call Liberal. I am what I am and I respect what all of you are (even if it means we can't talk about politics - kidding).

That being said. You may or may not have picked up on the fact that I lived in Texas before moving out to California. Well Cibolo is a bit of a military town. I think there are 3 Air Force bases and an Army base within an hours drive from there. It is the chief employer. Also, both of my parents were in the Army.

Suffice it to say that I grew up with a very real knowledge of what it means when troops are deployed. It meant that my friends' moms and dads were gone, and sometimes their older brothers and sisters. That is how I've always thought of it. So, regardless of all the protesting I did before the war and my personal opinions about the realities of this particular war, I will never protest the soldiers.

Because those are our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and friends.

I wish you all safety and God Bless.

More Friendster Fun!

I can already tell this Friendster business is going to be the source of hours of amusement. Today I received the following e-mail message from "Wasim":

"Cute. In fact very cute."

Why thank you Wasim. I'm sure you're quite lovely yourself.

Also, I got a Friendster invite from an old friend from High School! How fun is this?!?! So to all my IIF's out there, say hi to Mischa.

*waives*

Do whistling and cat calling really work?

Because I would love to be proved wrong on this one. LOVE it. I want to get flooded with e-mails from women saying how they met the love of their life, father of their future children through the open window of a gardening truck.

Really I do.

But until those stories start poring in can I please just vent a little about how much I hate being cat-called? I remember this one time (at band camp) about 5 or 6 years ago I was walking back to my office from grabbing lunch. When I heard it behind me for the first time:

"Hey Baby" "Woo Hoo" "Hey, What's Your Name" and so on.

And of course I had to fight the uncontrollable urge to just run right over and hop in the back of that pick-up and ride away into the night. I did. But I am the Queen of Self Control. In fact I managed to not turn around at all until I heard honking. From other cars. They had seriously stopped the truck on the street and were holding up nice, non-cat-calling citizens from going about their days.

All to do what? Embarrass me? Annoy me? Show off for their friends? I'm serious. WTF?

And I'll never forget what my boss at the time said when I finally got back into the building, looking more than a little harassed. She said, "You should be happy they whistle at all because one day they stop noticing all together."

And I thought hmmm...

Until it happened again. And again. And again. Seriously y'all it's an epidemic.

I'm actually pretty good a ignoring it now. I've even gone so far as to ignore legitimate friends of mine who pull up beside me and start honking. But now I'm wondering...

Why do they do this? Is it something of an urban legend? Like Billy Bob back in '72 whistled at this "foxy" girl from the window of his 'stang and she turned around and it was love at first sight and now they have a passle of brats that have a passle of brats and all is right with the world? And if it worked for good old Billy Bob there's hope for other guys so they all just give it a shot every now and then just in case?

Please tell me why.

And bring on the love stories. I'm a sucker for a good love story.

My "friend" Ted

Some of my friends have been talking about this whole Friendster thing. You know online profiles and such? But you know, I thought it was a kind of dating thing so I never really checked it out. Me being firmly in coupledom for the last 4 years (YIKES! 4 years y'all!).

However, Liz found a profile online of someone we both mutually used to know. Someone who has changed completely in the intervening years. So, of course, being the curious sort of girl that I am, I wanted to see the profile. But you have to be a member to view profiles. So, yep. I am now a Friendster. And I've had lots of fun looking up people to add as friends. Also ex-boyfriends and people from HS just to see how much they'd changed. See the curious comment above.

So today? Today I get my first message from a total random stranger.

"Hi Sexy"

"u r a fine white girl"

Now don't even get me started on the whole u = you and r = are thing. One day I'll do an entire post dedicated to my friend Ruben. And his "Ru-Bonics". Yes we call it that.

Also I could probably go on for days about the "white girl" comment. What the hell does that have to do with being "fine"? Truly. And would it be PC to say - a fine black girl? A fine Chinese girl? I mean this is 2005 right? Not 1905? Or 1805? Come on people let's think a bit more globally here.

So apparently there are lots of topics for me to discuss with my new "friend" Ted. I can't wait. Because isn't this what Friendster is all about? Meeting new people? And honestly ladies, who doesn't want to meet someone who thinks you're sexy?

Well DUH!

I just stumbled across this article on Yahoo! News. The headline?

"Warning! Your clever little blog could get you fired!"

http://news.yahoo.com/s/usatoday/warningyourcleverlittleblogcouldgetyoufired

So after reading the article which contained stories of people who blasted their bosses or other employees, spilled trade secrets, or posted photos of products being developed on their blogs, you have to wonder... Why are these people shocked that they got fired? OF COURSE they got fired!

Which is why I only blog about former bosses... *Ahem*

Also, I LOVE LOVE LOVE my boss now. And my job. But of course no Big Wig at the top is interested in reading about THAT! So I'm safe.

I am a big girl.

I am. And I am perfectly capable of handling things on my own. Of course there is the whole non-confrontation thing... But I'm working on that. So what I want to know is:

How does one go about firing one's doctor?

Not that my Dr. isn't a perfectly nice woman. I've been seeing her for years, she knows my mom, and has generally been useful given my inherent fear of medical things. However, I think we may have a bit of a parting of the ways on our hands. See, we don't see eye to eye on some things. And while she is a Dr. and generally I would respect her opinion there are some things she says to me that clearly signal that she may not be the right Dr. for me.

Take for example today...

On Saturday I hurt my knee running. Today (Tuesday) it's still mildly painful and I have the triathalon relay coming up so I thought I should probably have it checked out. So I called up and after being passed off to several nurses and leaving various messages, I get a call from the Dr. herself.

Me: Oh hello Dr. Thanks for getting back to me.

Dr.: No problem, I understand you have a sore knee?

Me: Yes well on my last training run it started to bother me and since I have a triathalon relay next week I thought maybe I should have it checked out because it's still bothering me.

Dr.: I see, so how far did you run on Saturday?

Me: Well I made it a little more than 14 miles before it gave out...

Dr.: (interrupting) 14 miles is too far to be running, no wonder your knee hurts. Have you been icing? Is there swelling?

Me: Right. Well I am training for a marathon you know and 14 miles isn't really that long... But yes, I have been icing and there was swelling but it's diminished now. Might be a tad swollen but that's all.

Dr.: Well I'd certainly say you can't run next week if it's still hurting.

Me: Right, that was why I was hoping I could get in to see someone... Perhaps you could refer me to an orthopedist or something?

Dr.: No need for that, I'm sure it's something I can take care of... You probably just need ice but I'll take a look just in case. Hold on while I transfer you to the appointment desk.

Does anyone else sense my frustration here?!?!? How can I call myself an athlete if my own friggin Dr. thinks I'm crazy for running?!?! So this has gotten me thinking...

Perhaps I need a Dr. who is a little more, er, "athletically inclined".

MeMe.

Okay so who knew that those annoying little "get to know your friends" e-mails that go around every so often had a blog format?!?! They're every where I swear! In blog land they are called MeMes. How cute is that?!?!

But if I'm being honest I do have to retract my previous statement that I hate getting these (hate being such a strong word) and that I don't like filling them out because, well I *do* like them! I do. And that's okay. Right?

Here's how it works:

Pick 5 of the following questions and then complete the sentences. Then pass it on to 3 more of your blog friends! (No tag backs allowed.)

If I could be a scientist?
If I could be a farmer?
If I could be a musician?
If I could be a doctor?
If I could be a painter?
If I could be a gardener?
If I could be a missionary?
If I could be a chef?
If I could be an architect?
If I could be a linguist?
If I could be a psychologist?
If I could be a librarian?
If I could be an athlete?
If I could be a lawyer?
If I could be an inn-keeper?
If I could be a professor?
If I could be a writer?
If I could be a llama-rider?
If I could be a bonnie pirate?
If I could be an astronaut?
If I could be a world famous blogger?
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world?
If I could be married to any current famous political figure?

Here are my choices:

If I could be a farmer/gardener: I would grow all sorts of yummy organic vegetables, and fruits, and maybe even have some nut trees in those perplexedly even rows that fascinate me so much as I drive up 5 towards Lake Shasta. How do they do that? And I wouldn't use any environment impairing chemical insecticides either. I would stick to my grandmother's old fashioned remedies (not that I know what they all are except that the there is one that involves planting garlic in between things for some reason or another). Yep. And I'd wear overalls. Pink ones. Also tan ones made from linen (like the ones I saw in a store in Carmel once) even though linen is hardly an appropriate fabric for farming/gardening.

If I could be a chef: I would specify this to mean a chef who actually makes money preparing food for other people. Not to be confused with "chef", the girl who fancies herself a sometime good cook and randomly subjects her friends and family to new "creations". I would also have one of those cute little breakfast type places with like, 10 tables max and a line out the door for Sunday brunch. And I would run my highly successful and sought-after catering company out of the restaurant as well. And I would be so successful that I'd have to book people a year in advance (you want to get married on June 1st, well I'm booked for next year, how does 2007 work for you?). And I'd have my own show on the Food Network. Just for the sole purpose of putting something foul in Rachel Ray's kitchen. Ha!

If I could be an athlete: I would take up a much more glamorous sport than running. One that does not involve runner's ass. Nor thunder thighs. Nor the use of anything termed body glide, goo or nip guards. Something like gymnastics. Yes, that's it. I'd be a tiny little gymnast (I've already got the height for it) who flies through the air on those uneven bars or launches herself 10 feet in the air while at the same time flipping ass over fist about 9 million times and ending in one of those jaunty little salutes. And I'd get to meet Mary Lou Retton. Because she's my hero. Seriously. I have a picture of me in my "official" Team USA leotard practicing cartwheels outside of my father's house when I was maybe 6. I love Mary Lou.

If I could be an inn-keeper: I would own a bed and breakfast in some perfect little seaside village. And I would be THE person to talk to if you wanted to know where all of the little "insider" or "locals only" places where to have the best dinner, most romantic walk, best ocean view, glass of wine, pint at a pub, etc... And I'd be eccentric and have 11 cats (roughly) and also dogs and bunnies. I would also be a farmer/gardener and a chef. Also probably single.

And last but not least...

If I could be a justice on any one court in the world: I would be a Supreme Court Justice. A relatively young and healthy Supreme Court Justice. Because I am afraid ya'll. Very, very afraid. I'll just leave it with, I would like to see someone appointed to the SC who is liberal (or I'd settle for moderate), globally and environmentally minded, and who gets the big picture. Because heaven help us if Dubya gets to appointing self-righteous fundamentalists... Okay see that right there? I didn't mean to say it. I was going to write this whole paragraph without once spouting off about the callous and domineering administration that, if it can't find the data it needs to support its agenda, simply creates it, edits it, forces it into existence and crams it down your throat and calls it sound government policy.* Oops. I'm just saying, is all.

So, I guess we'll see who actually reads these posts... I have no idea who to tag. Most of my IIFs and people I blogstalk have already received it. Or sent it to me. Sad, so sad.

*direct quote from Mark Morford. Who's funny, if sometimes downright depressing and frightening, column you can read here: http://www.sfgate.com/columnists/morford/

Ah... Perspective.

So say you've been trying to lose weight (hypothetically of course). And say you've been dieting and exercising. Also training for a marathon (in which you have to run 23 miles this Saturday - but this is hypothetical of course). And say you've been pretty proud of the 26 pounds you've lost. Nevermind that it took you a year to lose them. And nevermind that you had wanted to lose 43 pounds total by now. Yes, nevermind all that. You've been happy. You've even gone so far as to maybe feel pretty. Also sexy. Maybe.

Nothing could ruin that good feeling for you. Nothing at all. You are a goddess.

Until of course a well meaning friend takes pictures of you on a lake trip. And posts them on his website. And happily sends you the link. And you look at them and think "wow Shasta is really a beautiful lake."

And also, "Holy SHIT who is that woman?!?!? OMG it's ME! OMG I look like I ATE ME for breakfast. HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

And then you vow to stop eating all together and contemplate* giving up alcohol and also go running 4 miles at full sprint mode every night, all while thinking "you stupid cow, how could you have ever thought you looked okay?"

But this is just hypothetical. Of course.

*Did anyone notice I said contemplate? I mean even if this isn't really hypothetical, there's no need to get crazy!

Settling

(Warning! This post may be deemed melancholy. But it's honest.)

Here's a question I've been pondering...

Do all people settle in terms of their relationships? Do we all give up the hope of someone 100% perfect that we may or may not find in favor of someone who is 90% perfect? And do we even believe that there is one person out there who is 100% perfect for us? If yes, then who's to say that your 100% perfect someone hasn't already settled for someone 90% perfect for them?

And is it really settling if the person is 90% perfect for you? Isn't that 10% just the normal effort that people have to put into relationships? Isn't that 10% the person's quirk? The thing that makes them well, them? Wasn't it part of the initial attraction? Have they changed? Or have you?

I suppose the real question is whether or not you can be happy and satisfied with the 90% or if the 10% will always be a constant thought or topic of arguments, the proverbial "thorn in the side".

Well?

From Mountain View to Burlingame

I'm running 23 miles this weekend.

Yep. Me. 23 miles.

That's the same as running from my house in Mountain View ALL THE WAY to Burlingame Avenue in Burlingame. THAT would cure my desire for shopping!

I'm nervous.

Sleep Deprivation.

In honor of Kristy over at She Walks who recently detailed her weekend in terms of alcohol consumption I am giving you the recap of my weekend in hours slept. Because I could totally recount my entire LIFE detailed in consumption of alcohol. But I digress.

Friday night we went to see our friend Bob the Banker play in his band Mr. Meanor (get it?) at St. James Gate in San Carlos. Bob the Banker is also known as Bob the Rocker who seriously rocks ya'll.

Now just to make the distinction, I go to all sorts of gigs, plays and dance recitals because I have many friends who are in to this stuff and, because I am a good friend (or I try to be), I go to them all. I am a one-woman cheerleading squad. Also, I used to be involved in musicals and plays and dance recitals myself and asked my friends to come support me as well. It's only fair.

However, generally I'm bored to tears before the first number is out (which I would never say to anyone but you, the imaginary blog readers). Really. My friends try hard... But. Yeah. Of course I can think of two notable exceptions to the above statement (besides Mr. Meanor) off the top of my head right now so maybe I'm being harsh... I haven't had coffee yet and it's damn near lunch!

Anywho, Mr. Meanor rocks! http://www.mrmeanor.com/ Seriously! So instead of getting there for the first set and only staying an hour, we got there a bit later and ended up staying WAY longer than intended. I also drank WAY more beer than I planned on (which truth be told I planned on none at all which was my first mistake). So we finally made it home at 1:30.

Did I mention we were getting up at 4:00 to go to the lake? I didn't?!?! Because clearly I wouldn't stay out drinking until the wee hours if I knew I had to be up at 4 am right?? Er, right. So for the first total that's 2.5 hours sleep and 2 beers.

Saturday we got up at 4:00am (well I got up at 4:00 which was the prescribed time, the boy on the other hand didn't manage to drag out of bed until 4:30, which if had been the other way around I'd still be getting crap for, *ahem*) and packed up the car and drove the 4 hours up to Lake Shasta. Where we proceeded to drink copious amounts of beer and wake-board and tube and sun-bathe (read: sun-burn) to our little hearts content. Until it started to get dark. At which point we returned to camp to cook dinner. And drink more beer. Now of course I managed to stay awake long enough to drink more beer. But I didn't manage to stay awake long enough to eat dinner. Whoops. However, with the minor set backs of having to get up twice to pee, in the bushes, in the dark, I slept well. And long. So day 2 totals are 9 hours of sleep (not bad) and roughly 417 beers. Roughly.

Sunday we woke up to cold. and also wind. Brr... But we were determined to enjoy our last day at the lake. The boat had of course detached itself from shore and was bobbing peacefully about 50 feet out. After a rousing game of rock paper scissors, the boy went swimming for it. Brr... You know what warms you up after you've just been swimming in very cold water? Beer. And being the good girlfriend that I am, I couldn't let him drink alone. And German? Well he needs no excuse for beer. So fast forward day two, lots of water activities, a shower and dinner, and a LONG drive home. I'm finally in bed at 2 am. I get up for work at 6 am. Ouch. So day 3 totals include 4 hours of sleep and (hell, who am I kidding) too many beers to count.

And there you have it.

So... Um... Karma...

So I was thinking about my post from yesterday about the BOSSES FROM HELL and how one should always do good things because good things come in return as opposed to bad things because, well, you get it. So I'm in the shower, and barely coherent, and the feelings of impending doom start in. Because I am irrational and maybe insecure and I get feelings of impending doom all the time. And you know what's scary? I'm usually right.

Right. Because the BOSSES FROM HELL did bad things and so they should, in theory, get bad things in return. And as wrong and un-PC of me as it is to say, that makes me feel happy. And also vindicated. But then it dawns on me... I did a bad thing! Very bad!

So I told ya'll a little bit about Mrs. J. If you haven't read it, go read yesterday's post. It's okay, I'll wait.

Good. Okay so we can pretty much agree that she was a BOSS FROM HELL, right? Well now let me explain to you a little about the "Southern Way". I tend to always try to see the positive in every situation, always make excuses for people because they couldn't possibly have meant to be mean, and am generally easy-going, sane and rational. See also Door Mat, but I digress. Because all those things above? That's the "Southern Way".

But you know what happens to good little southern girls when they have had enough?? One un-ethical transaction too many, one screaming temper tantrum from lunatic boss too much? We panic. And we start to want to escape, run away, hide, etc... Because while I can make a mean mint julep and am a fantastic hostess (IMHO) I CAN NOT deal with confrontation. Nope. Blinding panic ya'll. Confrontation is NOT the "Southern Way".

So I resigned from my position via fax. Yep. I did. While the BOSS FROM HELL was on vacation no less. Yep. Did that too. This also being the boss with the horrible illness (and yes I know what it was - I'm trying to be somewhat nice here). Yep. So bring on the feelings of impending doom.

Now in my defense I did clean out all of my files, organize and label everything, finally do all the stacks of filing that had been gathering, typed up detailed instructions on how to do EVERYTHING I knew how to do, left lists of passwords and websites we used and generally tried to make it as easy as possible for the poor person who was going to have to come in once the proverbial shit had hit the fan.

But all that above? It doesn't really assuage the guilt. Or the feelings of impending doom. Nope. Because Karma? I heard it's a bitch.

The past is a bitch!

So I have never considered myself new-age or enlightened or any of that mumbo-jumbo because well, I'm from Texas and good little southern girls are born God fearing and all that stuff just seems a little... fluffy, for me.

That being said, I do believe firmly in karma... Or for us southerners, The Golden Rule. You know the one I mean. Do unto others as you want them to do unto you, etc, etc... I try to live by it. Sometimes I do a good job and sometimes not, but in general I try to be the kind of person that doesn't have regrets. (At least for things that are within my control)

However, (and those of you that know me can attest to this) I have managed to pick up a string of seriously deranged, mentally unstable or just plain old fashioned mean bosses in the last 4 years or so.* Now I don't mean just "difficult" or "demanding", those things I can handle. I'm talking mentally disturbed and/or sadistic. Seriously.

Take Mr. A. for example... The first in the string. I had just been laid off from a job I LOVED, loved, loved... Have ya'll ever had a job where you looked forward to going to work everyday? I did. That was it. But it ended - that's the tragedy of market driven businesses (Hi, 9/11). So a friend (who I'm sure was trying to be helpful) got me a job with Mr. A. as I was desperate and rent was due and my stint at Bloomingdale's was getting old. Mr. A. was manic depressive (no joke - he was on medication for it) and prone to extreme mood swings. EXTREME ya'll! Take for instance the staff meeting where at one point we were laughing and talking about another employee's pending vacation and not 5 minutes later large, heavy, hard-bound books were being thrown at / slammed down in front of another employee for "daring" to ask a question about a new procedure that affected her job area. Yeah. No kidding.

Or how about Mrs. J. who was for all intents and purposes just plain mean. For some reason Mrs. J. had gotten into her head that she was an expert on all sorts of things like diagnosing drinking and/or drug problems in her employees (who had no such problems), creating mental instability in employees who had the nerve to tear up after being subjected to one of her rampages, and just generally finding fault with anything that was done because it should have been done faster, better, clearer or the way that "she" would have done it (if she had ever decided to come to work and do anything at all that is). I think it came from being married to Mr. J. who was a spineless, sniveling wimp who decided that since he had lost all respect from him wife (and I suspect had "performance issues" in the bedroom) would take out his frustrations on his perfectly loyal, honest, hard-working and sweet assistant who, I might add, should apply for sainthood as she's worked with these people for going on 24 years now. Mrs. J. played by her own rules, thought nothing of breaking the law if it suited her purpose and generally swindled her clients out of hundreds of thousands of dollars as it suited her. Funny how once breaking the law because part of *MY* job description she couldn't understand my overwhelming desire to get the heck out!

(Of course here comes my good old guilty feelings again... Is it bad karma to say these things because while she was a serious monster she was also quite ill? No, I think illness is no excuse. I've met terminal patients with more grace than her. Right? Right. I'm not a horrible person, not not not!)

But let's move on to the scary ex-boss who is the reason behind this post today, Mr. B. Now Mr. B. was a particularly horrible experience because he was (pre-boss) someone I considered a friend. A work friend or what have you, but none the less, someone I liked ya'll! AND he pursued me! I was working elsewhere and he met with me several times over a 6 month time period to try and woo me over to his company! He promised me an exciting work environment, room and training to grow and learn the business, flexible hours, and a bonus at the end of the year. Sounds pretty damn good huh? Plus I had other work friends that were over there and it seemed like a good idea. So I went. I can't exactly pinpoint the time when things started to look suspicious... First off I think I noticed in minute twelve that Mr. B. had favorites. Serious favorites. A boy favorite and a girl favorite. Also, he wasn't exactly "ready" for me (even though he knew what my start date was 6 weeks in advance) as there was no desk, no phone, no computer, etc... How exactly I was supposed to get any work done I'll never know. Then there were the changes to my job title. I came on with one job title that implied importance and growth and upward mobility and then shortly realized that no one else in the company had a title. So, of course I don't have one either. Fine. But what I was not fine with was that the description of my job changed as well. All of a sudden I am Cinderella at home on the ranch ya'll. I think the final straw for me was when Mr. B. hired someone else AFTER me to do the exact things he had hired ME to do. When I called him on it he said something vague along the lines of "when the time is right..." Well you know what nice southern girls do when they're un-happy in a job? They look for another job. Only, I work in a very incestuous business and apparently I sent my resume to someone who had Mr. B.'s best interests at heart and forwarded it on to him. Fantastic. All I remember about being fired (FIRED ya'll! It would have been traumatic if I hadn't been relieved!) is that he said to me, with a completely straight face, "I think there was some mis-communication between us." Ya think???

Fast forward to today... Mr. B. is back! Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water... *sigh* And then here I was faced with a complete conundrum because I don't have Mr. B. or his company on my resume (I secretly dread having to say the phrase "I was fired" no matter how justified I may have been.) and hadn't exactly mentioned it to my new boss. Who knew it was ever going to come up anyway?!?! What are the chances?!?! Isn't the past supposed to stay IN THE PAST!?!? *sigh* But I bit the bullet and told him (actually I think the look of terror that crossed my face at the mention of his name gave me away but I prefer to think of myself as a tad less obvious) and you know what? It was okay. Because my boss now is fantastic. And normal. And appreciates me. And doesn't take any anti-psychotics (that I know of).

So the moral of this whole rant about my horrible ex-bosses basically comes down to the fact that because of them and all their schitzophrenic ways, I now truly appreciate what I have. Life is good ya'll, life is good.**

*An aside to my current boss (not that he reads this) but I love you, you are wonderful and none of these comments pertain to you.

**Or what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger?