Birthday

Twenty-six was a great birthday, by my measure.  It started with breakfast in bed, a leisurely start to the day, and a true clean slate of a Saturday in which I could do whatever I wanted to do. Nick and I went on a wild goose chase, that ended up being not-so-wild as we were lucky on our second store.  The goods? Rollerblades.  Yeah man! Nothing to make you feel like half your age than a good pair of rollerblades. Nevermind the fact that the wrist pads and knee pads I threw in there for good measure took me right back up to twenty-six, or doubled my age, rather, but it’s all good. I’ll take a bruised vanity over a broken appendage ANYDAY.

 

Donning my impressive safety gear and new ‘blades, we took full advantage of a beautifully sunny Saturday and headed over to the Metropark.  It was nearly 50 degrees and the park was nowhere near empty. Other couples were strolling on the path, kids were throwing rocks into the river, and hippies were playing disc-golf. It was a picturesque early springtime painting. Sublime.

 

After my first foray into rollerblading in over a decade, we took to the open road in search of a quaint little restaurant on a nearby lake, but was unsuccessful. Some deep-dish pizza pie was a very close second option, and I was pleased nonetheless. I thought to myself, “Damn, I am lucky!”

 

After bumming around the house, watching bad movies (Perfect Stranger, The Lookout), and lollygagging, it was time for some birthday dessert.  Headed up to the bar, got myself a martini (the b.f. a beer) and we each ordered a dessert. Of course, when Nick’s dessert came, and looked ever so appetizing, I took the liberty of having a few heaping forkfuls, you know, it being my birthday and all. He didn’t even touch mine. What a gentleman.

 

So, the day didn’t involve partying like a rockstar, I didn’t have a huge party with copious amounts of liquor and beer, I didn’t demand roses and diamonds and the likes, but damn, that was as near a perfect day as I’ve ever had. Damn, I am lucky.

 

As Of Late

I am so goddamn fickle lately. Almost bipolar. One minute, it's all good. Next minute, I'm having a "break" in the ladies bathroom, a "break" of the "down" variety. Nothing worse than tearing up at work, I tell ya.  Cuz the whole puffy, red eye thing?  It doesn't go away as quickly as the tears dry.  You end up standing around the john for an extra five minutes, and by then you're back to normal and it's all gross I'm standing around the ladies' john.

 

So, how have you been?!

Does anyone else hate that

Does anyone else hate that cadillac commercial with that horribly monotone actress from greys?

Warning: I'm Turning Into A Granny

So, this is so a 78-year-old lady's comment: but dangit if it didn't take me FIVE SEPARATE PEOPLE to figure out how to set up a new account for online bill pay.  Nevermind the fact that I couldn't set it up online in the first place... duh.

First I talked to Tim, who connected me to Matt, who connected me to Naomi, who connected me to Sharon, who connected me to horrible elevator music for 5 minutes which ended with me talking to Alicia.

Then, I find out, "we can set you up to view your account, however, we don't have it set-up so you can pay on the account."

Oh, gee, thanks.

Raw

I think it should pretty much be illegal to eat any sort of raw onion at any point during the work day. This includes, but is not limited to, raw onion on your Subway, on your grody little White Castle Burger, on your salad bar, on your homemade dish, ANYTHING!  I would pretty much support any politician (via my vote, not my money) who promised to enact such legislation, as long as he signed an "IOU" with his or her own blood.

 

(On a related yet separate note, I just spent around 4 minutes removing the diced raw red onion from the concoction I bought at Plum Market for lunch. For those of you not in the know, Plum Market is the place you go when you have tons and tons of cash, a bedroom full of cash with a large King size bed in which you roll around in the cash. Because obviously paying $11 for a small container of food from the salad bar area is no big deal to you. I am not one of those people, I have just learned. Hey, can I borrow $11?)

 

I know the paranthesis has ended, but another thing about Plum Market, slightly redeeming, is the free samples. Free samples of cheese (don't judge if I took three), free samples of nacho chips with spinach dip, free samples of their body wash/shampoo/face cream make me feel like a hoarder, but day-um.  $11 for a pint of thai noodle salad from the salad bar?!?!   I'm clearly not getting over this anytime soon.

The Pits

No, not Brad and Angelina, but this: knowing you're about to sneeze right after you've taken a big mouthful of food. If you're lucky and are able to quickly chewchewchewswallow before the big Atchoo, you're still left with the residuals floating around in your mouth and stuck to your teeth and gums and you just haven't properly deposited all of the food yet into your belly. Of course, you just ran out of Kleenex and the office supply closet is out as well, so you're left with your hand... your poor hand.