Leave a Message at the Beep

I would say "Leaving on a Jet Plane" except they screwed up my ticket and I have no idea what I'm flying on now. I'll know soon enough - I have to leave for the airport at 5:00 am.

In the meantime.....

"Conventioneers"
Barenaked Ladies

You walked into the room
And the whole place stopped to notice
Standing next to you, I feel hopeless and you know this
I've never been ashamed of my attraction
I'd be happy if you gave me just a fraction
As we danced, I could see in your eyes
You and me as senior citizens in love

I followed your perfume
out away from all the rabble
Right up to your room for a drink and travel Scrabble
You, stationed in the warm glow of the t.v.
Too patient as I'm playing L(1)O(1)V(4)E(1)

And we laugh...and we laugh...and we laugh
And we have to or we'll end up in the bath

Now we're in the bath, I'm already thinking marriage
I know that in the past it was something I'd disparage
You turned down all the lights, I lit the candles
We rolled around in robes and hotel sandals
Then you slept, and I dressed, and I left
And I guess I'll see you Monday like before

Before all the fireworks exploded
Our conversations were so loaded, innuendo flying
Now what can we say?
Have a nice day
Looks like rain today...

Now I'm in a cab, heading back to my apartment
Everything is drab, and I wish it never started
Now I've landed in this awkward situation
How can I just avoid a conversation?
So I wait, come in late.
It'd be great, If you transferred out of state

Two Things

#1 - DO NOT purchase, or drink, any Jones Soda Co. Halloween novelty beverages from Target. Just don't. Oh, they sound quirky and tasty, sure: Candy Corn, Strawberry S'lime, Caramel Apple, Scary Berry Lemonade. But unless you have run out of vomit-inducing medicines in the house and need to rid your body of harmful chemicals, don't add this to the mix.

#2 - Children can sense things quicker than their older counterparts. A coworker brought her 3 year old daughter in to work today. When prompted to say hi to everyone, the little girl smiled in a truly angelic fashion and said, "Hello you knuckleheads". Yes, indeed. 2 minutes in this place and she already knew what chumps we were. And neither Art Linkletter nor Bill Cosby hovered near with a microphone.

Better Than Secondhand Smoke!

And that's it.
That's all there was saved in draft, just the title.

I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with actual smoking; possibly chocolate, but that's not too good either, what with the caloric intake and all. Chocolate is only good for you when you eat the expensive, decadent, dark variety in itsy-bitsy amounts. I grew up on Hershey's; not a lot of redemption value in those nutritional facts.

But really, what's the point in taking notes if you have no idea what they are relating to? Could I just not be bothered with an extra 30-60 seconds of typing in order to complete the train of thought?

3 weeks from now, when I'm jarred awake with remembering, I'll gleefully reach for pen and paper.

Of course I won't be able to decipher my dead-of-night handwriting, but at least I'll have made the effort.

That's a Bugle You Hear In the Background

Somebody play Taps.

The classic black dress shirt has died.

My closet, once full of somber, respectable business attire, is now mocking me in shades of fuchsia, mauve, topaz and lime. I may be heading to the (other) land of palm trees and ocean breezes, but do I need to do so resembling a girlie frozen concoction?

2 hours of concentrated searching earned me not a single long sleeve, button up, collared shirt in black. Not one! It looks like Rainbow Brite threw up in the department stores these days. I like pretty colors just fine; but isn't black always in fashion?

Yes, That's It Exactly

Oh I know, he takes himself way too seriously, that Don Henley. But match him up with Glenn Frey and the rest of the boys, and I can forgive him. I nearly wear out the 'back' button on my cd player, listening to the intro of Life In The Fast Lane over and over and over.

While at work today, I had Wasted Time on a loop. I know the song well; every word, pause and change in inflection. But like many songs, I've never really heard it, simply memorizing without appreciating. This song has verses that make me want to grab someone and say "There! That's what I meant!"

I'm glad I paid attention today.

Ladies?

Too catchy a title to ignore, I picked up a copy of Why Do Men Have Nipples? this weekend.

The information is delivered in that special snarky way that touches my heart. There's some email/chat transcripts between the authors, anecdotes and jokes thrown in for fun.

A stellar example would be from the chapter All You (N)ever Wanted to Know About Sex, where a pair of sports announcers give a play-by-play commentary on Mr. Newbauer's morning erection, and the options available for handling it. (page 86)

Reminds me of Kato. Uh, wait wait; I was commending his writing abilities and comparing his Inside Kato's Brain posts, not his...
Oh, nevermind.
So, this segues nicely into....

Most debate worthy quote:
"Leyner: This woman... said she won't touch a morning erection... because it's not 'for me' (she said)... it's just a 'reflex.' " (page 159)

Interesting point of view I had not previously considered.
Waste not, want not? Or.... You had better been dreaming of me?

Not Tonight Dear, I've Got a Headache

Referring to my "To Be Blogged" list, I realized the next subject up required a little more research than I was willing to do at this hour. The two after that would definitely need visual aides, and all of them would be better off with a few links thrown in for good measure.

Meh. Think I'll just whine about work (Ugh. Yet another night wasted on paperwork) and contemplate my sleeping habits (I really need an off switch for my mind; wish I could just reach in and smack her around every once in a while and say shut up) before heading to bed.

I was given a copy of the Robb Report today, marked with a post-it on the page with the $10,000 shower head. Perfect bedtime browsing; maybe I'll dream of luxury yachts, private jets and the Caribbean. Preferably where I am a guest, not a member of housekeeping.

Sadly, I was never interested in any of the careers that would allow me to invest in a vacation home for $250,000 for 1/12th of ownership.

(Did you do the math? Yeah.)

Red Team, GO! Red Team, GO!

The bathroom has become a hunting ground, the latest target of scouter ants.

I pick them off, one by one, like a serial killer. I've got different methods, some quick and merciful, others meant as a warning.

A quick squeeze of the trigger and a few get sprayed. One is lured away from the faucet and quickly drowned. Those who are either very brave or very stupid, who run across the floor in danger's path, are ruthlessly rubbed out in front of their comrades. I've trapped more than one underneath a glass, effectively cutting off his air supply; an example to the others.

And still, they keep coming! You'd think, after the Alpha Team did not return from their mission, they'd get the message. But no, they send in another unsuspecting group.

Those poor bastards. A few make a run for it, heading towards the door and the soft camouflage of the carpet in the hallway. Defectors who have nothing left to live for once they cross the threshold, scouring the floor for late night crumbs, sticking close to the baseboards as the vacuum roars ever closer.

But their time will soon come. Oh yes, it will.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the IHOP

Remember, the other night, in the car? We were talking about something, and I said "Oh, I'll have to blog about that!"

Do you by any chance remember what that was? We were practically braying, it was so damn funny. I should have recorded it, taken a few notes; never mind the fact that I was driving.

Why does all the funny stuff happen in the car?

Thanks For Taking The Time

Word Verification is great - until you want to comment on your own blog. Each time I responded to your lovely remarks from the past few posts, I had to do that extra step tonight.
Annoying for all of us, isn't it? Sorry guys.

Nothing Against Anyone Who Shops There

But it will never be a Chico's kind of day in my world.

I hate those damn commercials.
What the hell is that?

"It was a Chico's kind of day.... All. Week. Long."

That's how the man says it, and come to think of it, he really seems to be enjoying himself, doesn't he? Throw on a little smooth jazz in the background, light a fire, break out the wine, and say "Oh yeah baby mmm" at the end. All they need is a 1-900 number.

$42 for a t-shirt? My bank account (and common sense) say no.

Waving the White Flag

I feel as if I'm in slow motion. My movements are measured, my blood moves sluggishly through my body, and my breathing is shallow.

It's not a feeling of physical exhaustion, but rather one of mental retreat. My life is no more complicated than usual, quote-unquote normal even, but tonight it's of no real interest to me.

Maybe I have a dimmer switch on all my senses and someone has lowered it to a level that barely registers. I've no medicine in my system, no alcohol or drugs clouding my mind.

It's like sitting on the front porch at twilight, feet propped on the rail, sweaty beer can dangling from fingertips. Or rather, like I'm watching a movie where a character less detached than myself is participating in nightfall.

Perhaps, if I could get a night without troubling dreams, without playing a vicious round of what-if/if-only, I could start tomorrow with a renewed sense of purpose.

I think I'll go find out.

Sure, The Kiddies Are Asleep Already, But I'm Not!

As the midnight hour approaches, and I continue my endless pursuit of the perfect bedtime procrastination activity, I turn to Channel 11 and watch The Simpsons.

Sure, I've seen the episode at least 5 times before, but that's part of the comfort factor. I don't have to really concentrate, just relax into sleep mode. The Simpsons equal bedtime, and that means unwinding from the day, letting my guard down.

So when the commercial comes on for the latest scary movie (Emily Rose anyone?) it pisses me off. I don't want to be frantically pushing the mute button and closing my eyes. I don't want that adrenaline rush, those images in my mind before turning out the lights. I've got enough things vying for attention inside my head, keeping me from falling asleep, without worrying about exorcism, white noise, evil spirits or Britney Spears' baby.

Yes, it's girlie of me to get scared, but I've got a vivid imagination.
I'd just rather use it for something fun at bedtime, that's all.

Ok, Maybe I Don't Suck

Sometimes I'll have an idea or snippet for a post, and I'll work on it, but if it isn't quite right, I'll save it to draft to work on later. Draft is also very useful for when you can't think of anything to blog about, then you can just scroll through your post listings and find an italicized gem to dust off and slap up on screen.

As you might be able to tell from the first paragraph up there, I had nothing saved in draft.

But for a bit of happy news, my boss signed off on those hideous employee reviews; now all I have to do is actually give them. I thought they turned out so bad, it makes me wonder if she even read them. Most likely she read mine near the end, when she'd given up the fight.

"Comparatively, yours were ok." Thanks Boss. High praise!

Oh Yes, I'm Quite Sure I've Got Issues

If it weren't for the fact that he's animated and well, a dog, I'd have to add him to the crush list. Oh hell, why not.

Dexter too. Every girl should have a crush on a homicidal sociopath once in her life. He's a serial killer who only kills bad people, a knife-wielding Robin Hood of sorts, who charms you while making you slightly sick to your stomach. You'll laugh, and feel guilty for it, as the body count rises.

You can totally see the attraction, can't you?

Speaking of Underwear

Boxer Briefs are sexy.
Support and style; what more could you want?

Even white is acceptable in this format, and black or gray is especially hot. Army-Man-Green, not so much, but that's a personal opinion.

Unlike the rest of this post, which is 100% fact based.

Yeah, I Got Nothing

I feel a little guilty, yet happy.

You guys have been stopping by, reading and commenting, and I like that very much! But I've been a lurker lately, commenting very little, and feel bad about that.

I've sat staring at a blinking cursor in many a comment box lately, but like the reviews I'm writing, nothings coming to me.
And I don't even have to fake it with you guys!

So, not that little ole me matters, but I'm reading and laughing!
(or cringing, crying, whatever is appropriate)

Now, can I just link this to my boss, with a little "See? It's not just you!" note attached?