I LIVE I LIVE I LIVE!
Ladies and geraniums,
I must apologize for my weak blogging skills as of late. But, really, it’s not all my fault. I’ve tried to post a couple times and farkin’ blogger.com has been misbehaving and either a) gives me the crap “cannot find server” line or b) waits until I’m done writing and deletes it all without publishing like the little bitch that it is. ARGH. But I’m not a hater – total lover here. You just had to wait with baited breath for me to get my fanny in a solid spot to update you on the saga that is my life. (Don’t get too excited, this girl’s been in the slow lane as of late.)
I had to travel to South Florida (Lauderdale/Miami) last week to attend my mother’s PhD commencement ceremony (little Miss Smarty Skirt). And while we were down there, we were pursued by Ernesto – you know, Hurricane/Tropical Storm/Tropical Depression Ernesto. Figures. Due to the fact that he was supposed to hit the Southern Florida coast a year to the day that Katrina plunked into N.O., they (nutty Floridians) were a little quick on the draw evacuating peeps out of the area. I preferred to just sit and blow around the beach, but, traveling with the parental and the grandparental units (aka: Worry Wort Central), we, instead, sat glued to the Weather Channel eating pistachios, drove around looking for a gas station with gas and evacuated when told. Luckily, it came after the ceremony, so, we were able to cheer on Dr. Mom before the rental (and grand rentals) switched into panic mode. I, of course, laid lazily on the beach chair sipping Coronas and yelping at the hot men as they cruised by. I live on the edge.
After returning to LA, I had to flip around (not literally, I’m no gumby) and fly to Phoenix for work. I was sent out to preview a new project in downtown Phoenix. And, guess what? Apparently, Phoenix is where all the hot men have been hiding! I should have known – they have golf. Luckily, I wore a sweet pair of violet pumps with a hot yet professional black dress number so I was dressed to impress. I was boring holes into one young lad’s head during one of the meetings until I realized that he was not on my team. Yah, awesome. He told me my shoes were absolutely adorable. Game over. Now, the shoes were great until about 1pm when, after walking in them in 110-degree heat, the blisters began to appear. I immediately b-lined it into the ladies’ room where, THANK GOD, someone had the foresight to have a Costco-size box of band-aids awaiting my ripped-to-shreds feet. I wrapped my tootsies like yesterday’s leftovers and hauled it back to the airport. BTW: I looked pretty sweet rolling through security with my 687,000 bandaids. So much so that the TSA dude asked me what my deal was. YAY!
After that I slept for about three days straight. TECHNICALLY I came to work, but, I’m getting super rad at looking awake when really the brain is flipped to the “off” position. But don’t tell anyone – it’s my prized talent.
And now we come to the looooooooooong weekend. My preliminary goal was to take it easy – actually take a breather from the “venice lifestyle” that is bar, bike, bar, bike, bar, bike, sleep, lather and repeat. I managed to nail that goal – um, until Friday. Whoops. I spent the remainder of the weekend sipping ales at the beach and bumping my bike into tourists (hey – I’m a local – stay out of my way). Saturday, I attempted to return back to the goal by watching the Ohio State season opener – key word being “attempt”. Freakin’ California ABC took it upon themselves to televise the Oregon v. Stanford game (YAWN) in lieu of the #1 ranked Ohio State Buckeyes season opener. So there I sat, dumbfounded, wondering why California always has to be different. Son of a bitch hippies.
In between bike and bar and sometimes during, the girls and I hashed over the fact that it’s time to ditch the “meet a guy at a bar” efforts and try more mature, intellectual and sober venues. It took us 4.2 seconds to figure that out. But then we would just sit there, staring at each other wondering what other venues there are. The online dating didn’t work. Myspace didn’t work. Speed dating was an absolute disaster and a half (that was back in my pre-blog days – holy story for another day). Arranged marriages are out. None of us go to church. We were stumped. We decided that would be our next challenge to come up with some new and fun places to meet quality men. I repeat QUALITY M-E-N. (I decided to ditch the “mature” aspect, because, really, do I want to do that?) So, I’m starting a running list and your suggestions are greatly appreciated. Please keep in mind who you’re dealing with, so, for example, “political debates” or “NASCAR” are out. K?
And now here I am. Back to work, daydreaming about hotties in Phoenix (the non-gay ones, hopefully). I even got to meet Lt. Zulu from Star Trek at my other job last night – seriously - who could ask for more??
I must apologize for my weak blogging skills as of late. But, really, it’s not all my fault. I’ve tried to post a couple times and farkin’ blogger.com has been misbehaving and either a) gives me the crap “cannot find server” line or b) waits until I’m done writing and deletes it all without publishing like the little bitch that it is. ARGH. But I’m not a hater – total lover here. You just had to wait with baited breath for me to get my fanny in a solid spot to update you on the saga that is my life. (Don’t get too excited, this girl’s been in the slow lane as of late.)
I had to travel to South Florida (Lauderdale/Miami) last week to attend my mother’s PhD commencement ceremony (little Miss Smarty Skirt). And while we were down there, we were pursued by Ernesto – you know, Hurricane/Tropical Storm/Tropical Depression Ernesto. Figures. Due to the fact that he was supposed to hit the Southern Florida coast a year to the day that Katrina plunked into N.O., they (nutty Floridians) were a little quick on the draw evacuating peeps out of the area. I preferred to just sit and blow around the beach, but, traveling with the parental and the grandparental units (aka: Worry Wort Central), we, instead, sat glued to the Weather Channel eating pistachios, drove around looking for a gas station with gas and evacuated when told. Luckily, it came after the ceremony, so, we were able to cheer on Dr. Mom before the rental (and grand rentals) switched into panic mode. I, of course, laid lazily on the beach chair sipping Coronas and yelping at the hot men as they cruised by. I live on the edge.
After returning to LA, I had to flip around (not literally, I’m no gumby) and fly to Phoenix for work. I was sent out to preview a new project in downtown Phoenix. And, guess what? Apparently, Phoenix is where all the hot men have been hiding! I should have known – they have golf. Luckily, I wore a sweet pair of violet pumps with a hot yet professional black dress number so I was dressed to impress. I was boring holes into one young lad’s head during one of the meetings until I realized that he was not on my team. Yah, awesome. He told me my shoes were absolutely adorable. Game over. Now, the shoes were great until about 1pm when, after walking in them in 110-degree heat, the blisters began to appear. I immediately b-lined it into the ladies’ room where, THANK GOD, someone had the foresight to have a Costco-size box of band-aids awaiting my ripped-to-shreds feet. I wrapped my tootsies like yesterday’s leftovers and hauled it back to the airport. BTW: I looked pretty sweet rolling through security with my 687,000 bandaids. So much so that the TSA dude asked me what my deal was. YAY!
After that I slept for about three days straight. TECHNICALLY I came to work, but, I’m getting super rad at looking awake when really the brain is flipped to the “off” position. But don’t tell anyone – it’s my prized talent.
And now we come to the looooooooooong weekend. My preliminary goal was to take it easy – actually take a breather from the “venice lifestyle” that is bar, bike, bar, bike, bar, bike, sleep, lather and repeat. I managed to nail that goal – um, until Friday. Whoops. I spent the remainder of the weekend sipping ales at the beach and bumping my bike into tourists (hey – I’m a local – stay out of my way). Saturday, I attempted to return back to the goal by watching the Ohio State season opener – key word being “attempt”. Freakin’ California ABC took it upon themselves to televise the Oregon v. Stanford game (YAWN) in lieu of the #1 ranked Ohio State Buckeyes season opener. So there I sat, dumbfounded, wondering why California always has to be different. Son of a bitch hippies.
In between bike and bar and sometimes during, the girls and I hashed over the fact that it’s time to ditch the “meet a guy at a bar” efforts and try more mature, intellectual and sober venues. It took us 4.2 seconds to figure that out. But then we would just sit there, staring at each other wondering what other venues there are. The online dating didn’t work. Myspace didn’t work. Speed dating was an absolute disaster and a half (that was back in my pre-blog days – holy story for another day). Arranged marriages are out. None of us go to church. We were stumped. We decided that would be our next challenge to come up with some new and fun places to meet quality men. I repeat QUALITY M-E-N. (I decided to ditch the “mature” aspect, because, really, do I want to do that?) So, I’m starting a running list and your suggestions are greatly appreciated. Please keep in mind who you’re dealing with, so, for example, “political debates” or “NASCAR” are out. K?
And now here I am. Back to work, daydreaming about hotties in Phoenix (the non-gay ones, hopefully). I even got to meet Lt. Zulu from Star Trek at my other job last night – seriously - who could ask for more??
posted by Rach2LA @ 5:25 PM
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