On Second Thought

My crazy family is already driving me crazy. I find that my grandmother is demanding our company, even though she's already got a full house and there are empty beds down the road. But she doesn't want us in the empty beds, she wants us on air mattresses in the den and the basement. Have I mentioned that my grandparents are very conservative, strict Catholics? Tony and I must sleep in separate beds (usually on separate floors) when we visit. My grandma talks about it with relish, like she's really stickin' it to us. And I'm like, "Grandma, we live together. We sleep together all the time. If your rule bothered us that much, we'd stay at my dad's." But I let her keep her victories.
My mom is doing the "you be the middle man with your stepdad and your brother even though I'm a grown woman and should be able to plan for your visits accordingly" thing. Good Lord. I feel for my brother. I hope he survives his adolescence unscathed. I'm not sure what the odds are, though. Who does survive adolescence unscathed anyway?
But alas. We decided to bring the pup. What's the point of a small-ish dog if you're not going to take him on road trips, anyway? He's freshly bathed, so hopefully he can keep his face out of his butthole for a few days. Hopefully he won't find anything dead to roll in this time.
Once we get through the drive, it should be smooth sailing, though. No plans other than to go visit my dad. We'll play some cards. We'll play some board games. We'll visit with family. We'll eat a lot of food that's really bad for us, and we'll soak up the love. So I think on third thought, I'll be a little easier on the ol' loved ones.

Don't Do This

Um...so if you see your bowl of 1+ week-old black beans sitting innocently in their bowl in the work fridge, don't, under any circumstances, dump them into the garbage disposal. Should you follow this unsuspecting path, you will, instead of trapping the sulfuric (read: fart) smell of the beans into the pipes, be spreading it out into the office. It will take about 2.5 minutes for the entire floor to start muttering about the awful smell and wondering aloud about its origin. It will seep its stinky way into the offices at the other end of the building. People coming from other floors will ask in disgust, "What is that awful smell?"
You will be forced to confess that you are its origin. This is not the kind of shame that you want to subject yourself to. Take it from me.
In attempts to cover up your shame, some co-workers might spray Oust and Febreze into the atmosphere, which instead of making the smell better, simply give you a headache on top of the sewage smell. Oh, happy day.
Diffusion* took no time to humiliate me, but is taking its sweet time in remedying the 1st floor stink.
Don't do it.

*Movement of a fluid from an area of higher concentration to an area of lower concentration. Thank you, Mrs. Royal, 10th grade biology.

Summer Solstice

Had a good weekend. Friday we had 2for1's at the local Chili's. I got a quesadilla explosion that turned out to be a salad. I made up for it by getting a sauteed veggie quesadilla at the Rosepepper on Saturday. It was delicious. The margaritas weren't bad either.
We went to a party celebrating the start of the summer. Work friends, old friends, new friends even. A dance party. A little drama. Swimming in undies. A whirlpool. We got home and made eggs, which were somehow all over my kitchen the next morning. Went to bed with the chirping of the birds. Not a bad night. Sometimes good nights make for bad mornings, though.
My boss's words of wisdom: "A hangover lasts a day, but the memories and fun you make, they last a lifetime." Well said, my friend. Well said.
We're going to Michigan for a long weekend. Leaving on Thursday and coming home Sunday or Monday. My grandparents have a pig roast in their backyard every year. They invite tons of their friends. It should be fun. I haven't seen my family since Christmas. My mom has dropped her douchebag husband (again), so I'm looking forward to actually seeing her this time. I think she and my grandmother might be having a custody battle over Tony's and my affections, 'cause I got a call last week asking where we'd be staying...this just makes me laugh and feel loved. It's nice to be popular.

Last Night

Last night I watched a good, but depressing, movie with my boyfriend. It was called The Air I Breathe. I'll be holy crapped if Brendan Fraser and Sarah Michelle Gellar weren't both really impressive. Whilst the movie was playing, I baked some squash. This provided for timely interruptions from the sad things happening on my tv.
To rejuvenate ourselves after the depression, Boomy and I danced around the living room to various pop songs. Tony joined us from the other room. He put on one of my Ladies Golf Day shirts, which is conveniently made to fit short-torso'd women shaped like tater tots. He belly-danced to Shakira's Hips Don't Lie. It was hot. Okay, funny, not hot... The rest of our playlist included:
Our Song - Taylor Swift
Picture to Burn - Taylor Swift
Fergalicious - Fergie
Viva La Vida - Coldplay
Dontcha - Pussycat Dolls
Buttons - Pussycat Dolls
Damaged - Danity Kane
Umbrella - Rihanna
Shake It - Metro Station
I'm not gonna' lie. It was awesome. And kind of sweaty. And it made me happy.

Jesus Christo*

People I work with are annoying. I know that people are bound to be annoying when you're forced to spend 40 hours with people not of your own choosing. Hell, people get annoying when they are of your own choosing.
But, Jesus Christ, go out in the hallway to discuss which brand of baby food your wife should buy and argue about what size entertainment center y'all need. Take your cell phone and stand in the lobby when you call Disneyland for the seventh time this month to discuss their breakfast options and whether they can reduce the prices if you don't eat breakfast on the fifth and sixth mornings of your stay.
Yes, we're a music publishing company. Yes, they give us all stereos for our desks and even encourage us to wire the speakers up to our computers so that we can listen to our iTunes. But for fuck's sake, if you don't have a recording contract, I don't want to listen to you sing. Or hum. Or whistle. I know the allure. I am a born singer with a terrible voice. That's why I bottle it up and save it for the ride home. And don't fucking giggle at your talk radio programs. I hate your chuckle/giggle/snicker. Almost as much as I hate you. Okay, not all of you. Just a few. Some days I can take it. Today is not one of them.
It's going to be a long, effing day.
Someone needs a vacation, ya think?

*sorry, grandpa, this one was cuss-tastic.

Weekends Are For Babies

Like myself. The end of every weekend is a big shock to me lately. It gets to be Tuesday before I can face the facts.
I had a pretty good weekend. I don't know why it seemed so stellar. In hindsight, I realize I didn't do anything incredibly phenomenal, but still, it was good.
T-bone and I started out the weekend with some strawberry margaritas (his pick) at La Hacienda by our crib. A pitcher got us both 'bout tipsy. Then we got drunk and forgot what we did. Just kidding, I just felt like quoting a little Akon, there. We went home, carried on with the fun, and then debated the merits of heading out or staying in. He promised me some chauffering, but didn't come through, and I ended up falling asleep to the sweet sounds of Will Ferrell & Andre 3000 in their feature film, Semi-Pro, the movies just don't keep me awake these days.
Saturday we went to the Y, where I sweated my A off to my newly updated Shuffle. It's amazing the difference that fresh music will make to your motivation. Then I hit up my pool, where I was supposed to read Crime and Punishment for my book club, but instead my friend the mouse came and we had a lovely afternoon of gossip and girltalk. Mucho!
Saturday night we headed to Tony's parents' campsite and roasted some marshmallows and made Boom swim out to me in a canoe. He did not love it, but he really did a nice job of convincing me of the lengths he would go to for his favorite human.
Sunday morning Tony's parents came over and we made them omelets. Tony and I were a well-oiled machine in our tiny kitchen. It made my heart sing. The omelets weren't bad either. Sauteed onions, red peppers, zucchini & asparagus were thrown in with the eggs and some pepperjack/velveeta combo. The effect was gorgeous. We made sausage and biscuits for the meateaters.
Later we had a little couple's pool time. The weekly summer film club was cancelled, so I did yoga (which I'm still not so sweet at), and we rounded out the evening with grocery shopping that tipped the scales at $100.32 for a half a cart of junk. Life is really quite pricey.
We-helllll...aren't you glad you know about all of that? I think I liked my boyfriend a lot this weekend. I think that's what made it great. You know? When you don't bicker, and you can take a step back and appreciate a moment while you're actually in it. Priceless.

I am tired

I go to bed tired. I wake up tired. I am not doing anything too strenuous. Is it my diet? I'm taking supplements.
I'm working for the weekend.
I'm working out.
I'm working overtime.
But I'm not sure what I'm working toward.