And This is Why Men and Women Cannot be Friends in a Crisis!

There has been much debate over the years whether men and women can truly be friends -- many citing negative indications having their root in sexual tensions.  I've never bought into this premise; I frankly have a number of male friends -- a few of which I count amongst my BFFs -- and the only tension we encounter is when they need help moving or they want me to actually travel somewhere to meet them for dinner or drinks.  I mean, obviously that's not gonna happen!

However, today I discovered definitive proof that a real friendship between the sexes is simply not possible because men lack a basic understanding of what is important.  Naturally, I discovered it via text message because I don't like to actually speak directly TO other people if at all possible.  So in the interest of science, I submit to you definitive evidence:

Me:  Accckkkkttt!

Me:  F$&@#%¥*!!!!!!!!

Me: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Kevin:  Problem?

Me:  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  I think I left my comb in the hotel in DC!!!!  OMFG!  What am I going to do now?

Kevin:  ?

Me:  WTF do you mean, ?  I can't find my comb Kevin!  I can't comb my damn hair!  I'm going to get dreadlocks!!!!

Kevin:  Don't you have another comb?

Me:  WHAT?!  I can't use another comb!  I've had this comb since college!  This comb effin moved with me to the middle east! It survived Africa and the Iraq war Kevin!  That combs a god-damned hero!!!  You should be thankful to that comb, it fought for your freedom.

Kevin:  Are you having a stroke?

Me:  Maybe!  This is horrible!!

Me:   Shit!  I'm supposed to give that presentation to that college in San Diego tomorrow!  I'm obviously
going to have to cancel now.  I can't represent the USG with crazy hair!  Wait, California is really casual.  Do you think I could wear a hat?

Kevin:  Probably not appropriate.

Me:  But it's after Memorial Day.

Kevin:  What does that mean?

Me:  What is wrong with you?  What do you mean what does that mean?  There are RULES about Memorial Day Kev, things are allowed to be more casual after Memorial Day.  How the hell can you not know about this?!?!  Without Rules our whole society breaks down Kevin!

Kevin:  Seriously, I think you are having a stroke.  Maybe you should call 911

Me:  Dude, you gotta go right now to the Marriott where I was staying and see if they have my comb!

Kevin:  Yeah, I'm probably not going to do that...

Me:  Ugh!  You're right.  You know some thieving maid got her grubby paws on it by now.  I wonder if its on eBay?  I should google that shit.  But first, I should call the professor to tell him I'm not gonna make it tomorrow.

Kevin:  You can't seriously be thinking of canceling your presentation.  What the hell would you tell him?

Me:  I'd tell him that I EFFING LOST MY COMB!  What the hell else would I tell him?  NORMAL people understand the strategic implications here.

Me:  I'm not sure why you are being so hateful right now.

Kevin:  JUST GET ANOTHER COMB!  You're a god-damned nut job!!

Me:  GASP!?

Me:  How DARE you!?  I can't just get another comb!  They don't make this comb anymore!  I've tried to get another comb you ass!!!  If it were possible to get another comb do you think I would have this spare drawer of 72 other combs that DON'T WORK RIGHT?

Kevin:  Don't work right?  It's a COMB!  They comb!  What the hell else do they do?!  Jesus!  How on earth do you still walk among the normal people?!?

Me: I can't even talk to you about this! You're being irrational!

Kevin:  Oh for God's sake.  Please just call Liz.

Me:  I will.  SHE understands.

Kevin:  Thank you.  TTYL

Me:  Maybe.  I need to think about the efficacy of our continued friendship.

Kevin:  Whatever! You'll be back the next time you think the lady at the Smoothie place purposefully put bananas in your smoothie because she knows you hate them.

Me:  SHE DOES! She's a total biatch!  She just doesn't like to do special orders!!!

Kevin:  You should steal her comb.  Then leave a note that says, "You know what you did."

Me:  I forgive you.

Surprise!!! ( But not the Good Kind....)

This morning Dillon and I came home from our morning hike and I noticed something truly frightening!  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a kinda slow moving light colored rodent scurry/saunter across the hallway and then under the couch.  Naturally, my keen self-defense instincts kicked in and I immediately froze in place and stared fixedly at the location.  Because I'm not stupid, I totally knew that the slow saunter it used to get under said couch was a well-thought out trap to lull me into thinking it was not a threatening rodent-like creature, but was rather a sleepy non-threatening monster sent by nature to inspect my furniture placement choices -- and was also likely under some sort of California State Law protecting its right to claim my couch as its natural habitat.

While I stood there frozen, I carefully considered my options and came to the obvious conclusion that I needed to burn down the house.   Cursing my inability to take up smoking and my subsequent lack of a fire starting utensil, I had to go to Plan B....send in Dillon to kill/scare/snuggle the creature.  Not wanting to unnecessarily cause Dillon to panic, I suggested he go "get on the couch and watch TV!"  Obviously, the option to watch TV is always the preferred choice and Dillon headed unknowingly toward the couch...

I'll admit I did have a small twinge of guilt for sending Dillon in unprepared, but that quickly passed when I remembered how Sunday was mother's day -- and also my birthday -- and Dillon didn't get me shit!  Sure, it could be that he doesn't know how to use the internet and/or that he has bad credit and, therefore, doesn't have a credit card because he's a dog -- but I think we all know it's really because he's an asshole.  So I let him go -- you know what you did Dillon!

So Dillon is heading toward the couch clearly thinking of how great it will be to watch re-runs of Animal Hoarders on DVR -- when out of the corner of his eye, he spots the vacuum that I had gotten out with the intention of actually using, but you know what they say about intentions....(let's just say my road to hell is now a four lane highway!)  So Dillon proceeded to do what he always does -- he freaked the hell out and ran into the bathroom to hide in the shower -- which is apparently the only place in the house that is safe from vacuums/sheets/recycling/garbage bags/dust-mops -- you know, all the things that would kill you if given the chance.. --  leaving ME all alone to face the monster that dwells under the couch!

Seriously Dillon??  WHEN has the damn vacuum EVER attacked you?  NEVER you jackass!

I stood there for a few more minutes waiting to see if it would attack, but then remembered that I had not had my cup of coffee yet - which totally trumps nature, FYI -- so I'm working up the nerve to make my way past the couch toward the coffee pot when I notice ANOTHER slow-moving animal coming from around the corner...and it was coming right for me! But slowly...really slowly.  So slowly that I yelled at it to hurry the hell up and get under the couch because I need some damn coffee! -- WTF nature!?  RUDE!!   So anyway, as it gets closer I realize that it's not a couch monster - it's a damn tumbleweed of Dillon hair!  AND, we weren't being invaded, we were just living in a dog-hair infested hovel because I never actually used said killer vacuum.  So the lesson here is that I apparently need to: (a) wear my glasses so I can actually see shit; and (b) vacuum the damn house.

So you may have noticed that I haven't been here -- or if you clicked on this link accidentally, just hit the back button...you'll be back to your perusal of catswholooklikehitler.com in no time.  However, if you were actually wondering; well, wonder no more.

I've moved to California!  Specifically, the OC!  Or, as my father likes to call it, "the land of fruits and nuts."  Which, before you get all Judge Judy on him, it's not an insult according to the people in his head.  Remember that he's from a different time--a time when life was simple and both racism and smoking was cool.  Back in his day, you walked to school barefoot; uphill, both ways -- and if you were not married at age 25, you were a spinster.  The outside was your garbage can, freedom wasn't free and jokes were never funny.

Not much has changed.

There are some downsides to living in CA; most notably that I really don't fit in and the smarties in Washington don't think I "need" diplomatic immunity.  I contend that if there ever was a location where the USG has posted me, I'm pretty sure CA is where immunity is needed the most!  First, I'm not really what anyone would call "caring" or "Eco-friendly."  And, I'm not healthy -- at least the CA definition of healthy.  I like beer, I like vodka, and I'm pro red meat.  Early on when I first moved here, I went out to dinner with some ladies from my hood, and by hood, I mean our small subdivision with the ocean views and roving security patrols in case poor people get in and try to look at our view.  The waiter brought the menus and I shit you not, the discussion went like this:

Buffy:  misquellen, I'm thinking I'm going to be bad today and get the fish taco appetizer!  We girls gotta live a little, don't we!?  Would you like to split them with me?

Me:  (horrified silence...did she say split?)

Anjelica:  Buffy! Her name is not misquellen, it's Miguel. Miggie, I'm going to get the goat cheese plate.  Would you like to split that with me?

Me: (the people in my head are going ape-shit!  Are they seriously going to split 2 small appetizers for their dinner for 4 people?!?  Who the hell is Miggie!?)

Buffy:  Oh sorry Manuel!  I'm so bad with names!  Hey!  I have an AMAZING idea, lets get both and just serve them family style!  Should we be bad and get a glass of wine?  I already had a sugar-free vanilla latte this morning!

Me:  (seriously?  am I giving off the latino vibe today?  Is my peasant shirt that authentic?)

Me:  I'll have a kettle one martini, extra dirty.  Wait!  Double.  I'll have a double.

(What?  I wasn't driving!  And I didn't have a sugar-free vanilla latte!)

I also do not share the state's apparent love for all God's creatures.  My love, if you will, is more shall we say, selective!!  Along the trail where I take Dillon on his daily hikes are signs noting how the trails are the "natural habitat of the rattlesnake" and how I need to respect their right to live and not disturb them.

 What. The. Fuck.  California!?!  I'll admit I scoffed at your assertion that coyotes are protected, not flea-ridden, rabies toting, kitten killers as I initially pointed out....but snakes?  I'm pretty sure even
God is on my side on this one.  They should be killed on principle!  They'd kill us if they could.


The above notwithstanding, I can say that I do love living in CA.  I'm in the land where the Cougar was invented and where there are blow-out super sales on cosmetic procedures!  I have about 2 years to learn how to mingle with the liberals -- keeping my work for the USG on the down-low because here, it's like admitting you enjoy kicking kittens.

Reposted: It was Like That One Movie about the Cuban Missle Crisis, Only More Exciting...and it Pretty Much Ended in Two Hours...Which Is Waay Better.

I was asked to send this post to a friend on Facebook, but I couldn't figure out how to link the stupid thing, so am just reposting and telling them to job open the blog and it should be on top...I'm a damn problem solver!!!  (IF, by "problem solver " you mean makes shit needlessly more complicated for myself, then yes!  that's totally me!!)

=======================================================

Okay, so today I sat through a 2.5 hour meeting -- which normally would put me over the edge and force me to verbally abuse the office intern for not knowing in advance that they should be on standby to interrupt any meeting where I might potentially be getting bored -- But I shouldn't have to TELL THEM when they need to show up.

It's an internship!! There is a reason we don't pay you (because you could probably sue me).

Anyway, so this meeting was like edge of your seat diplomacy!!! There was action, there was adventure..there were donuts.   Everything you need to brew up some sort of international incident.  HOWEVER, this time it was not an incident of my making...

Okay, so NO SHIT! There we were.  Sitting in the most importanty of importanty conference rooms (that I'm allowed to use) for what will undoubtedly be the most crucial meeting of the year (for our intern).  So a team of crack diplomats from Team America are meeting with an unnamed (you have to wait for the movie) foreigners talking about issues that are on the cutting edge of our national policy and/or security!!! (I'm not trying to be coy with that one -- I just honestly wasn't paying attention and have no idea why we were meeting with these people....)

So, naturally, because I'm a "seasoned leader" I realized that I am likely not qualified to actually speak for the USG in an official capacity -- So I ensured that the smart people were there to answer the questions after I finished pontificating.   So we're about halfway through the meeting and I am mentally congratulating myself for yet another international incident free day when the translator asks the Big Wig Foreigner (BWF) for clarification on what he means.  SUDDENLY, one of the USG smarty-pants leans in to clarify what he thinks the foreigner means (because that is always helpful!  Almost like when we lecture them on their culture and stuff...) and -- as if in slow-motion footage -- he lets out the most horrendous fart!!

I dont' even know how to describe it.  It started as kind of a high pitched whine and then ended with what sounded like rapid gunfire -- but only echo-ey (because we're in the big, marble, importanty conference room.   In the initial moments following the incident, the room was eerily silent -- as we all sat there wondering what the hell we were supposed to do now?

I mean, the international diplomacy handbook did not cover this type of situation, and I gotta be honest -- I was SERIOUSLY DYING.  I was literally experiencing physical pain trying to not only hold it together and not burst out laughing (because honestly...is there EVER a time when a fart is not funny?? EVER??  I submit to you, there is NOT!), but I was also trying to stop my body from erupting into the internal-hold-in-your-laughter convulsions.  In fact, I think I might have actually hurt myself -- my throat is STILL sore.

Anyway, following the initial blast and horrified silence -- the translator looked around -- as if he were trying to determine whether he should translate that; AND, if so...how the hell do you say that in Arabic!  The offender, whom we now call, "Gassy McPoopshispants" just kinda smirked and shrugged -- although he might have apologized, but i had to rapidly look away in order to control my impending outburst.

As I'm searching the room for somewhere to look -- the more junior members of the foreign delegation looked down at their notebooks, clearly a victim of the diplomatic shock and awe campaign.  However, the senior official looked me straight in the eye, cocked his head, and lifted one brow.  I gotta admit...at that point, I almost lost it.

Well played, foreign man...well played.

So I stared at the donuts in order to salvage any semblance of maturity left in me...And then I totally noticed that there was only one chocolate cream filled kind left.  And I could tell the intern was eyeing it.  THIS SOBERED ME RIGHT UP..and quickly!!

Distracted, I was able to move through the incident...however, after I finished my chocolate donut (ha HA intern!!) my glance fell upon the perpetrator of the incident.  We made eye contact.  It all came back....

In what was obviously a flash of genius, I interrupted the proceedings to suggest a "smoke break" (foreigners like to smoke -- Thank GOD!)  and the entire entourage leaped up and headed for the elevator.

As the doors closed, we all turned as one and looked at the perpetrator... and literally, lost it!  At one point, I put my head down on the table and cried -- I was laughing that hard!!!

Eventually, the foreigners returned and they calmly resumed the meeting.

My only regret:  I should have sent the translator withthem so he could tell us how hard THEY were laughing once they managed to get away from us.

However, rest assured, I have once again ensured that the US of A is safe for democracy!

Oh Sweet Jebus!!!

A number of people in the office have "encouraged" me to sign up for one of those online services that match you with a compatible person.   I've literally now met three people who have married their online match.

So I went to the website. It told me I had to fill out this really long personality profile.
So I logged off the internet and went downstairs and watched Glee.  Whatever, I'm pretty sure I can meet someone during one of my fits of road rage.  It'll be fine.

My co-workers pointed out that I am not at my best at 0500 in morning traffic.  So I went back online and filled out my personality profile.  It told me I was 12% done and it wanted me to list my "passions..."  So I listed how I'm "passionate about how I tend to hate other drivers.  It told me to list some facts about what I wanted my potential matches to know about me.  (Obviously, they didn't read my personality profile!!)

So I wrote about how I currently have 5 cats, 4 dogs, a parrot and 12 chickens in my home in Ashtuky, northern virginia and how I have been offered an exciting opportunity to interview for a television appearance on the show Animal Hoarders!!!

It told me I was 23% done.  

WTF!?  This is worse than the damn foreign service exam!  So I logged off and went downstairs to watch the Biggest Loser (God that show is addicting!  The really sad part is that I always want a snack when I watch it!! Is that wrong?)

The worker nazis sent me back to the website to "just finish it already!" and it was suggested that I not be flippant because not everyone will "get me'  --  So I added JUST KIDDING! to it.  Then it made me attach photos.  Note to self: hire someone to be my photo double.   This shit's humiliating.

So I hunkered down and after a mere 5 hours later, I was up and running and was delivered my matches!!  I KNOW! RIGHT!?!  It's very exciting!!! These people were hand selected by a random computer to be totally in line with my personality. 

(Do you think it matters that I put down that I really loved helping others and was actively involved in the community, a people person who is also actively involved in environmental conservation??? --   Well, I DID watch that one NatGeo special where the polar bear was swimming trying to find another piece of ice and the narrator told me that I was killing the polar bears which made me feel really bad - so I always make sure I turn the lights off now.  That counts.  Right?)

SO ANYWAY, I open up my first match....says the dude is from Leesburg, VA (which is not that far!! So I'm all...hey! I could potentially think about one day traveling to leesburg...One problem though:  the guy's picture is a LITTLE bit scary.  He kinda has this creepy smile and he's all leaning to one side. BUT, (because I'm such a good person) I tell myself not to just judge by the photo....and I scroll down....

Basic Information

Occupation:

Circus Clown

Age	45
Height	5' 11"
Wants Kids:	Yes
Kids at Home:	Yes

 I typically spend my leisure time:  Getting naked and taking deep, calming breaths.

SWEET MARY MOTHER OF GOD!!! 

So now I'm spending MY DAMN LEISURE TIME taking deep calming breaths and freaked out that the damn clown is going to find me!!!!

SERIOUSLY!?   A clown -- who everybody knows is a godless killing machine -- is my perfect match??? That's my option?!   

I'm TERRIFIED of effin clowns!!!  -- It's probably because they tend to kill people - random people - people who don't even want to see any clowns.  I'm pretty sure a clown killed my neighbor when I was young.  Although she might have moved to Iowa, but I never heard from her again; obviously clowns got her.

I'm going to rethink my initial 5 cats, 8 dogs and 12 chickens option.  It seems better somehow.

Divorce is Awkward

First off, I totally promise this is not going to turn into a "I hate men" site, because I don't hate men.  Well, I mean, I clearly hate some men.  But then I hate women too.  I'm an equal opportunity hater.  Just to be fair, I'll keep this like it always was...where I pretty much just hate other people.  (You know what you did.)

But you know what I really hate??   I hate it when people walk up to me, pat me on the shoulder and say, "How are you doing?"  with this pitiful expectant look on their face.  It's really awkward for me, I mean...there is a LOTTA pressure to feel heartbroken and bitter when you get dumped. My standard, "I'm fine.  How are you?"  is usually met with silence and then a "well, if you ever want to talk...."  which is nice and all, but it's almost like people are disappointed if you're not walking around with puffy eyes and a handful of kleenex.  Luckily, I am finally able to walk around sniffling with a handful of Kleenex -- unfortunately, it's because I have allergies - but for God's sake! Don't tell anyone...I think they're secretly relieved! 

I choose to look at my glass as half-broken!!  You know, so you can throw it out and buy a new one?? One that is all trendy and cool.  NOW, I am finally free to fulfill my lifelong dream of marrying for money!  You know, like they do in the movies...or in New Jersey.   Like that! 

Couple of small issues I have run into in my pursuit of this new dream:

1.  Rich men aren't usually looking for non-supermodel women of a certain age... a number that will never be mentioned on this blog...

2.  I don't know any rich men. 

3.  My friends don't know any rich men.

4.  I'm too lazy to do stalking research to find out where the natural habitat of rich men is located and then go get a hunting permit.

Obviously, that dream is too hard.  It has multiple steps.  Probably not going to happen. 

Liz is on the lookout for someone to set me up with, but so far she's come up with a trauma surgeon who works with her husband - but then the guy suspiciously deploys to one of the war zones for a year.  Coincidence??  Then, she says her son's 9th grade teacher allegedly looks like George Clooney.  So, after I confirmed this man does not intend to flee the country, she says, "But he might be married....  And he teaches Calculus."  

WTF Liz!?!?! I can't even SPELL calculus and we all know I can't do math!  I don't need that kind of pressure!   What if he asks me out on a date and says we'll meet after work, but then he points out that he works in Vienna, so if he leaves work in his car at 5 pm going 43 miles per hour and has to stop for 3 tolls and will encounter 7 lights along the route, what time will we meet? 

SHIT!?!?! There is no way to know that!!!  I'm just going to end up showing up at his school and slashing his tires so I don't have to do anymore story problems.  Then I'd have to flee the state and turn to a life of crime.  Once again, I think we've shown that nothing good comes out of math.  Nothing.

Oh, we should probably also confirm if he's married.  That might be a problem too.  I'm almost positive you can only have one wife in the USA.  96.7% sure. 

Damnitt Liz....Can't you see my puffy eyes and handful of kleenex?!?!  I'm obviously in a very vulnerable state!  Or, my allergies are really acting up.  Could go either way.  We'll probably never know. 


Whatever!  I don't need a man!  I have Dillon.  I'll just get a few kitties (I'll name them scratchy, stabby, bitey and squeaker) and a box of cookies.  It's all good.

Broken or whole, a cookie never rejects you.

So Much to Catch Up On....

Wow, you stop posting for a little while and you miss SOOO much!!! (Yes, I do realize that I have not posted in over a year, but still...define "a little while".... it's obviously open to interpretation!!! )

-- I went through the comment moderation queue and apparently, this site is EXTREMELY helpful to a lotta people's college papers.  I'm not really sure what it is they are studying, but I'm guessing they're probably not going to be that successful in today's job market after having graduated in whatever career training that could possibly be enriched by my rants -- but then, I fully admit that I haven't been to college in a long time and maybe it's all different now.   Maybe people learn using examples of what NOT to do rather than math and stupid science like they  made me do!   Lame. 

-- And if the comments are to be believed, this blog is also apparently very popular in China!  And also with escort services.  They totally like my work and leave a lot of comments.  Little known fact, escort service workers are very loyal readers.  We may have judged them too harshly.  Clearly, I must have said something that would draw the escort services --  and their potential clients here.  I'm like a match made in heaven for them.  You are welcome!!!   One guy asked if I could tell him how he could find an escort service in Israel, because he was headed there for vacation.  Ummm...no...no I can't.  However, I think you would have more success using google, rather than a blog - but that's just how I would find one if I were going to look for one in Israel.  I mean, it's how I found the guy who's coming over to fix the trim on the house.   Google.  I highly recommend it!!  So much more helpful (and timely) than I am.   

-- One commenter, "Zack" is dismayed that I could potentially really be a USG employee representing the U.S. of A abroad -- in fact, he is disgusted that our government would let me work in it's hallowed ranks and can see why our government and the whole country is basically a mess.  Although Zack has a point, I would just like to note that if Zack thinks this blog is what is wrong with our government and our country, I really have to recommend he branch out and do some other reading.  However, after thinking about it for a while, I realized that Zack is right.  This blog  IS exactly why our country is a mess and our foreign policy is a total disaster.  Zack is right.  It was me.  I have thought up every bad decision this country has ever made since 1997.  My bad.  Sorry America. 

-- "Anonymous"  thinks this blog is a poorly written rant and they couldn't even finish reading the post!  I can only image they had to cover their mouth so they didn't throw up all over the key board while they scrolled down to the bottom to write their comment...oh wait.  I'm rambling again.  Anonymous is right.  Damnitt!  Now I'm never going to help anyone's college paper!  NOW WHAT!?! 

Shit.


Other than that, I've been working, driving to work, then working, then my husband asked for a divorce, so I wallowed in self pity while I was working getting stuck in traffic, working, hating working, working and then last weekend -- I had to work.  Yeah.  It's been a sucky year. You should be thankful I wasn't here blathering on about THAT... Zack would have been outraged!!!

Well Shit! I'm a Victim -- or is it Violator -- of Osha!

Okay, so I'm back...returned last week! I feel like I was on a three hour tour -- ergo, I packed for two weeks and by week SEVEN during Ramadan in Kuwait -- I was ready to poke my eyeballs out with Bamboo shoots!   Plus, let's just say...I think the entire Embassy was READY for me to leave...NOT because they would ask me daily when I was leaving -- I'm sure they were just curious -- but because I distinctly think that the lady with the brown hair the Embassy burned in Effigy at that last happy hour looked DISTINCTLY like me ...and after the week of what appeared to be voodoo barbie dolls with pins in their head left on my desk during my last week there gave me the "impression" that maybe  they were as ready for me to go as I was...ANYWAY...it's over.   Let's just leave it at: "Kuwait during Ramadan at the end of Summer" is a-CLOSE-ED for Michel...

HOWEVER, I'm have a little bit of trouble  adjusting to working and living in the US too! Why, you ask?? WELL, I'll tell you:

So, I'm at work..pretending to work for literally 8s of hours of a day after I get back...right? (FYI, if you're not a literature major, let me just assist you here - I'M the protagonist in this story..the VICTIM, if you will...) So I am trying to HELP others after I get back, right??

I'm from the Government: I'm here to help!!

And I realize that my office is totally not feng shui - and it is bringing down my Chee -- or maybe my cheech -- or even my chong -- so I call in Dana and ask for her "professional' advice on decorating....(She's in her 20s, ergo, an expert!) and we both come to the obvious conclusion that my furnture needs to be moved.

SOOOO, I send an email to the secretary to let them know that I think i need to move my furniture -- you know, kind of like when law offices publish notices in the paper that they're about to file a lawsuit and you better step up if you wanna be part of the team -- I'm not a TOTAL idiot....(okay, yes...yes, I am)

So I give it at least threes of days for the elves to show up and move my furniture (NOBODY shows...Apparently GSO is in charge of this shit too and have likely received my previous "DEAR GSO" letters...and, also apparently, don't share my sense of humor...WHATEVEs...that shit was funny!)   SOOO, since I'm not a prima donna and am too lazy to write yet another email to the secretary - Dana and I decide we're moving that shit on our OWN! We don't need no stupid GSO to help us!!

(those of you who have experience with Federal office buildings are likely screaming, NOOOOOOOOOOO!)

So, we start trying to move furniture. 

Turns out,  my office is furnished with some sort of fake cherrywood that needed to be screwed together.  ALSO turns out, no diplomats carry screwdrivers around with them...SO, we call the Washington version of GSO.  I say, "HI! This is Michel....(trying to lull them into a false sense of security with my cheery-ness) my secretary called you a few weeks ago to ask you to move my furniture....and well...It seems to be bolted together..  I need some sort of tool to get it apart.  It's kinda big..." (HINT HINT...get your ass up here and move this shit!!)

So this large burley -- constructioney looking man brings me a screwdriver....and then leaves.

Whatever GSO! Who needs you freaks!! How hard can it be??!?!

We couldn't get the screws undone.

So I went to get some of the guys in the office.  However, and this may shock you - so once again prepare yourselves -- State Department men are ALSO not NavySeal type guys - they're more brainey-like...(which, frankly, when you're moving furniture - NOT SO HELPFUL!!)  However, we find someone to unscrew my screws.

Because he's a smarty-pants, he points out that he doesn't think I'm allowed to move my computer by myself. So in an effort to be CORPORATE and a good federal employee (for a change) I call the computer mafia and tell them I need to move my computer and asked whether they actually NEEDED to be there.

Extended silence on the line.

"When are you planning to move your computer?"

"What? now! That's why I'm calling you?"
"NOW!?  Did you say NOW!?  WHO IS THIS?  What office are you with?? Who gave you permission!?"

"Obama"

"Do you think this is funny?"
"Well, kinda...."

"WHEN is this move?"

"NOW! That's why I'm calling you!! Geez! If you don't want to do it, I can totally move it.  The cord seems like it's long enough.   I have a screwdriver. Whateves...It's no biggidy?"

Extended silence.

"where are you?"

So I hang up - and bitch about how unhelpful the "help desk" is.  They really shoud change their name to the "random accusation desk!' -- SHIT !Now that I've renamed it,  I could totally run that place!!! I throw out random accusations all the time!!!!

SOO, Dana and I start moving furniture...and -- because I'm a responsible manager -- I get a plastic cup to keep all the screws from the desk in...and we turn around...

NO SHIT! There are literally no less than 17 people standing outside my office -- the ringleader is holding a clipboard!! And not just ANY random clipboard...a clipboard that has that protecitve metal coating...you know to protect their notes in the event of a fire and/or terrorist attack - his form I-407 is safe!!!

So the ringleader tells me he is from "facilities" and starts to lecture me on OSHA regulations and how I cannot possibly move my desk around because it would block the exit of the doorway for a disabled person.

Naturally, (because I'm an ass and can't control myself) I say: "that's okay, I don't hire disabled people here! they clog the exits in the event of a fire" 

WHICH IS TOTALLY HILARIOUS!  You gotta admit..... THAT SHIT IS FUNNY!

and he starts writing in his magic clipboard...

 So now I'm scared...because SHIT! I don't have any PLI because who's gonna sue ME!? I'm a big ole nobody...but now the clipboard holds the key to my undoing....so in order to save myself..I'm like...

"DUDE! That was a joke. I'd totally hire a guy in a wheelchair...or crutches...even that scooter....I mean...he's not going to sit at my desk...OR SHE ...SHE is not going to sit at my desk and need to get out the door in the event of a fire...HE/SHE will make it...I've instructed the contractors that they're not REAL people and have to wait to confirm all us REAL fed workers are safe before they try to escape this asbestos ridden death trap...."

More writing in that damn clipboard.

WTF!?!?

So then I say..."ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT!?!?! ARE YOU TRYING TO IMPLY I WON'T FIT OUT THE DOOR?!?!"

CHECKMATE JACKASS!

So after a circa 2.7 minute lecture on Osha regulations and workplace safety (apparently, the furniture they buy will kill you if given the chance...seriously! don't relax in any federal building.  the furniture is just waiting to take  your ass out.  I think it might be an al-Qa'ida sleeper credenza....just waiting...)

Soooo...by the end of the day, the "facilities" guys have informed me that they will return on Friday with a computer generated plan -- or mock terrorist training camp -- for my new office furniture -- apparently, nothing from the old furniture can stay -- it has to be up to the new codes....

WHICH MEANS....the facilities people will likely send a $14,239.98 bill to my boss for my "new furniture."  And I'm going to have to explain how al-Qa'ida was behind this...

I JUST wanted to move my desk to the other side!! 

SHIT.  Maybe I should go overseas again!! I'm obviously not cut out for washington politics....

So Yeah....I'm Not Here.

Remember how I was saying that work was bringing me down because they kept expecting me to actually work while I was there?? How they kept asking me to DO stuff?? And how that is obviously totally unfair?

Well, I went ahead and took matters into my own hands!! I marched right in there into my  new boss' office and I said, "NOW YOU LOOK HERE..."  -- okay, so maybe I said something more like, "Hi Sir.  Do you have a minute?" -- well, he had a minute.  A minute to say, "Are you busy right now?"  Which is CLEARLY a trap....much like when a girl asks , "Do these pants make me look fat?" (HINT JOSH: Correct answer:  NO!  Have you lost weight?)  or "Notice anything different?"  (HINT JOSH: my hair is likely 6 inches shorter than it was when you left that morning!!! SHEESH!)

Anyway, back to my point - so I -- being the experienced USG employee that I am -- immediately responded that I was extremely busy!  But then I ruined it all by adding, "Why? Do you need something?" (I totally shouldn't have added that last part! When the hell am I going to learn to quit while I'm ahead).

He needed something. 

So I'm currently in Kuwait.  Remember how I said Sudan was hot?? Well, Kuwait is that same temperature (for those of you who don't recall my bitch-fest that was Sudan, the daily median temperature was equal to the surface of the sun) but then, because God obviously still hates me, he added 97% humidity...just to make it more fun.

So far, I have had minimal interaction with the locals -- which is probably why there has not yet been an international incident here ...but give it time...give it time.

Will post some pics (of the dirt and US fast food chains) that appears to be Kuwait City later. You know how I love to give you guys a feel for the culture and/or my hotel room.  Whichever.

Washington is Waay Stressful Yo

So, remember how I was saying, Washington is soo great...how I love it and heart the USA sooo much??

I totally didn't count on having to WORK when I came back here.  This stupid "work" is impacting my blog time and my rigorous schedule of really stupid meetings is sucking the life out of me.  Plus, I come home and think I totally have to tell you guys about something really IMPORTANT -- like (for instance) TODAY -- when i'm sitting in this meeting and I notice a bowl of little mini-toblerones - and as the people are droning on and on AND ON -- usually using words I cannot understand and don't care to learn -- I study the assortment and notice that there are actually DARK chocolate toblerones....So now I'm thinking, not only is that shit potentially yummy, if my ability to pick and choose "facts" I read on the internet is correct -- that shit is also heart healthy.  (Like my nightly serving of one bottle of red wine is...)

So then, it's really just a matter of me deciding to make a healthy choice.  And I did it.  Mostly because Josh is not there to call me on it.  And nobody really seems to be paying attention to me.  And the bowl is toward the back of the table where all the insignificant people sit -- but yet "LUCKY" to be there because my office is only allowed to send 2 people and I'm totally one of those people you guys...totally...  that's how important-ey I am these days!!  Or, I happened to be sitting at my desk when the guy who was going walked by... Either way.

Anyway, I rip open the dark chocolate toblerone and am immediately reminded why foreign candy is far, far inferior to American candy.  The little triangle shapes.  What the hell is that?? Those triangles are wasting precious chocolate surface area!!  Then, after I take a bite, I remember that it has stupid chunks of honey in it.  WTF is that?? Why the hell would you put chunks of honey in your chocolate???  (A) It's not yummy; and (B) It just gets all stuck on your teeth - because apparently european honey has takes on the same characteristics as super glue when mixed with chocolate.

So now I'm sitting in the back of the meeting picking my teeth - trying (in vain) to get the damn honey flecks off of my teeth, mentally preparing the excuse I intend to give the dentist for how I managed to pull a tooth out of my mouth trying to get the honey un-stuck -- cursing European candy makers -- and I notice that everyone is staring at me...waiting.  Apparently, they've asked me to comment on something -- to which I obviously have not been listening...So, after I game it out and realize that I cannot fake an answer, like "well, you have a good point there...I'm not really sure..." because that only works if you have been tangentially listening to the conversation -- and I was utterly focused on my "healthy choice"...  I have to admit that I was distracted by the candy. 

Let's just say they were not amused.

So long story short - once again Europe has managed to eff up US diplomacy.

And the reason I have not been posting is because I come home and open the computer -- only to immediately get this:

Seriously!  Look at that little face!?! Who can resist that!?

It was Like That One Movie about the Cuban Missle Crisis, Only More Exciting...and it Pretty Much Ended in Two Hours...Which Is Better.

Okay, so today I sat through a 2.5 hour meeting -- which normally would put me over the edge and force me to verbally abuse the office intern for not knowing in advance that they should be on standby to interrupt any meeting where I might potentially be getting bored -- But I shouldn't have to TELL THEM when they need to show up. 

It's an internship!! There is a reason we don't pay you (because you could probably sue me).

Anyway, so this meeting was like edge of your seat diplomacy!!! There was action, there was adventure..there were donuts.   Everything you need to brew up some sort of international incident.  HOWEVER, this time it was not an incident of my making...

Okay, so NO SHIT! There we were.  Sitting in the most importanty of importanty conference rooms (that I'm allowed to use) for what will undoubtedly be the most crucial meeting of the year (for our intern).  So a team of crack diplomats from Team America are meeting with an unnamed (you have to wait for the movie) foreigners talking about issues that are on the cutting edge of our national policy and/or security!!! (I'm not trying to be coy with that one -- I just honestly wasn't paying attention and have no idea why we were meeting with these people....) 

So, naturally, because I'm a "seasoned leader" I realized that I am likely not qualified to actually speak for the USG in an official capacity -- So I ensured that the smart people were there to answer the questions after I finished pontificating.   So we're about halfway through the meeting and I am mentally congratulating myself for yet another international incident free day when the translator asks the Big Wig Foreigner (BWF) for clarification on what he means.  SUDDENLY, one of the USG smarty-pants leans in to clarify what he thinks the foreigner means (because that is always helpful!  Almost like when we lecture them on their culture and stuff...) and -- as if in slow-motion footage -- he lets out the most horrendous fart!!

I dont' even know how to describe it.  It started as kind of a high pitched whine and then ended with what sounded like rapid gunfire -- but only echo-ey (because we're in the big, marble, importanty conference room.   In the initial moments following the incident, the room was eerily silent -- as we all sat there wondering what the hell we were supposed to do now?

I mean, the international diplomacy handbook did not cover this type of situation, and I gotta be honest -- I was SERIOUSLY DYING.  I was literally experiencing physical pain trying to not only hold it together and not burst out laughing (because honestly...is there EVER a time when a fart is not funny?? EVER??  I submit to you, there is NOT!), but I was also trying to stop my body from erupting into the internal-hold-in-your-laughter convulsions.  In fact, I think I might have actually hurt myself -- my throat is STILL sore. 

Anyway, following the initial blast and horrified silence -- the translator looked around -- as if he were trying to determine whether he should translate that; AND, if so...how the hell do you say that in Arabic!  The offender, whom we now call, "Gassy McPoopshispants" just kinda smirked and shrugged -- although he might have apologized, but i had to rapidly look away in order to control my impending outburst. 

As I'm searching the room for somewhere to look -- the more junior members of the foreign delegation looked down at their notebooks, clearly a victim of the diplomatic shock and awe campaign.  However, the senior official looked me straight in the eye, cocked his head, and lifted one brow.  I gotta admit...at that point, I almost lost it. 

Well played, foreign man...well played. 

So I stared at the donuts in order to salvage any semblance of maturity left in me...And then I totally noticed that there was only one chocolate cream filled kind left.  And I could tell the intern was eyeing it.  THIS SOBERED ME RIGHT UP..and quickly!!

Distracted, I was able to move through the incident...however, after I finished my chocolate donut (ha HA intern!!) my glance fell upon the perpetrator of the incident.  We made eye contact.  It all came back....

In what was obviously a flash of genius, I interrupted the proceedings to suggest a "smoke break" (foreigners like to smoke -- Thank GOD!)  and the entire entourage leaped up and headed for the elevator.

As the doors closed, we all turned as one and looked at the perpetrator... and literally, lost it!  At one point, I put my head down on the table and cried -- I was laughing that hard!!!

Eventually, the foreigners returned and they calmly resumed the meeting. 

My only regret:  I should have sent the translator withthem so he could tell us how hard THEY were laughing once they managed to get away from us.

However, rest assured, I have once again ensured that the US of A is safe for democracy!

It's Like Lookin in a Mirror...Only at a Boy!!

So yesterday, I met a kindred spirit.  It was like I was looking at me...only in boy form.  If I were a boy...and not chubby...and could do math...and thought that exercise was fun...and wanted to come to work...and cared about my work...you know, TOTALLY JUST LIKE  me!  Who is this paragon of virtue you ask?

I have no idea.  He said his name, but I wasn't listening.  He works somewhere for the government, not sure what he does, but he did talk about his work (but again, not listening...HELLO!  Please stop making me repeat myself!).  Anyway, this guy was in one of the 72 super important meetings I attend on a daily basis here in Washington -- the heartbeat of the Nation...I'm like super clued in these days (well, technically, I would be if I actually (a) cared; and/or (b) paid attention rather than doodled "bored..bored....bored....bored..." on my notebook the whole time...) 

Anyway, this happened to be a LUNCH meeting.  Which is super rare here in DC because the government won't allow you to pay for lunch if you're just meeting with other government people -- you see we don't TOTALLY waste taxpayer money -- anyway, so lunch drags on and on while people in the room pontificate (usually about themselves, which normally I would back - but it wasn't about ME or anyone I knew -- so it was totally boring)...and this guy is sitting across the table from me.  And, much like my friend Paul, he couldn't seem to school his facial expressions:  he would roll his eyes, nod, and at one point even put his head in his hands and sighed. 

It was friggin awesome!  He had no idea that people could SEE him.  I was totally entertained. 

However, (and this is where the drama comes in) the alloted time for this super important meeting was almost at an end...and the dessert was just sitting there...staring at me...untouched.  NOBODY would shut the hell up so that I could go get the cake.

So I start fidgeting in my seat, casting furtive glances over at it's chocolatey goodness.  And I notice, that HE is also gazing at the cake and starting to fidget in his seat.  However, this guy does me one better.  He INTERRUPTS  the current pontificator and says, "Should we continue this after we all get some cake??"  (Naturally, I nod in agreement....as do some of the others -- but I think it was out of boredom.  They didn't love cake.  They just wanted an excuse to stop paying attention. I could totally tell. )

So the pontificatee says, "Yes.  Of course.  We should..." THEN HE CONTINUES EFFIN TALKING.

My new best friend was obviously outraged (and rightly so)!  And he sits there for a minute, looks around the room, let's out a definite disgusted snort, and stands up to go get some cake with a muttered, "WHATEVER! I'm getting cake."  Naturally, his brave act of heroism allowed others (like myself) to make a beeline for the cake. while the pompous ass continued to talk.  (Seriously dude, I don't think he even realized and/or cared that nobody was listening.  WTF!?) 

When the meeting adjorned.  I walked up to my new best friend, pointed at him, and said..."I like you.  You got style." 

So my point is: (a) there ARE good people left in Washington; and (b) cake is friggin yummy.

The Saga of the Gift Continues....

So apparently, we have an ENTIRE STAFF devoted to this damn gift issue.   And also apparently, that entire staff has devoted their entire lives to making my life a living hell.   Mark my words Protocol...I'll find you....I'll figure out who you are and I will sneak in and giftwrap your damn cubicles with Care Bear wrapping paper -- OH YES! I swear I still have a roll of that crap from when my (now married and fully grown) niece was young....(She liked rainbow bear.) 

Do you guys remember that crap?? How the bear would stick out his tummy and a rainbow would fly out of his belly button and fight evil?? Seriously...if you were evil, you'd never see that coming.  It's BRILLIANT!! Although, now that I think about it - what the hell does a rainbow do and how could it really fight crime?  Unless of course, the rainbow flew out at the guy, but left a pot of gold behind - then there would be no need for him to turn to a life of crime...he'd have a pot of gold.  SHIT!  I wish Rainbow Bright Bear would show up at my house...I'm not adverse to turning to a life of crime!!!

ANYWAY, what was I talking about?? Oh yes! PROTOCOL.  So it seems that the Judgey McJudy's in Protocol are "concerned" that because the gift option that we selected seemed a "bit cheap" and they wanted to ensure that the individual who would be presenting this "gift" (they totally effin used QUOTES around the word "gift" in their email to me..) would not be embarrassed when it was opened....  WTF PROTOCOL!!!

You'd think I sent up a picture of a kleenex box cover I crocheted in the shape of a doll's skirt and then plopped a creepy doll head on top -- Although, now that I think of it, I might actually do that next week because that shit would be FUNNY!   I'd write a long paragraph on how the King learned to crochet as a child when he worked in a doll factory back in the days of yore, when an evil dictator was in power.  One day, while he burned random kleenex boxes for heat, one of the dolls came to life and told him that a Chubby Bear wearing the mark of the clover would arrive with his band of baby-talking belly busters and they would help him liberate his Kingdom.  She then told him she really loved the skirt he made and disappeared.  After he assumed the throne (with the assistance of the Care Bear Bunch), he vowed to always keep the kleenex Kozy near and dear to his heart.

You know they'd sit there and go, "Is she shitting us?? Is that true?"  Then they'd send down a request for the King's bio....

That's just more work for me.  Nevermind.

But my issue is this:  now, I'm torn!   Do I hate these people?? Or, do I actually respect that they are bitchy enough to send me a note and call me out on my laziness!?  (Seriously, the subtext of the email was...we know you told the intern to google some random gift idea five minutes before the submission was due and then fwd'd that up like you'd actually thought about it....)  WHERE DO THEY COME UP WITH THIS CRAZY TALK?

No.  You're right.  I hate them. I've always hated them....long before they ever hated me!!! 

This isn't over Protocol!

Public Service Announcement....

So you know how I mentioned that I hated working?? (And frankly, I'm starting to think that work is beginning to realize that they might actually hate me equally as much...)  Well, I decided that perhaps I should start thinking about other options -- you know, the option where I get a lotta money, but don't actually have to go to work??  That one...   And, since none of you freaks have decided to give me millions of dollars, I'm forced to actually think about potential options. 

So I went online to do comprehensive research on my potential options.  However, I got distracted by a huge summer sale at Ann Taylor -- but I couldn't find the right shoes for the new outfit, so then I had to research black strappy summer shoes...

Now I not only have to identify my non-work option, but also the "second job to pay for the damn shoes you insist on buying" as was recently "suggested" by my loving husband...

And then it came to me: Powerball!!! I would simply win the powerball!!! It was so simple, it was BRILLIANT!!!

Turns out...Powerball is not the sure thing that I assumed it was....turns out, Powerball does NOT actually give you millions of dollars in exchange for a $1 ticket...In actuality, what I think happens, is you pay some random man in a convenience store $1 for a piece of paper with
some numbers written on it.  However, -- and here is\ where I can see that the problem with my Powerball career begins -- that Man is not giving me the right numbers. 

Worst part of this scam:  When you go back to The Man and ask for a refund because he gave you the wrong numbers...be prepared for him to put on an act like he is all confused...and when I patiently explain  where he has made a mistake....he has the nerve to get all snippy with me! 

WTF POWERBALL!? Obviously, you don't care about customer service!  See if I buy your piece of paper with worthless numbers again!!! 

Eff U Quickie Mart Man!!  Gimme my damn dollar back!!  I suspect Quickie Mart Man is in cahoots with the Ice Nazi at the cafeteria at work. 

They owe me $1.10.  I'm not leaving until I get it back!!!

Where the Hell Have you Been!?!?!?

What do you mean, where the hell have I been?? I asked you first!!  PLUS, don't think I didn't notice that not a damn one of you chipped in and wrote this blog while I was out making the world safe for democracy (or watching all the TV I missed the entire year I was in Sudan...either way...)  NONE of you bothered to help me out! 

Helpful hint: Do you see what I did there?? I began with an accusation.  You see...I find that if you just walk in and start yelling and throwing out random accusations, people forget to ask me to explain myself.  Honestly, there's usually no explanation.  Trust me.  It's just better this way. 

So, it seems it is now July.  July 4th to be exact.  There is something about that date that I was supposed to remember...it's killing me.  Sounds sooo familiar.  Nevermind.  I'm sure it will come to me.

Anyway, I've started back to work after my vacation and I am actively making sure that freedom rings in this Kick-ass country....America, in case you were confused and thought maybe I liked your particular country that is not America.  I don't.  Your country honks.  Don't ask me to explain.  If you don't know...I am certainly not going to tell you... 

How do I do this you ask?? What is my contribution??

Apparently, I ensure that the precise gift that would be given by our fearless leaders to other (but likely more fearful) world leaders is PERFECT.   I continue to bolster the foundations of democracy so that it remains strong, apparently by ensuring that the appropriate gift wrap is used (Presidents don't like flowers or kittens) and that (**gasp**) no damn tape is showing.  (Obviously, the feds have never sent anyone to inspect the shit under my Christmas tree -- because I'm SERIOUSLY not qualified for that!)  Since I have returned, the focus of my life seems to be ensuring that random members of the world's monarchy are given a gift that is meaningful, but with no tacky scotch tape showing.  (Nothing says third world trailer park like tape just slapped on the outside of a present...) 

Ridiculous, right?? EXACTLY! That is what I thought too...however, apparently the State Department does not appreciate my opinions.

I guess I have also done some other things since I returned.  But I forget them now. 

And, they totally make me pretend to work here for the entire day too!  Which, frankly, is shocking!  For some reason, I had this vision of living in the USA as a utopia, where people don't actually care if I come to work, but would just pay me and be happy that I was back home.

They weren't. 

WTF America?? Land of the free my ass! Since I've been back, I've been charged for EVERYTHING.  In fact, that foreign lady in the cafeteria charged me 10 cents for a stupid cup of ice.  (I officially hate that lady and her ice-nazi ways!)

The real issue here is obvious though.  Josh won't let me be me...and the only way I can really be me, is if I didn't have to go to work and pretend to be that other me, the one who lied on her resume to get the job in the first place  -- I mean seriously, I don't have any hobbies or outside interests!!!  Why the hell would anyone believe I was a "soccer" and/or "martial arts" enthusiast?!?  If they fell for that, they're just dumb. 

  Suckahs!!!  I'm a federal "worker."  Clearly, God is teaching them a lesson right now...

I'm Sorry...It's WHAT Day???

Ummm.... it has come to my attention that I am going to have to go back to work next week.  WTF....NEXT WEEK!?  I thought I was going to have a LONG vacation?? What happened to my long vacation???

I had a big long list of shit I wanted to do while I was on vacation and -- ahem -- let's just say I didn't get to a few of them:

• Write Thank You notes to everyone who sent me crap while we were in Khartoum (and I was using the "we can't send mail out from Khartoum" excuse)  WHAT!?  You don't know that's not true!?  Well, technically I could have sent LETTER mail, but I didn't have any damn stamps!  Stop judging me!!!   GEEZ Judgey McJuderson!  Lay off!  I was going to do it, but now I can't really remember who sent me what, or pretty much anything about Khartoum in fact...it's all a blur...not my fault.
•   Brush up on my French -- or, as I like to call it: Learn it (again).
  
• Teach Dillon Obedience.  Not really sure why I even bothered to write that one down.  I think we all know that Dillon can have whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.  The boy pretty much has me trained...(although I'm not sure he's feeling comfortable in his new home.  It's like he needs to find a place of his own -- where he can stretch out and just relax.  I should buy him his own couch...He really shouldn't have to share with Josh. 
  
• Write my memoirs and become rich and famous --  However, I figured out I would have to actually remember shit to write actual memoirs...and then I would actually have to WRITE them.  That sounds like a lotta steps man....It's just not gonna work.
   
•   Eat and Drink in Moderation -- Let's face it:  toilet brush and rug are enablers.  It's like they want me to fail!
  
• Become Addicted to Exercise -- you know how they say that if you do something for two weeks, it becomes habit and you will NEED to do it??  They're liars.  Bastards.
  
• Create a Financial Plan and Monthly Budget.  Apparently, you're not supposed to just spend money until the bank calls you and tells you to knock it the hell off...Seriously?  Someone really should have said something sooner.  I blame society.
  
• Lose 10 15 20 -- oh, who are we kidding -- 30 pounds.  Damn you acaiaiaieieio berry!  LAZY!

Actually, I don't have enough time (or the will) to do any of the above...however, I'm not a total loser....I'll just make a new list.  A BETTER list...one that I can accomplish:

• Buy the same pair of pants at Eastern Mountain Sports as you did at REI (because you forgotted and I think we all know they're totally cute -- and they dry fast too.  Obviously, you need two...)  Done!
  
• Watch a Law & Order Marathon (daily).  Done!!
  
• Brush up on current Reality TV shows to ensure you can gab with the cool kids once you get to the office (Biggest Loser - OMFG...how the hell can a person lose that much weight in 7 months?? By leaving it laying around DAMNITT! that's how....because obviously, I found it!!!)  Done!!!
  
• Sit and stare at the treadmill.  Think to yourself..."I should really just get on that damn thing...In fact, if I simply walked while I watched this Law & Order Marathon I could probably do some good...maybe lose some weight"  -- FYI, That totally would have been cool if I had done it...in my defense...I did think about it...a lot...  Done! 
  
• Take Dillon to PetSmart so often that the cashiers call you "dude" and Dillon "little Dude."  Done!
  

What I Did on my Summer Vacation....Nothing...

Okay, so I decided I should probably leave the house at some point during my month at home.   Mostly because I have nothing to say when I sit on the couch and watch TV -- and, I'm becoming scarily addicted to the stupid reality TV shows like Dancing with the Stars, American Idol, and The Biggest Loser. (Although, I was really sad to hear that Law and Order  is going off the air....WTF!? (It is the best TV show EVER -  SHUT UP BLOGNUT! It is! You're just jealous.)

What the hell is Jack McCoy supposed to do now?? You can't just throw him out at his age!? How is he supposed to find work in this economy?  We should start some sort of a fund to help him during his retirement....his Ameritrade commercials can't possibly sustain him -- nobody even really knows what that does, they can't possibly provide health insurance for him...) Then, I also found some show on TNT (When I was searching for Law and Order re-runs) called Supernatural and it scared the bejebus out of me....but I couldn't seem to turn the channel because I needed closure - what if that shit is still out there?? And then a second episode starts while the credits are running and I'm still recovering from the first one and BAM! I'm sucked in again.  Next thing I know, it's 4:00 and I haven't gotten out of my pjs....

Vacation is bliss.  Pure bliss.  The fact that I'm not bored is a testament to the people in my head, frankly.  Or, I'm just pure lazy.  Either way.


YOU SEE!?  The above is exactly why I had to exit this house.  And that's when I made a crucial discovery:  Have you ever noticed that Mormons are ridiculously good looking?? Seriously.  Stop for a minute and think about it.  They're damn pretty people.  If someone looks all happy, healthy and American-like...they're probably Mormon. 

Frankly, that pisses me off.  Is it just good genes?  Or, did being Mormon make them pretty?  Why can't Catholics be that pretty?? And, if this issue is as easy to spot as I think it was (it took me like 4 minutes) then why the hell didn't my mom make me Mormon??  I know the whole competing faith premise thing, but damnitt! I could have used a little bit of that prettiness in high school.  SELFISH mother!!

Anyway, that was just my first day outside.  That night, we went out to dinner and drinks for a friend's birthday and once again I ended up back inside with my best friends toilet brush and rug for the entire next day, listening to Josh lecture me on why my old-ass body doesn't want me to drink and maybe I should have listened to him when he told me I should not have that 12th glass of wine and that just because  we now live within walking distance of the bars and restaurants does not mean I have to get our money's worth by getting rip roaring drunk.  (However, I contend that I am being fiscally responsible.  We would not have known how crucial and cool it is to be able to walk to places if I did not prove the theory for us.  Josh needs to recall that he did not have to remain sober while I did our social experiment.  That, my dearest, is reason enough to thank me!  It's almost like I'm a saint.  Josh is seriously lucky!  He should write that down...)

Maybe I should just stay inside for a little bit more.  You see, we really should build to full integration.  I've lost my ability to drink/eat in moderation and tend to forget that people can actually hear me after I have been drinking, that I am not, in fact, in a bubble. 

Who knew?! 

When does the next Law and Order Marathon start??

I Had to Post This....It's not Mine, but it Should Have Been....

In 1972, Joe Miller was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Tulsa Junior College .

On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air.  The elephant seemed distressed, so Joe approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee, inspected the elephants foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Joe worked the wood out with his knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to Joe, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments.  Joe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled.

Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.  Joe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Thirty years later, Joe was walking through the Tulsa Zoo with his family. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Joe and his family were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Joe, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1972, Joe could not help wondering if this was the same elephant...  Joe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Joe's legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

This is for everyone who sends me those heart-warming bullshit stories (you know who you are).

Some Things Never Change....

Yep...It's official.  Josh was right.  I'm bat shit crazy....  It's like when you finally acknowledge that you have a problem (usually after you hit rock bottom).  For me, it was this weekend.  This weekend, I had to face reality:  I'm one of those crazy dog people.  I'm literally that person.  I'm that freak you see walking around in public with dog hair on their shirts, but they don't seem to notice.  The lady who buys the furminator and who lobbied for over 15 minutes in REI that we needed to buy the little boots for the dog before the camping trip because he'd be walking over rocks and stuff (WHAT!?  I stand behind that one!!! That shit hurts your feet!!!)  (Don't panic.  I lost that one.  We are a dog-bootieless family.)

Anyway, for those of you who have not read this blog since the beginning, I will briefly recap.  (Those of you non-lazy people who know the history can go get a snack and come back later. )  Okay, so prior to our departure for Khartoum I found out that we couldn't take the dogs on the plane -- Kernel was too big for accompanying baggage and cargo into Sudan is not an option if you want your pet to actually live through the trip....and we found out not long after, that Sudan associated swine-flu with domestic dogs, so Jack couldn't make it either.  Long story short, I found them both a home with a retired fireman who lives on 10 acres.  My city-raised boys didn't know what hit them!  Fast forward to our return - and I go out to visit the boys....they're all very happy.  The guy who adopted them is all alone and obviously loves them (well, who wouldn't?!  My babies rock!) and we didn't want to take them away from him.  (Plus, the condo only allows you to have one baby - so it would be like Sophie's Choice....)  SOOOO, we were going to be dogless.

But obviously (since I'm bat shit crazy...focus people!) I cannot be dogless.  So we rescued a puppy from the Friends of Homeless Animals.  After approximately 2 weeks of interviews (let's just say I'm not the only bat-shit crazy dog freak around the DC area...) we brought little Dillon home. 

Okay, so those of you getting a snack - you need to come back now (did you bring me a snack?!  WTF!?  HATEFUL!)...this is new and exciting info...okay, more new than exciting and probably not really "exciting" per se, more along the lines of I'm obviously going to have to go back to work and/or outside of the house if I want to find anything exciting to ever talk about again....ANYWAY, we went camping this weekend (because I'm outdoorsey like that...and I got some new REI pants that dry within seconds, so I totally had to test them out!) and we brought Baby Dillon.  NOW, how am I so sure that I am bat shit crazy you ask??

Almost every picture I took of our camping trip is of Dillon or our friends' dogs, Dexter and Piper.  There were FOUR people on this trip.  I don't think I have 4 photos of people.  SOO, since I went to the trouble of taking 792 pictures of the dogs - I figured I should share them with you.  And yes, I do know that I am crazy. 

Whatever....

Meet Dillon....

That's Dillon's nose...

And Dillon's friends...

Just in case you wondered why it was you don't drink water right out of stream...because Dillon is still mastering the "Potty outisde" issue...he still needs some clarification...

And finally, this is Josh participating in the "Mc'Lympics" we hosted during our camping trip.  (We lost.  He sucks.)

sooo, now that we're all on the same page and I'm currently unemployed(ish) and living on my couch...and because I'm still working on my masterpiece that outlines why "The Biggest Loser" is the most addicting TV show of all time (and yet, I still want a snack when I watch it), you'll just have to content yourself with 792 pictures of Dillon.  However, don't worry.  I won't turn this into a Dillon blog. 

Pictures of my visit to Jack and Kernel are coming next week. 

You Should All be Pissed at Josh....Because I Totally Am!!!

So today, I had to go to the doctor to get a CT scan of my snotty nose -- the doc claims I am not allergic to anything and when I questioned her medical degree  -- technically, I asked her if she was WebMD certifiied (like myself) and then pointed out that the Kleenex company sends me Christmas and birthday cards...Therefore, something is not "normal," and maybe she should climb up offa that prescription pad and dole me out some medical advice...I mean, would it KILL you to give me some damn adderall????

(YES mother...I am well aware that Adderall does not cure a snotty nose...I didn't attend literally 3s of hours of internet medical school on webmd for nothing!?  HOWEVER, if that ho is going to sit there and tell me that I am not allergic to anything, but then have the nerve to pass me a kleenex box - the bitz better be giving me somethin'...AND, I kinda think that it might help me in my quest to fit into my pants...that's the rumor on the street...)

ANYWAY, so Josh comes home from language class and decides he and Dillon (the dog) are going to go with me to the doc - so I'm thinking, "how sweet is that!?  He's worried about me!!" 
So he drops me off.

I spend 30 minutes filling out forms -- mostly checking the box "no" for have you ever had ebola, but then adding parenthesis to explain that I might  have had Ebola. but that I had diagnosed it myself on webMd one night after a dinner at some random Sudanese man's house.  I feel they should know this option, because if it wasn't ebola - it was a brain tumor.  Or maybe stomach cancer.  Or gas.  We'll never know...

I finally emerge after my CT scan and wait for Josh and Dillon to come pick me up...I mean, I just underwent a serious medical procedure...

And I waited....

Then I waited some more....

Then off in the distance I see Josh arriving. They pull up.  I get into the car, expecting to be quizzed on how it went - did I think I would live...how many days did they give me before the end....

Josh was finishing an ice cream cone.  Dillon had ice cream breath and sticky shit all over his nose. 

They didn't bring me one. Dillon at least had the decency to look guilty.   Josh pointed out that ice cream was not on my diet.

.WTF Joshua!?!  The DOG gets an ice cream cone...but not me!???

Obviously, my only option is divorce...does anyone know a good attorney?? Someone experienced with ice cream cruelty issues??   I think we have a pretty clear case of inhumane treatment here....or maybe brain cancer.

We'll never know.