nip/tuck, boot camps and more!

Still working on that getting healthy thing. So far, so good. I feel like I'm eating in a more healthy fashion - at least, I'm more aware of my hunger and I tend to over-eat less. However, I did have a huge plate of nachos last night - you win some, you lose some.

I'm watching nip/tuck obsessively and have come to the conclusion that plastic surgery rarely looks as good as its meant to. And so, to ward off any lingering fantasies of a lipo-fixing everything-lunchtime procedure I've signed up for a boot camp. Of course, the pre-req is being able to run a mile so. . . . . you know, it'll be awhile before I attend class.

Speaking of class! I haven't given up on writing, those programs are still waiting and Boston is still calling, but! to pass the time, I've signed up for an entrepreneurial class. I avoided all business/math/accounting/economic-esque classes my entire life; however, the older I get the more I think it's probably smart of have a small idea of what it takes to run my own life.

This post is extraordinarily boring, maybe because I just finished an awful book about an amazing kid: Dove.

This kid, at 16, circumnavigated the world in an abysmally small sailboat, got married, had a kid and moved to Montana. In 6 years. Pretty outstanding, except that the book was horrid. Boring, cliched and written as if dictated by one of my mother's third graders. I was more entertained by the Wiki article about the same boy than the book which I finished in two evenings. Back to Bill Bryson, I guess.

A Non-Milestone

This is my 100th blog on this site and to celebrate I am going to write about the Gap. Or rather, about how the Gap online store is closed and how stupid I think that is on a Sunday afternoon when everyone AND their mother is at home and too lazy to go to an actual store. "We're sorry, our site is temporarily unavailable," is just NOT the message I want to read when I'm coming down from an argument-cum-panic attack. Hello, shop therapy anyone? Gap, you are contributing to my psychoses by withholding my prescription.

Also, withholding has two "h"s. Who knew?

The ZOO

This is a zoo post. Seriously, I am posting about a trip to the zoo. A trip that I took.

I am twelve years old and this is show and tell.

All pictures were taken with my iPhone at the Tacoma Point Defiance Zoo. My last memory of this particular zoo were pretty dim; I think there was construction, the animals were subdued.

Today, the weather was cool-ish and we (my mom and I) went during feeding/play time. It was probably one of the better zoo experiences I've had recently or ever. There were baby tigers feeding with their mama and NEW! clouded leopards which are extremely rare. The keeper was playing with one of the leopards which acted exactly like a puppy except, you know, lethal. The Polar Bears were pretty frisky and crowds were decently low. I was able to snag a front row view at every habitat.

Rare Clouded Leopards




Leeeeeeeeeeemurs




Fighting Polar Bears. I am an awesome photographer. This was totally planned. . .

??

Um, an egg recall because of a salmonella scare?

. . . wait, what?

WTF, Nebraska!

Um?

I think this is totally cool and totally fucking weird.

She is having TWO babies, at once, but they're NOT twins. WTF?

Favorite "under the influence" memory . . .

Yo, okay, so I have a lot of memories from nights during which I consumed alcohol. Some good, some bad. However, this one memory popped into my head today and it is very innocent and therefore one of my favorites.

Me. Walking home from Finn MacCool's. Alone.

I remember the night - ish. I had had a tough day at work (who hasn't?) and had recently made some pretty big life changes. I was with my roommate T and after a couple G&T's we decided to continue drinking as quickly and as heavily as we could manage. Wise decision, I know. After a little Crown Royal, a free t-shirt, and a tear filled confession-esque conversation I left the bar.

This is the good part.

I popped in my headphones and cranked Kansas as loud as I could. (Loud enough that the next afternoon while crawling to work I actually yelped when the music first started blaring . . . yes, yelped.) And then? Then I started singing. Lil' ol' me. Walking down University Avenue at 1 or so A.M. singing top. of. my. lungs. To Kansas and I sang all the way home.

In retrospect I should be embarrassed but in reality I am so in love with the person who did that.

I mean, really, of all the things I could have done that night - all the directions I could have taken that last Whisky shot - I sang Carry on my Wayward Son for 10 blocks?

I'm, like, totally awesome.

Oh, so that's what they mean by too much alcohol. . .

Off to my cousin's wedding (the younger one's are getting hitched, y'all - this does not bode well) and then to Oregon for FOUR days. I have never been so silly-stupid excited for a mini-vacation. World Cup drained me and then some - ask me about it sometime; after I put my brain back in my skull I'll have some great stories. But for now, VIVA ESPAÑA.


Also, double-fisting coffee and water at 10:42 AM is a sure sign I was over-served last night. Shame on you, Big Time, shame.


(There is an overabundance of hyphens in this post, for this I apologize.)

The end of the dailies

WEll, not really. If you've noticed I've stopped posting daily - which is sad, BUT I have not stopped entirely, I promise.

A certain person came back into town this week and he has been a little distracting. A little.

Day Sixty-Nine: When is drunk too drunk?

The answer: when other people have to take care of you.

Day Sixty-Seven: Uh.

Welp, definitely woke up drunk today after a night of . . . shenanigans. Work was . . . fun?

Day Sixty-Six: That's All Folks!

You know what I did yesterday? I watched cartoons. With my roommates. With candy. And chips. And diet Coke. For serious, it was amazing. So. Much. Fun.

Daffy and Donald and Daisy. Foghorn Leghorn and Bugs. Sylvester, Tweety and ICABOD CRANE - holy shit, do you guys remember how terrifying that cartoon was as a child? It was scary even last night, surrounded by friends and TWENTY-TWO YEARS of knowing it isn't true - no wonder my eight year old self almost peed herself over that film.


ALSO, Mr.Seventy-Five and retired, being old does not give you the right to be creepy and tipping me well does not afford you the privilege of hitting on me. Gross, dude.

Day Sixty-Four: Annnnnd, we're back.

Back to work that is.

You know what I like about work? My coworkers are crossword people and crossword people? We just get it. We know that it's never slow when you have a Shortz clue to figure out. There is never a customer mean enough or stingy enough to make my crossword less than perfectly enjoyable. Thank you, NY Times, thank you.

Day Sixty-Three: Hangover anyone?

UN RESACA BEYATCHES. I have one. Ugh.

Today is my only day off, ever, in the history of ever. I exaggerate, not. I'm going to live it up by nursing my hungover self with coffee and a little Lia-reconnection. Pretty flipping excited, yo.

Day Fifty-Nine, Sixty and Sixty-One: Missing posts?

You'll notice from time to time that I don't post every day, even though that is the promise I made. I'm struggling, right now, with finding what to write. This is not just a blog problem.

I recently set a goal: I would, this year, apply to grad school. I want to study Creative Writing at a top program and I want to earn my M.F.A. This goal requires that I complete 50 polished pages of creative writing. Maybe it's the stress of having a deadline, but I am suffering from the worst case of Writer's Block in recent memory.

I have maybe four stories going at once and every time I take one step forward with them I take about eight back.

The other, not so drastic, problem is that I am house sitting for my parents and they don't have wireless so my lap top is basically useless.

Anyways, enough with the excuse. Forward march.

Day Fifty-Eight: on writer's being stupid

There is a certain grain of stupidity that the writer of fiction can hardly do without, and this is the quality of having to stare, of not getting the point at once.
---Flannery O'Connor

Well, I certainly don't get the point but I'm happy to continue staring.

Day Fifty-Four: Real World Addiction

It's true: I once dreamed of being on the Real World. Admitting you have a problem is the first step. The real truth? I still want to be on the Real World.

Day Fifty: Happy 50th!

I made it 50 days posting!!!! Woo-hoo.

I. Went. Out. Woah. I actually got out of the house.

Last night, I met some coworkers at Finn's for a birthday celebration. I drank way more than I should of and I had a great time. In case you were wondering, Finn's is half-off everything on Sundays. Yes, it is impossible to not get drunk. The savings - they are irresistible. I'm not sure where I fit in at work yet but I really do enjoy the company of the people I work with and that? That is a good thing.

Day Forty-Nine: L'autobus

Todays post consists of me being lazy, taking the bus, drinking a STARBUCKS latte, not enjoying work, getting home, and going out.

I will elaborate.

Yesterday was one of the laziest days in recent memory. I did nothing. I was hungover and I sat on my bed and then later on the couch and I watched so much tv my eyes were literally rotting by the time I rolled back into my bed to fall asleep.
Today I woke up, determined to walk, discovered that it was cold as balls outside and saw the bus, took the bus. Was early to work.
I stopped at STARBUCKS. I like STARBUCKS. I like that their drinks are fast and tasty and consistent. I like their logo and I like their stores. I LIKE STARBUCKS. God, how un-indie of me. Woops.
Work was tough today. The boss was on a tear. He is the boss so he is allowed to be picky but after awhile I just felt run-down. I really couldn't do anything quite right. I learned a lot about what he expects and he has good reasons, still after mopping the floor for an eighth time I kind of felt like freaking out.
I got home, I napped, it was glorious.
Now? Now I go out.

Day Forty-Eight: Lazing about

Our house survived the party and today? Today we do nothing.

I had fun and I know that my roommates had fun (and that's important) but I still don't like being a host, not really. I don't like wondering when people are going to leave so that I can go to sleep. I don't like worrying about whether people have enough to do and who is spilling what where. I'd much rather meet a bunch of people at a bar, but maybe that's just me being "old".

Day: Forty-Seven: Kegger????

Ok, so I'm more than a little drunk and more than a few of the people here are a little drunk.


I don't know whether I'm feeling déjà vu or what seeing all these people I lived with and drank with and made mistakes with while living in Spain. . . . Whatever I'm feeling it's making the room spin.