Sunday, July 31, 2005
DG: are you going to post about that?
me: um, no. i can't.
DG: why? did you tell him about your blog?!?!
me: um, yeah. i always tell them about my blog.
DG: but your dating stories are so good*! maybe you should start a secret blog just to talk about your dates. well, from now on there has to be a rule: you can't tell any of your dates about your blog until you think you're going to enter into a relationship with them.
me: that's probably a good idea.
so yeah. on our way to yesterday's pool party, i regaled my friends with stories of my dating trials and tribulations. because in the last month, i have probably been on no fewer than 25 dates. i'm not kidding.
and usually prior to going on a date with a guy, i tend to share my blog URL with him, because i feel it's only fair. i mean, this blog is me -- if a guy doesn't like it or find it entertaining, the chances that he'll like me or find me entertaining are slim-to-none.
also, i really don't like blogging about people without their consent or knowledge. i write about me and my friends, but if i'm going to write about someone i don't know well, i either get their permission or make their description so vague as to be undetectable.
i can't tell you the number of times men have looked at me on a first date, suddenly horror-stricken. "you're not going to BLOG about this, are you?"
(in fact, one guy i was corresponding with actually told me he couldn't date me because he'd "dated a blogger" and "needed to take a break from that." whateverthefuck THAT means.)
so on the one hand, i'm trying to be tactful and gracious and not hurt anyone's feelings.
on the other hand, you're missing out on some prime stories.
*good = horrifying
back when i first got my iPod, for example, i was really actually pretty cool. because it was 2 1/2 years ago, before everyone and their brother had sleeker versions in pretty colors with more memory than my (four-year-old) laptop. you know?
and sure, i have become attached to my (also-four-year-old) lame phone -- which i should point out my Briliant Friend Missy ALSO has (but who was laughed at for having it just the other day, when a fellow student at art school needed to borrow it and she handed it to him and he looked at her and said, "no WAY! this thing WORKS?").
so when my darling sister decided to get me a digital camera for my 30th birthday, i was very happy and excited. but also (truth be told) a little bit scared. because the last time i had a new camera was (that's right) four years ago and it lasted two months before i dropped it and it broke, never to work again.
so now that i have been given a cool, sleek, cute new camera, i'm a little overwhelmed. it does lots of things besides take pictures (things i'll never be able to figure out -- in fact, i had to enlist help from a friend in order to even figure out how to open the battery compartment. whatever.). but that is not the point.
the point is that now that i have a camera, i will be taking pictures of EVERYTHING to better serve my blogging needs. are you so excited? yeah, i know.
so for starters, yesterday i was at a pool party. it was fun. and i brought my camera. but it wasn't until after a few* glasses of champagne that i remembered i even owned the camera, let alone remembered to bring it. so by the time i started taking pictures, well.
here is what the pool party looked like after the sun had set and the twinkle lights were sparkling and my friends were all gathered 'round:
let's just say i haven't figured out how to use "flash" yet.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
- the learning curve.
it's unavoidable, of course. there's stuff related to the company and my position that i just can't know walking in, and yet i HATE not feeling on top of things. (in my professional life, i mean, because we've clearly established that i am pretty much never on top of things in my personal life. Risey & Mr. QA? still waiting for their b-day presents. also, i have yet to mail a wedding present to one of my closest friends who was married last OCTOBER. sorry Risey & QA & M2!! yeah. right then.)
- trying to figure out who the nearly 500 people i work with are, what they do, and where they sit.
not that i expect to know who *everyone* is, but given the collaborative nature of my role, it would be nice to know who more than, say, six of them are.
- getting lost in the building.
to be honest, this building has the most gracious set-up of any large company i've seen. it's very logical and fairly easy to navigate. this is a big thing because i tend to get lost in mazes of cube farms the way i get lost in hotels. did i ever tell you i get lost in hotels? because i do. if i can turn the wrong way out the room door, i will.
- not knowing How Things Work.
you know what i mean? it's like, having to learn a new culture and all new social scripts. do people swear? do people talk about their personal lives? where do most people go for lunch? do people do happy hours? how much talking is too much (critical question for me here, folks)? will people dress differently on fridays? are there cliques? how do teams work together? is there drama? and who keeps bringing in those friggin' donuts?
- trying to be productive.
this sort of goes hand-in-hand with the learning curve, but it's the crux of the problem with starting a new job. i want to be productive and useful and Get Things Done and prove (to the company and myself) that i was hired for this position for a damn good reason, but then there's only so much one can do in the first few days. i can only drive projects so much as i understand them. i can only meet with people so much as they can make time for The New Girl. i know i have to be patient, but i want everything to start happening RIGHT NOW.
hmmm. note to self: re-read this section someday when you're overloaded with work and completely stressed...
What I Love About This New Job
- Everything else.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
the purpose of this blog is to track my diet/exercise so as to keep me accountable for my weight loss.
isn't that SO funny?
now, sure, i've been a bit distracted.
i started off the year on the right foot. i had a steady (if not too taxing) job. a steady (if a bit too taxing) boyfriend. and i had my head screwed on right. i was ready. i was committed. i was eating great and working out regularly.
and then life happened.
let me say this, by the way: i lost a lot of weight when i was in college, so i have been through this before. and what it took then was what i had this past january...
when i have a basic routine, and i can work my eating/exercise into that routine, i am good at sticking to it.
and so not to dredge this up again, but when The Boy dumped my ample ass, my whole world was thrown into a tailspin. not just because i was hurt, but because my routine shifted. i was suddenly left to figure out how to be a single adult female, living on her own (with her cats)(and yarn*)(and closed gym).
and lemme tell ya'. between the constant going out with friends (for love, support, and company) and endless internet dating, i have done a great job of Putting Myself Out There.
but Putting Oneself Out There does not really lend itself to routine.
plus, add to that my considerable job turmoil (and uh, a trip back east, a new baby in the family and a death in the family) and basically, i feel like i haven't had a 'normal' day in months.
because i haven't.
but now it's time to reel it in. to slow down on the dating. to focus on my new job. to find my way back to routine (even without a The Boy) enough so that i can eat well and get myself to the gym regularly and restore balance.
i mean, if i can clean my entire apartment while on vacation,** nothing's impossible.
*wanna hear another joke? okay, here goes: this blog is about knitting. hahahahahaha!!!
**i totally finally cleaned the apartment from top to bottom on sunday. hurrah!
Monday, July 25, 2005
first of all, i have developed a crush on a boy and i am most unhappy about it. and please don't ask me why (i.e., "isn't it nice to have a crush on someone?") because by now you should know that the second i realize that i have an official crush on a boy he will never call me again.
and then this means that i will likely resort to posting another ad online. except i think i can't do that anymore. because finally, after like a MILLION terrifying emails leading to several unsuccessful internet dates, i am starting to think that maybe craigslist is not so much the means for finding true love. (or, you know, even just someone worthy of a second date.)
because remember king od? yeah, well, he's back.
here are some very recent excerpts from emails i've received (and in the first several cases, the ENTIRE email i received) from men in response to various ads i've posted. maybe not as bad as the first batch, but not exactly promising, either...
Do you have a pic?
i spent two hours composing my ad. you spent, what? 42 seconds composing an email asking for my picture without so much as saying hello? *sigh*
hey u call me xxx xxx xxxx!!!
well, at least you said hello.
sup wit it on this sunday night? wanna kick it?
hmm. does "sup wit it" count as a hello?
im latino man single never married not kinds,but i will having (2).
didn't you mean to say you're not a married "king od" guy? no?
Well I guess you can email me back like what I read
gosh! really? i can?
cool i like what u juts wrote , i'm very sure i have what you looking for.. as the matter fact i'm so bored and home alone .. i just rented a movie from lee vadio store and i just open a buttel of wine... let me know what ru ganna do ..
i don't really want to seem snobbish about the english language, and yet...well, what m i ganna do...?
so what your trying to say is your just wako, you know, crazy, lolol, well i like it and im interested.
at least my true self is coming across.
I think I saw you once on a country road. I was lounging under a tree, and you rode by on your broomstick searching for an eye of newt to cast a spell on some poor devil.
that was YOU?
Hi, How are you? I'm well hung and thick
you know, i almost responded to you since your note to me was so unassuming and polite. and then i saw the subject line of your email.
and people say romance is dead.
*and p.s. that fucking bitch aunt flo decided to drop in EARLY so she could be a part of my first day on the job. isn't that sweet?
Sunday, July 24, 2005
i have had a week off.
my only goal this week was to clean my apartment.
(you see where this is going?)
this week i wrote, read harry potter, met friends for lunch, went on a couple dates, had my hair done, went shopping, sat by a pool, lazed about, and even went with friends to a wild 80's party (photos coming -- i had myself some big hair).
did you see "cleaned my apartment" on that list?
so i repeat. it's now 2 p.m. on sunday and i have only just returned to my apartment with cleaning supplies. and now that i have them, what am i doing with them?
that's right. i'm blogging.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
from today's East Bay Express:
Kristy's entries are charming and sometimes hilarious: Her July 9 recollection of an inebriated comic mishap was illustrated with a photo of her own badly bruised buttocks.um, MakeOut Kate? remember how you were in the paper for buying beer....?
*despite unknowingly making my ass more famous, i would like to give props to Shull O'Fit, who alerted me that the east bay express was looking for feedback from Bay Area bloggers.
(kristy, no one cares if you have sensitive skin.)
(shutup, it's relevant to the story.)
(are you actually writing out your conversation with yourself?)
(nice. they already think you're crazy.)
anyway, before i was so rudely interrupted by myself, i was mentioning that i have sensitive skin. and this is not much of an issue on an everyday basis, except when i suddenly break into hives (oh, and what a sexy look that is!) because of, well...almost anything can cause me to break into them: anxiety, stress, annoyance, tomatoes, etc. (sometimes hard to tell which.)
but also, sometimes i just break out into rashes for fun. sometimes heat. sometimes wool. sometimes for completely unidentifiable reasons.
and so yesterday, i was lounging poolside at a friend's house, enjoying my time off. i was wearing swimshorts and a tanktop. i had my feet propped up, and i was soaking up the rays (from under gobs of sunblock, of course.)
and then i felt a bit...uncomfortable.
my right breast suddenly felt a little...irritated. itchy, a bit. so i oh-so-surrepticiously* started feeling around my tank top, and was momentarily horrified.
there were bumps. all over. hard bumps.
what on earth happened now? am i allergic to my tank top? to the pool? the sun? how is this...
so as i began to fall into a complete panic, wondering what horrific site my right breast might have become, i threw caution to the wind and pulled my tanktop away from my skin and looked down it.**
i couldn't see anything right away, so i had to adjust myself. yes, meaning i was now holding my tanktop away from me with one hand, and gripping my boob with the other hand so that i could see the lower side of it.
and know what i saw?
no, no hives or rash or anything of the sort. nope.
apparently, i had managed to drop quite a large hunk of fried chicken down my cleavage completely unbeknownst to me, and then gone swimming with it!
which meant that it had broken into many bready little parts, now happily tucked away between my right breast and my tanktop.
and then, to add insult to -- well, not so much injury i suppose, huh? -- but just adding insult to my moritifying discovery, the dog came rushing over to see if she could have some of the scraps.
snarky just laughed at me.
as well she should have.
*because right. i am capable of doing anything surreptitiously.
**whatever. it was snarky and her boyfriend. my gaping down the front of my tanktop and rummaging around my cleavage is pretty much par for the course.
Monday, July 18, 2005
me: yeah, i thought i could use it.
everyone: so what exciting things do you have planned for the week?
me: uh. plans?
everyone: yeah, like, what sort of things will you do? day trips? parties?
me: well, i sort of thought i'd clean my apartment. maybe read some. and write. maybe reinvest in knitting.
so, yeah. sorry to disappoint the world of working folks who thought they could live vicariously through me and my rip-roarin' week off, but really, my floors need attention. and my closet it terrifying.
and plus mentally, it's nice to take some quiet time to transition. the new job is going to be challenging and stressful, and the old job -- especially my friends there (hi F & PJ!!) -- will be missed...
...but back to Harry (who i ditched last night in favor of IMs. tsk, tsk me.)
Sunday, July 17, 2005
and that is because my life has been a bit...unpredictable.
i don't much like to talk about work here, but if you are a reader of my boss, KnitterStacy's blog, you would have probably noticed that she is now my ex-boss because she left and took a different job. and probably you would think that that's maybe indicative of changes for me.
and you would be right.
so yes, between my traveling back east and the holiday/b-day weekend my job has shifted dramatically and (as you may've picked up on from the last entry) i have been hoping for a job offer.
which i received.
meaning i will be starting a totally new job along a slightly different career path*, and this is all very (scary) exciting and positive.
and now that things are settled, i expect to return to our regularly scheduled blogging...
*new career path means i did not take the offer from the aforementioned, now-somewhat-browbeaten-by-blog (sorry!) greg. but thanks for the support, imaginary internet friends.
Friday, July 15, 2005
and you know how sometimes you can totally blame that on alcohol? yes, i know you do.
except you know when you shouldn't ever blame the falling-out-of-mouth-ing on alcohol? that's right! when you're in a job interview.
so no, i'm not saying i was drunk on a job interview (kids, it was 7:30 in the morning and plus i am actually a professional sometimes).
i'm saying that, while on an interview when i was very busy being 'actually a professional' i may have gotten a bit too ahead of myself and had something unfortunate fall out of my mouth because while i am actually a professional i am also actually a me.
and so, see, since it was an actual professional interview, there was nothing to blame the mouth-falling issue on other than myself. because you cannot be in an interview and say something stupid and then blame it on something like drugs ("oops, sorry, forgot to take my meds!") or alcohol ("i did a couple shots before i came in here...helps me calm my nerves").
instead, you have to pretend you meant to say exactly what you said, even if you absolutely didn't.
and just what is it i said, you ask?
oh, i'll bet you can guess.
ya-huh. in response to a question about a writing project i worked on a few years ago, i emphasized my writing skills, while off-handedly remarking that the site itself was not well marketed. and then i added:
immediately after which my brain had the following split-second conversation with itself:
"you are an idiot. i know you thought that mentioning your blog was a good idea in the 18th of a second you thought about it, but it was not. it was a really, really stupid thing to do. you'd better hope he doesn't ask for the url.
wait, wait, don't make that face or he'll catch on. be cool. he won't ask. everyone has a blog these days, it's just assumed. seriously, why the hell would he care what your blog address is?"
which is when he grabbed a pen and looked at me and said, "oh? you have a blog? what's the address?"
so right, then my brain went into super-hyper-overdrive running through the following thoughts in oh-so-rapid succession:
- you are an IDIOT
- he's going to WRITE IT DOWN
- he didn't just ask and forget, he's going to WRITE IT DOWN
- maybe he won't read it
- omg your LIST is on there!
- and with the drinking?
- nice SUNDRESS diagram
- you use the word FUCK, kristy
- HELLO? MASHED POTATO BOOBS
- you are not a professional
- well, wait, maybe he will think it's funny
- maybe he will read it and think that you're GREAT and isn't is so cool that you're BRAVE ENOUGH to mention your fucking blog in a JOB INTERVIEW
- oh yeah, that's likely
- probably he will think you're crazy and the least professional person he's ever met
- seriously kristy, learn how to filter yourself
Choice A: i could say, "oh, well, it's kind of personal. i'd rather not."
but come on. the second i said that it'd be like announcing, "there's weird stuff on my blog." and plus, what's worse, it would be drawing attention to the fact that DUMBASS stuff sometimes falls out of my mouth and what sort of actually a professional would allow that to happen?
which meant i'd have to go with Choice B: smiling, looking him in the eye, and giving him the address as though i was expecting the question and oh, sure, it's *totally* fine if you read it and why wouldn't i want you to know about my bad dates and worse kisses and strange yarn addictions and occasional jokes about my lack of workplace productivity.
so i guess my point is that even when i'm working very hard to be actually a professional, the same sort of happy-confidence that makes me think i can swing down stairs without falling or skip down the hallway without stumbling can find ways to creep in. and then instead of physically hurting myself, i verbally trip and spill.
at least i'm consistent.
(oh, and in case you're wondering if he ever read this, well... imaginary internet friends, say hi to greg.)
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
on the one hand, i mean, i hope i never have an accident bad enough to top that.
on the other hand, i am trying not to think too hard about the implications for me and my life when my potentially crowning achievement is telling a story to imaginary internet friends involving an ass-related accident culminating in poor self-photography.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
well, fine, whatever.
the last few years haven't exactly provided me with the best birthdays.
29 sort of fell in the middle of a series of unfortunate events...though 29 wasn't quite as bad as the previous years, which had included a divorce (26), a funeral (27), and a trip to the emergency room (28).
so as i sit here in the safety of my own apartment (read: not falling down), i will now detail for you the saga of my foot woes (because if *that* doesn't sound enthralling, what does?), which culminated on my birthday two years ago. it was My Greatest Moment of Breezy Elegance.
unless we consider the other My Greatest Moment of Breezy Elegance, which was not on my birthday, but for which i have a photograph of my ass.
i think this is going to be a long post.
so two years ago i went to go see the fireworks with my then-boyfriend, El_G, and, yes, had a few drinks. and before you go and start thinking that my drinking affected my coordination, i'll point out that probably it didn't -- my coordination has issues regardless. the drinking did, however, affect my thinking (which, sure, proved disastrous for my coordination).
see because here's what i thought. i thought, as i got to the top of the stairs of our floor, and saw El_G unlocking our apartment door, that it would be a GREAT idea to be sweet and cute and fun and RUN over to him to hug him. yes! because RUNNING at your boyfriend out of the blue makes all sorts of sense. thank you, $4 beers.
and so, all of four feet away from El_G, i took off running towards him.
but one step into my sudden sprint, my sneaker caught on a bit of uneven carpet and i totally lost my (already inept) balance. and yet, because i was already sort of running, i couldn't just fall. i had to try to recover.
you know? how when you trip as you're walking down the street you can sometimes catch yourself? where it takes a few steps but you regain balance and then are okay?
right, well, that's what i tried to do. because $4 beers make you think this is possible.
because $4 beers allow you to temporarily forget that the hallway is only so long.
so yep. while i was in the middle of trying to recover -- half-hunched over, still in mid-run -- i ran out of hallway and slammed into the wall.
and went through it.
let me say this again. my entire body ran full-speed into the wall which appeared way too early. and because of some stupid physics laws of motion bullshit, slamming into the wall made me stop moving forward.
yes, my elbow had stopped me (by going through the drywall), and the rest of my body, with nowhere else to go, just crumpled.
on top of my foot.
and then poor El_G, who had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA what in god's name his girlfriend was doing, only managed to turn around in time to see the crumpling motion, followed by my gasping for air (since in addition to knocking out part of the wall i'd also managed to knock the wind out of me).
and by the time he was able to ask me what on earth had happened (because it is only right and proper that a boyfriend wonder why his girlfriend would suddenly decide to run headlong into a wall), i had started with the crying.
not a little crying, either. the kind of crying that happens when you are drunk and embarrassed and also in more pain than you've ever been. pain that would not subside. pain that made you wonder if you'd ever walk the same again, because you'd just fallen on the same foot you injured in a freak dating accident.
[sidenote, freak dating accident: several months earlier i had agreed to go on a date with a guy from online. (because we've established that that is what i do.) and after 94 manhattans AND a seemingly endless pitcher of sangria, my big clunky high heel met with uneven sidewalk. and i went down. and this was problematic because i was on a very awkward first date wherein the man expressed interest in marrying me about three drinks in. and so when he helped me up and put me into his car to take me back home, he suggested i consider moving in with him. all i could think was, "DO NOT CRY, IT WILL ONLY MAKE THINGS WORSE."]and so after a night of agonizing pain, El_G dragged me to the emergency room. and when all was said and done, it was discovered that i had broken nothing, but pulled *every* tendon in my foot. and you might think that sounds better, but the doctor was very somber in explaining that i was actually unfortunate, since breaks heal better and hurt less.
which of course i appreciated.
so to summarize My Greatest Moment of Birthday Breezy Elegance: my last-minute decision to enthusiastically hug my boyfriend resulted in an (expensive) trip to the emergency room and my being able not to put pressure on the foot for SIX weeks, not being able to walk normally for four months, and gaining a ton of immobility weight. which i've since lost, though my right foot is still slightly bigger than my left.
hi? kristy? remember when you said this was actually about your ass? who cares about your big, ugly foot?
so my ass then.
My Other Greatest Moment of Breezy Elegance has nothing to do with my birthday. but is worth telling because of the picture.
four summers ago i was a LOT of fun to be around. i was living in my soon-to-be-ex-house in the soon-to-be-ex-suburbs avoiding my soon-to-be-ex-husband and feeling absolutely miserable.
and so i thought that taking a few days to go visit my sister and her boyfriend would be a great idea. they had just moved to a new, beautiful apartment in boston (complete with guest room), and i thought it would be nice to get to know my sister's apparently-serious boyfriend better.
on one of the days i was there, my SisterHealy had to go off and do something. which meant her BoyfriendBrian and i had to find something to do without her. which meant (duh) heading down to the beer garden*.
and of course i thought, "gosh, this will be nice. i'll get to hang out with brian and learn more about him and we can bond and gee, won't this be swell."
and you know, probably it could've been. swell, i mean. and actually, it even started out okay. but see, me? at that time? complete and utter basketcase. and adding copious amounts of wine? DOES NOT HELP.
in the course of the many hours we were there, i dragged poor Brian through the various and fun stages of my emotional instability, ranging from hating men ("but not YOU, brian!") and not believing in marriage ("but it would be SO GREAT if you married my sister!") and also hating the northeast and EVERYTHING in it ("oh, but um, boston's okay...") to being absolutely completely ecstatic about how really i'm starting the newest and most exciting stage of my life ("everything is really just fabulous, brian, it really is truly is fabulous, it just really, really, is...").
so on the tail end of one of my very long, incoherent explanations of why everything is really fabulous, i had to go to the ladies' room.
located down a flight of stairs.
and i was feeling great. brian (who'd gotten about 4 words in edgewise) was SO GREAT. my life (while completely turned upside down) was going to be SO GREAT. being left by my husband was SO GREAT because of how LIBERATING it was. (for those 15 minutes, anyway.)
so you know how when i was feeling great at the holiday party and thought skipping down the hallway was a good idea?
i decided after 372 glasses of pinot grigio that i would just casually, lightheartedly (because everything was SO GREAT) swing myself down the stairs by the handrails.
so there i was, hands on handrails, SWINGING DOWN THE CONCRETE STAIRS, when -- guess what -- oh yes, my hand slipped and my ass came crashing down onto the edge of one of the stairs.
i was shocked and mortified (no one had seen me), but i was so buzzed i thought it maybe wasn't so bad, though boy was it ever painful.
and when i came back to the table, i tried to explain to poor brian what i'd just done, but he didn't seem to understand the impact it'd made. or perhaps his eyes were just permanently glazed over from my being incapable of shutting up.
anyway, there are two endings to this story.
the first ending is that brian and i eventually went home and my sister was slightly amused by the extent of my drunkenness but mostly not, especially when i threw up all over their guest room.
(by the way? brian? thanks for marrying my sister despite her family.)
the other ending is that the drive back to connecticut was painful. and when i got home, i inspected my ass and discovered THE BIGGEST BRUISE THAT HAS EVER EXISTED. ever. it was enormous and dark and terrifying. it is a wonder that i didn't kill myself (though to this day i can feel a line of scar tissue across my ass).
and so here for you now are the pictures i took with my timed webcam of my breezily elegant ass. please understand that they are in no way photoshopped (because really, you have seen my photoshopping skills), and are also a bit fuzzy since they were taken two days after the fact and by a low-grade webcam.
*which is what would have happened if we had to find something to do with her, too, but that's not the point.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
i have been known to manage sizeable projects and not miss a beat. not drop even a tiny little ball.
one of my weaknesses is that, when i'm not careful, i sometimes maybe don't take the best notes.
or to be more precise, i don't make the best notes to myself.
for you? for others? of meetings? of classes? my notes are excellent.
post-its to myself to remind me of things? absolutely cryptic.
for some reason, i like to pretend that i will know exactly what i mean, weeks or months later, by using abbreviations that mean absolutely nothing. i seem to think, despite all evidence to the contrary, that i will remember all the details of The Meeting, even if critical details are omitted, such as what the meeting is for, who it is with, where it is being held, and on what day and time i'm expected to attend.
i just moved desks at work, so i have just gone through much filing, and have found many examples of my excellent "for my eyes only" note-taking.
EO MTG TUES, for example.
anyone wanna guess what EO is?
because like, it's not the initials of anyone i know. it's not the initials of a project i'm aware of. i notice that neither the term, "marketing," nor the terms "website," "internet," or "intranet" -- three things i tend to have meetings about -- start with the letters E or O.
(somehow, i'm sure i managed to attend that meeting anyway, but you get the point.)
another favorite thing i do is write down phone numbers with absolutely no indication of whose number it might be. and then, because clearly they were important enough to write down, i save them.
which means that, at this time, i have no fewer than 7 post-its strewn about my files that have phone numbers on them and no names or companies attached. i mean, i probably transferred these numbers into some reliable electronic gizmo, but one can never be sure. so i best keep them.
(oh, and? the number of pieces of paper with unidentifiable numbers i have at home is just downright frightening.)
but i think the best thing i do, note-to-self wise, half-write, half-scribble something "funny" someone said so that i can remember it. except of course, out of context, it's not maybe so funny. especially when i write the quote down on something unrelated.
i found a "file" today in which the first page was a photocopy of a map of the Bay to Breakers race route, from the May 13 edition of the Chronicle, with this quote at the top (in barely legible handwriting):
not doing well & dead are 2 diff things
is that not the most helpful thing you've ever read?
i mean, i sure am glad i wrote THAT down. boy, i can rest well knowing i have that KNEE-SLAPPER to pull out at any time.
guest at dinner party: so, kristy, have you heard any good jokes lately?
me: well, gosh...[me, wracking my brain]...oh, hey! did you hear the one about how 'not doing well' and 'dead' are two different things?
guest at dinner party: why NO! that is SO funny! and TRUE. did you come up with that yourself?
me: no, not exactly...
so yes, again. i am SURE this was funny to me for some very good reason during some meeting or wherever it was i received the Bay to Breakers map route. but it's lost a little bit of its punch, don't you think?
and also, it's not so much critical to the file about our professional association memberships, is it?
it's possible i have an addiction.
well, i mean, another one.
and so i just thought i'd share my now-favorite response of all time, because it totally trumps anything i posted here, and also because my birthday story entries are long and not done yet because sadly, i've had to work when at work. and i zonked out last night.
so my CL ad was something along the lines of "let's meet for a drink."
and some guy replied saying that i clearly have a problem if a need a "stimulant" to have a good time. and that really, all i needed was his Penis Colada.
i actually thought about replying just to engage in some sort of discussion, and probably would've, had he not also misspelled "colada."
because i have standards.
Monday, July 04, 2005
in fact, i'm on my way out the door to go do more to write about.
in the meantime, i thought i'd link to this. because that's what friends are for. certainly you may disagree; it's not my intention to be controversial. but since the can of worms was opened, i think this sums up my take on the matter.
El_G just says it better than i ever could.
Friday, July 01, 2005
so now the MakeOut Kate story isn't all huge and half-way down the page.
seriously. totally working today. the friday before a three-day weekend after two weeks off and three days before i turn 30...