June 11, 2008
It's the Little Things
I am sitting in the Chicago O’hare airport, where I’ve been patiently waiting for a disaster of an afternoon to resolve itself. I arrived back from South Africa last night—after 36 hours of transit in which my first 12-hour flight didn’t have individual television screens (so we were all forced to watch Jumper) and during my layover in Qatar my Blackberry managed to “walk away”. I’m convinced that it went missing in the 15 feet between the final security screening and boarding the shuttle to the airplane, but despite my very precise instructions to the Qatar Airways staff, the predicted likelihood of ever seeing it again is laughable.
Since I had an extremely short turnaround, arriving home from Cape Town at 8 p.m. last night and leaving for a conference in Wisconsin at 10 a.m. this morning, I haven’t had a chance to replace the phone—or to cancel the service. So if you want to call it now, chances are it will be picked up by a recent visitor to the Doha airport…but rest assured that the bill will be coming straight to me.
Through my own negligence (I went to the wrong gate, and didn’t notice my mistake until it was too late), I missed my connecting flight to Wisconsin. Fortunately, I was able to get booked on the next flight out—which was a mere 5 hours later. Theoretically. It turns out that weather delays and even local tornadoes have created a maelstrom of cancellations. So it’s now 7+ hours in and I’m still sitting here. Fortunately, I had plenty of work to do and the internet connection at the airport is decent. On the down side, not having a phone (and being unable to work the pay phones, horrid creatures) meant that there was a slight kerfluffle at the Wisconsin airport when my chauffeur (the event center is an hour away) couldn’t find me on the original flight. Extremely non-funny hilarity ensued and we finally got it all worked out, although I’m sad to report that said chauffeur is enduring the same waiting game at his end, albeit without a computer to keep him company.
But I’ve digressed. My main point is that despite having a horrific couple of days (minus the VERY nice 12 hours spent at Mr. MMB’s house cuddling Maya and marveling at the heat index at 10 p.m.), right now the thing that is really irritating me is that I don’t have the camera attached to my Blackberry. Because there is a woman—60 if she is a day—sitting across from me wearing obscenely skimpy shorts, a black blazer, gold bejeweled sandals, Jackie O sunglasses, and a jaunty sailor cap. Her nautical theme is completed with a mouth so foul I would wager she’s spent some time on the high seas. Apparently, she (and her male compatriot, a laid-back “grandpa type”) have not had any luck in getting on a particular flight. The term “fucking bitch” has been uttered SEVERAL times, and she has repeatedly stormed off complaining that “there are always seats available in first class”. And if ever there was a woman that screamed “first class”, she is definitely it.
So I’m sorry to report, dear readers, that there will be no picture of this woman to accompany my posting. And let me tell you, you are really missing out since she has now angled her legs up so that the back of her thighs (all the way up to her not inconsiderate buttock) are on display for everyone to see. I sincerely hope she’s on my flight to Wisconsin.
April 24, 2008
Celebrating Earth Day the Old-Fashioned Way
** alternate title: Junk In My Trunk **
Yesterday was the first time that I'd driven my car since the weather turned warm. My meeting was an hour away, and I was anticipating a nice drive, full of singing along to the radio, enjoying the sunny weather, and taking some quality time away from my computer. I didn't realize that I would actually be wilting under a rolling wave of steam that seductively wound around my feet, then my ankles, then my torso, before finally turning my perfectly coiffed hair into a white-girl Afro.
I had forgotten, you see, that my car's air conditioning was defunct. I had driven it last summer with Sisyphean patience - believing that at some point the weather would cool down and I wouldn't be subjected to the oppressive sauna-like conditions. Then we broke the heat record in September, and again in October, and by the time November came around I was actually looking forward to taking the subway as a means of avoiding that tiny block coffin.
But oh, dear reader, how soon one forgets misery like that when winter rolls around! It wasn't until I popped into the Miata yesterday and began to feel that familiar tingle of sweat behind my knees that I remembered a vow I took many months ago: "I will get a new car when the weather warms up".
So I did. Here's the chronology:
-- 4:00 p.m. - drive home, realize I want a new car
-- 4:30 p.m. - arrive home, call my mom, tell her I have decided to get a new car
-- 5:00 p.m. - realize I have no budget in mind, nor make or model of preference
-- 5:30 p.m. - look at bevy of reviews on affordable small cars, play crossword online
-- 6:00 p.m. - decide that the Scion XD is the car for me
-- 6:10 p.m. - locate a Scion Dealership in the next town
-- 6:15 p.m. - arrange to meet my dad at the dealership at 7:45 p.m.
-- 6:20 p.m. - take a nap
-- 7:45 p.m. - arrive at dealership
-- 7:55 p.m. - take a test drive
-- 8:20 p.m. - look at all of the different color options
-- 8:30 p.m. - decide that the dark blue one is my favorite
-- 8:45 p.m. - start the paperwork, get Miata appraised (end up selling it for a roll of cash to the dealer's cousin)
-- 10:10 p.m. - get keys to car and begin the arduous task of transferring all of my junk from the Miata over to the new Scion, hilarity ensues as my dad nearly has an apoplectic fit at the mess I've been driving around in
-- 10:45 p.m. - drive my new car home
Not bad for an afternoon, I thought. And now, because it has been too long since we've enjoyed the amusement that is life with a small child...here is a family email exchange that happened today:
Jessica: Janie put an unopened bottle of water in my purse today, and my cell phone is now useless. I believe this is the second time Janie has destroyed my cell phone with water. Yay.
Dad: Don’t you be blaming my PERFECT granddaughter. It clearly must have been someone else’s fault.
This coming from the man who flipped out for DAYS because we once left a box of crayons in the back seat of the car. In Guam. In 90 degree heat. If you could get past the fact that there were melted crayons covering the seat, it was actually quite pretty.
Posted by madchen at 05:01 PM | Comments (3)April 13, 2008
The Happiness Continues...
In a strange turn of events, I have reverted to my 16-year old self and am completely infatuated with a boy. Head over heels, sickeningly, achingly, desperately enamored. It's actually rather nice.
After five days apart (my Big Idea trip to Chicago), he picked me up at the airport on Friday and whisked me away to a B&B in Berkeley Springs for the weekend, complete with dual massages at one of the local spas, a bottle of wine every night in our room, and a ridiculous amount of conjugal entertainment.
(Intrigued by Ms. Secret Blog's claim to be worth $1,086 an hour in bed, I thought I should do my own calculation. I was pleased to discover that I am apparently worth $1,224 an hour. I expect the difference in our fees is largely due to my...copious bosoms, I suppose is the right way to put it.)
Anyway, I just walked in the door to my house after a week away to find it spotless (the maid came on Friday), the cats happy and purring, a new Netflix movie (Junebug) waiting on the counter, a new nightgown hanging in the closet, and a week of adventure to look forward to. First up, Indian cooking class tomorrow night.
Posted by madchen at 07:08 PM | Comments (2)April 02, 2008
Let the Sunshine In
After three grueling months of unhappiness, things are looking up. Whether it's the spring weather, the $5.50 a minute therapy, or just good timing—I am finally waking up in the morning with a smile on my face. In this new spirit of dazzling contentment, let me share the following:
Despite screwing up vacation plans for this Christmas, everyone is delighted to be welcoming a new baby into the family. This bundle of joy will be making an appearance sometime in November, if Jessica's math skills are working.
Other things that have made happy lately: a new boy who takes me on hikes and to wineries in the Shenandoah Valley, Big Idea projects that will involve trips to Mexico in May, and tickets to Eddie Izzard.
March 10, 2008
Silent Night
For the third time in 10 weeks I have lost my voice. Those of you who know me personally will realize what a tragic inconvenience this is, since my entire sense of self-worth revolves around an ability to vocally express my witty and incisive opinions. Keep your sarcasm to yourself, dear reader.
If I whisper very softly, I sound like a phone sex operator with a pack-a-day problem. Anything slightly louder than a murmur resembles a pubescent-boy with creaks and squeaks. Volumes approaching normal speaking tones result in total silence.
It begins to occur to me that this laryngitis is not happening at random intervals. Instead, I seem to be getting sick exactly on the weeks when I'm not traveling with the Big Idea. Leisure sickness, anyone?
Anyway, I'm back on the road on Tuesday—this time to New York for a client meeting and a conference and a concert. Between now and then, though, I'm spending an inordinate amount of time watching the first season of Magnum PI. Living in Guam as a kid, I had missed this show this first time around and now see it as my duty to the Gen X community to catch up.
Even though the high-waisted short-shorts do nothing for him, I see why Tom Selleck made girls drool...even if tonight I have to admire him in quiet desperation.
March 08, 2008
Make New Friends, But Keep the Old
Despite the overwhelming urge to stay tucked under my duvet and avoid the world, I've been making a concerted effort to get out and about. My social skills are slipping, but thankfully fortune has intervened to find me a variety of activities to enjoy.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the 8th Annual Karaoke To The Death, an amusing-and-yet-highly-competitive night of bad singing with my friend Ms. Secret Blog, who was fresh back from a honeymoon with Her Boy. While I declined to sing in this year's competition, I did get hit on by a strange guy (I'm talking to you, Mr. Executive Detailer of the Treasury) who was being mauled by a cougar at the same time he was chatting me up. I kept his card (I refused to give him mine) so if there are any ladies out there who want a fun night, let me know and I'm happy to pass his contact information along.
Last weekend I spent time with old friends at a girls slumber party, in which three bad movies were viewed (Blue Crush, Waitress, and 10 Things I Hate About You), taco salad was eaten, Scrabble was played, and the latest we managed to stay up was 1:30 a.m. I can neither confirm nor deny that pillow fights in our panties took place, but I am not ashamed to say that the table full of alcoholic beverages remained largely untouched--as "Drunk Jen" decided to take a hiatus in order to ensure sobriety for her lunch date the next day.
Earlier this week I went to dinner with a friend-of-a-colleague-of-a-friend/colleague, which made for a very strange meeting. We totally hit it off (in a platonic-single-girl-friends way), but it took us a long time to figure out how exactly we were connected to each other. "Oh, so you went to school with C, who now works at X company, which just hired K, who I taught English with in Japan." Lucky for me, she is a social butterfly and has invited me to tag along with her friends to see a Swedish indie-pop band tonight, after which we will partake in Vietnamese food and then wrap up the night with salsa dancing. A veritable smorgasboard of culture, no?
Last night I was invited to an honest-to-god dinner party. Now, I've heard rumors about people who can pull together groups of disparate strangers and--with the help of a few bottles of wine and some paella--turn them all into new friends, but frankly I thought it was an urban myth. Not so! Even though I barely knew the couple throwing the party, I had a lovely time. Driving home afterwards, my cheeks ached with laughter and my bag bulged with new phone numbers. I stand in awe of the entire process.
But that's not all! Next week I'll be in New York for a conference, where I'm going to meet up with a friend of one of my Big Idea interns. Apparently, this girl runs her own Big Idea (although not related to *my* Big Idea) and so we should have plenty to talk about. Frankly, it will be nice to have dinner plans during one of my travel weeks--usually I just crawl into my pajamas and get room service--although considering what I'm paying for my hotel room in the financial district, I might be better off snacking on cheese and crackers. Or selling myself on the streets to make a little extra cash. Gotta pay the bills...
Posted by madchen at 05:39 PM | Comments (1)March 06, 2008
How I Know The Crazy Isn't Just In My Head
I've been having a bit of a hard time lately. There have even been moments when I thought I was crazy. But today confirmed that--at the very least--it's not just me. Apparently the whole world has gone insane.
Exhibit One: Britney Spears on the cover of The Atlantic.
It would almost be more comforting if I had experienced a psychotic break and am imagined the whole thing. At least we could contain that madness.
Posted by madchen at 10:39 PM | Comments (0)February 21, 2008
Flower Power
You can take an indirect measure of my "personal happiness meter" by counting the number of flowers in my home. Whenever I feel sad and in need of a pick-me-up, I get up a bunch (or several bunches) of flowers and place them in prominent spots around my living space. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
At this moment, there are two dozen white tulips to the left of my computer screen, sitting neatly adjacent to a small pot of gerbera daisies. In the bathroom is another dozen tulips—these are bright pink. In my bedroom are two dozen red-and-yellow tulips perched on my dresser. In the living room—in two separate vases—are three bunches of delicate pink lilies—my favorites.
Guess I was feeling the need for a BIG pick-me-up this week. No word yet on whether it worked, although the cats are thoroughly enjoying chewing on the stems.
Random memory alert: the last time I received flowers from someone was in 2003, on a first date. The guy (whose name was Thomas, I think) brought a bunch of purple tulips along with a picnic basket filled with fruit and cheese and a bottle of wine. He owned his own software company, was adorable, and arrived in a new Mercedes convertible. Looking back, I should have tried harder with that one.
February 13, 2008
Status Update
Two weeks ago I attended the wedding of Ms. Secret Blog and Her Boy. It was a destination wedding in Charleston, where the weather is perfect, the B&Bs are gracious, and the bars are full of drunk co-eds (and wedding party-goers). I lost an earring and added a notch to my bedpost (kidding! I assure you it was very deep and meaningful) and overall had a very lovely time.
Last week I spent five days in Key West, where the weather is even more perfect, the beach is full of gay men and Alabama newlyweds, and there are a shocking number of middle-aged Republican men who will try to pick up a pretty young thing by debating the “truthiness” of climate change. My Big Idea project went without a hitch, everyone loved me, and I even managed to read an entire book in one sitting.
This week I got kissed by a nice man we'll call Mr. MBA, took a third trip to the airport in as many weeks, and--perhaps most excitingly--bought two new suitcases to replace the one that fell apart mid-trip last week. Also of note: my car broke (dead battery, broken alternator, simply too old?—you decide!), causing me to miss tap class and resulting in my sister spending her entire birthday carting me around to the mechanic, the polls, and back home again. Quality time with me = happy birthday!
Today I flew to Los Angeles, enjoyed a Doubletree Hotel cookie, and DID MY TAXES. That's right bitches. And I'm even getting back enough money for approximately 26 soy lattes (my preferred currency). If you're extra nice to me I might share one with you. Maybe.
January 31, 2008
At the Office
I'm working on site with a local client today and it's a surreal experience. Waking up at 7:30 a.m., getting dressed in professional clothes, taking the metro downtown, signing in at the front desk, sitting down to work in an office, scoring a cup of coffee from the communal kitchen, looking periodically at the clock to see when 5 pm rolls around—it's just too weird. Or, maybe too normal.
It's been almost four years since I've worked in an office setting. In the interim, the normal workday routine has become completely foreign to me. These days, when I'm not traveling, I wake up about 9 am, make a cup of tea and sit down to work at the computer for a couple of hours in my pajamas. Sometime around lunch, I take a shower and put on jeans and a sweater—but never shoes,my feet must be free to express themselves.
I continue to work throughout the afternoon and into the evening, usually sitting at my desk but sometimes taking my laptop over to the couch. On rare occasions I have even taken my laptop into bed with me, to take advantage of my electric blanket during the cold winter months.
My dry cleaning bill has dropped to nothing, I spend more hours in pajamas than I do in “real clothes”. I have been known to take conference calls wearing nothing more than a towel—and sometimes that towel is wrapped around my head.
I go to the gym in the middle of the day, and make a point to swing by the local coffee shop at some point. I often run across the street to Whole Foods right at 5 pm to pick up a baguette straight out of the oven.
In some ways, it's bliss. It's especially nice when I'm doing a lot of traveling—when I need the opportunity to do a couple loads of laundry in between meetings so that I can be prepared to catch a flight a mere 24 hours after returning home from the last trip. And it makes those times when I do dress up and put on my “professional persona” a bit of a treat.
On the other hand, I love sitting in a “real” office. I love the personal connection with employees who are able to walk down the hall to each other's offices. I love grabbing a coffee with people and sharing the water cooler gossip. I love picking up at 6 p.m. and going home to a real, separate personal life.
On the whole though, I think I prefer wearing slippers most days, and just dabbling in normal office life.
Posted by madchen at 04:49 PM | Comments (0)January 24, 2008
My Life in Numbers
21 – days I will be away from home in February.
3.7 – miles I covered on the treadmill today, meandering at a mellow speed since the bronchitis has not yet totally subsided.
73,141 – miles I flew in an airplane last year on Big Idea assignments.
0 – items I've checked off of my 50 Things to Do Before I Die list in the past 14 months.
1,881 – eHarmony matches I've gone through in the last few years. Guess we weren't compatible on 29 dimensions after all.
3.5 – books I've read this month.
6 – books sitting on my nightstand, yet to be read.
12 – dollars I spent on a key lime pie last week—a pie that I never got to taste because I was distracted by illicit activities.
7 – things I wrote down and then erased because they were deemed to lurid/depressing/mean to force upon humanity.
January 17, 2008
New Years Resolutions
I was relieved to see that it's apparently not too late to make New Year's Resolutions for 2008, even though we are well into the third week of the year. While I love the motto "More Sex, Less Financial Ruin", this year I'm going to take a more pragmatic approach and:
Read More Books
Through a combination of more frequent overnight guests, a lapse in my audiobook membership, countless weeks traveling for the Big Idea, and a bevy of magazine subscriptions, I have fallen off the book-reading bandwagon. (Spare me Mr. Bad Apologies--yes I know I've read more books in a year than you've read in your whole life.)
So my resolution for 2008 is to start reading again. Literary fiction, biographies, memoirs, mysteries, crime novels, police procedurals, churned out Dan Patterson and Danielle Steele tripe, historical romance, hell--even Harlequin romance. It's all up for grabs. Except maybe anime--I just don't get the cartoons.
Let the page-turning begin.
I made this resolution a couple weeks ago when I thought I might be dying of bubonic plague, and I'm happy to report that I've already completed one book and am well on my way through a second. But tonight I've learned an added lesson: when finding oneself suddenly alone after a night of adventure and excitement, when one expected to have an overnight guest but was instead merely dropped at the curb, it is a comforting thought indeed to say "I couldn't be bothered with you anyway, I have a book to get through."
Now let me see if I have any erotica laying around.
Posted by madchen at 12:46 AM | Comments (1)January 16, 2008
Anthology of Demonology: My Night With Ozzy Osbourne and Rob Zombie
Hello my little chickadees and welcome back to Write Again Soon. I realize I dropped off the map for a bit, so before delving in the scintillating events of my week, let's take a brief moment to review.
December 23 – December 30
Over the holidays I took a few days off from the Big Idea—the first time in 2007 that I had stepped away from the computer for more than 12 hours at a time. It was glorious, this long-forgotten ability to sleep several times during any 24 hour period, the delight of getting drunk on chocolate martinis, the sheer pleasure of doing laundry on a normal schedule and having a choice between THREE clean shirts.
New Years Eve
Mr. Pilot and I rang in the New Year at a swanky party in which I consumed a number (perhaps three, perhaps seven) alcoholic beverages, danced with sundry people until my feet ached, and managed to walk home in a huff more than half a mile to our hotel because of a shocking lack of cabs. Upon arriving in our room, Mr. Pilot did the manly thing in taking off my shoes, coaxing me out of my dress, and getting me a tissue when I burst into uncontrollable drunk sobbing. I think I made it up to him the next day, with 12 hours of watching football in bed and various other athletic activities.
January 1 – 10
Like all good things, my vacation had to end and rather than simply go back to the status quo I instead began 2008 with a progressively worsening cough. What was originally a small tickle at the back of my throat morphed into a hacking, braying commotion that suggested something was seriously amiss. I was sure it was tuberculosis; my sister thought it might be whooping cough—I believe the bubonic plague was even briefly considered. When I started coughing up blood I knew the time had come to see some uncovered-by-my-nonexistent-medical-insurance professional help. Turns out that I had bronchitis. The good news is that it is relatively easy to treat, the bad news is that it can last 4-5 weeks.
Smattering of Events in the Interim
But while all of this has been going on (including continuing sleepless nights—oh the coughing!), life has not stopped. No dear reader, I have made it a point to plunge ahead with life. Some of the recent highlights include:
-- My first heavy metal concert! I saw Ozzy Osbourne and Rob Zombie at the Verizon Center with Mr. Pilot. I was filled with trepidation, but actually enjoyed myself in between coughing fits. A key to my contentment was the realization that Ozzy has greatly mellowed out in his old age. There was no spewing blood, no channeling Satan, no biting the head off a bat. Instead, it was a little "spray the front rows with foam" and "put lots of boobs up on the big screen during the guitar solo". In case you were wondering, my boobs stayed safely ensconced in their proper place.
-- Janie's basketball game! You haven't lived until you've seen twenty 6-year old girls play basketball in a tiny gym. There is a remarkable amount of crying, a strange "swarming" move around the ball that is unrecognizable as offense/defense, and at least one girl who simply cannot chuck the ball up to the rim. Ever.
-- Tap dancing class! Ok, the classes don't actually start until next week, but I'm all signed up with the community college and have even purchased some very fancy tap shoes. As far as I can tell, there is no recital, although I may end up scheduling my own little performance where all my local fans can come to appreciate my rhythm and moves. Brace yourselves now. (Note: this will be a family affair, as my sister—and possibly my mom—will be taking the class, and Janie is considering an age-appropriate class as well. If the Nazis try to invade, we can organize some sort of family tap dancing extravaganza to disguise our evacuation from the city and our escape over the Alps.)
-- Scary Big Idea stuff! The uncertainty in the economy has resulted in several large clients pulling out of their negotiations with me—leaving me in the lurch and not a little bitter about the proposal work I did that has all come to naught. I'm not panicking yet—but I'm definitely thinking about the coming months and my ability to sustain the business in the event that more clients don't come through.
So…that's about it. If you're wondering about the times when I wasn't at a concert or watching a child's basketball game or paying an exorbitant sum for tap shoes…well, I was napping. Or coughing. Or coughing during a nap. But now that I have finally caught up on my sleep, hauled myself back on the Big Idea bandwagon, caught up with my laundry, and even managed to go grocery shopping—the time has come to once again share my life with you dear reader.
We'll begin tomorrow with a rundown of the items in my refrigerator—also known as "how long can those two beers hold out all alone in there?"
December 10, 2007
Another Example of My Early Alzheimer's
So there I was, dancing around my apartment in my underwear, with the music cranked up and the cats in hiding. I may or may not have been practicing my amateur stripper routine...let's leave that for another post. The laundry was mid-cycle, the suitcase was open on the bed, and I'd printed out the tickets to San Francisco for tomorrow. All was right with the world.
Except...was that Cake playing on iTunes?
Wait, wait, wait. I had tickets sitting on my desk to see Cake. Tonight. And the doors opened at 7 p.m. and it was now pushing 10 p.m. And I was dressed only in my underwear with the laundry in mid-cycle (see above). My hair was in pigtails, and there were the half-constructed remains of a shoe tree in my living room. In short, there was no way to get ready and make it down to the concert site in time to see Cake play--at least, not with a sweater on.
Dear reader, I might possibly have stood shaking my fist in the air at the futility of my situation. On the other hand, I may have instead admitted that I'm probably a happier girl rocking out in my living room. At least the dress code is less restrictive.
Posted by madchen at 09:51 PM | Comments (1)November 25, 2007
Don't Fly Hungover
i'm typing to you, dear reader, from the Marriott in Anchorage, Alaska. I'm happy to report that--so far at least--there are no vampires on the hunt. And it's not even that cold--although I did almost take a tumble after slipping on some sidewalk ice.
But what I really want to talk about is why it is a stupid idea to imbibe several large glassfuls of vodka and orange juice on the night before a long flight. And because there are several reasons to enumerate, let me provide a list.
1. Because you will be unable to credibly defend yourself when someone says "you acted like an idiot last night". Even when you are sure that you only acted a little silly (but in a totally acceptable way), it's difficult to get the moral high ground.
2. Because you will fail to pack for your Arctic trip in a timely fashion, and will end up dragging yourself out of bed at 6 a.m. with only 45 minutes to find your long underwear, fleece sweaters, shell pants, etc., get them squished into a manageable size, locate toiletries (in case the barren Alaskan wilderness doesn't come with pint-sized shampoos), brush and comb your hair, collect your clothes from the floor and put them on in the dark. Because you don't want to turn on the light and disturb the sleeping boy still in bed. Although after commenting on your drunken state the night before, you may feel a strong compulsion to shine the light directly in his eyes and ask how HE'S feeling.
3. Because after rushing about, you will only at the last minute remember that you are supposed to bring a camera. And five minutes of scrambling around will result on precisely ZERO cameras being located. And you will end up in Alaska without any way to record vampire-sightings.
4. Because you will feel violently ill on the car ride to the airport, and may be so distracted by your churning stomach that you park in the lot at the wrong terminal, thus requiring you to take a shuttle bus that is so bizarrely hot and humid that it will take all of your willpower not to take rolling dive from the door simply to get a breath of fresh air.
5. Because after thinking that you've gotten past the worst of your horrible hangover and have managed to sleep for most of the flight from DC to Minneapolis, you will find yourself in the middle seat of the second-to-last row in a gigantic plane. You will be surrounded by college-aged hockey players who are also obviously suffering from hangovers (albeit in a bounce-back-I'm-19 sort of way), who will talk about girls and drinking and hockey for the next 6 hours.
6. Because when the pilot says "we are expecting some moderate turbulence on our approach into Anchorage", he is not fucking around. Dear reader, I assure you that there is nothing worse than being bounced around in the middle seat in the back of an airplane while the rustling of air bags is followed by a symphony of hockey-boy retching from all directions, including the seat three inches to your right.
7. Because once you finally touch down, it will still be thirty minutes until it's your turn to deplane. And during that thirty minutes, there will be no air circulation in the back of the plane, then hockey boys will have stopped vomiting long enough to find the whole thing hilarious (if in a slightly self-conscious way), and the odor will waft uncontrollably throughout the economy section.
In short, think twice before partaking in any pre-trip frivolities. No good can come of it.
Personally, I'm taking this advice to heart and sticking with diet coke tonight, since I have another two teensy planes to take tomorrow to get to my final destination. Once there, I hope to report back on adventures to include snowmobiling, dog sledding, Native American crafts, and a thorough lack of hungover hockey boys.
Posted by madchen at 09:42 PM | Comments (2)November 11, 2007
Realizations
One – Mr. Amazing is not so amazing after all. Actually, he probably is and I'm just too warped to appreciate it. Regardless of whether he was too clingy or I am afraid of emotional intimacy, in the end it was not a match. What's weird is that I'm pretty sure I could have gotten him to propose by now, if I'd just put in a little effort. Which I was apparently unwilling to do.
Two – I am dating Janie. I pick her up, take her out for a meal and a movie, and then drop her back off at home. If I'm lucky, I get a kiss goodnight.
Three – I am insane. Compare for instance, insanity's definition "doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome" to my recent foray into listening to my iPod while in the bathtub and being surprised when the earphones fell into the water.
Four – When I think about the Big Idea's long-term growth opportunities, I would rather be a manager than a worker bee. Right now I am doing both parts, and it's fabulous to realize that there actually *is* a path forward that doesn't necessarily involve me working 20 hours a day as the president, analyst, and janitor.
Five – Getting a housekeeper is money well spent.
November 04, 2007
Keeping Me Awake at Night
ATTENTION READERS:
Back around 1990 there was a song with the chorus line "I got nothing but love for you (baby)" or something similar. It was performed by someone in like LL Cool J, or Tone Loc, or someone similar. It was kind of upbeat, but still mellow.
Does anyone remember this song? Ms. Pleasant Mornings remembers it vaguely, but our Google searches have revealed nothing more than a crappy Chris Brown song by the same name. I can't tell if it's a remake, or something atrociously new. But it's driving me crazy.
Anyone? ANYONE??
PS - San Diego is glorious and if I hadn't just bought a New Place I would be moving out here next week.
Posted by madchen at 11:56 PM | Comments (3)October 31, 2007
Happy/Sad
I've been an emotional rollercoaster lately—things are either fabulous or blah and rarely is there a moment in between.
The high point was several weeks ago when I experienced a true moment of enlightenment. Yes, the Buddhist kind. I was on an airplane looking out the window at the sunset, listening to my iPod, and it just happened—a few minutes of absolute clarity and peace. I was a reed in the wind, in charge of my own destiny but also bending to the vagaries of fate. I would fail or I would succeed and it wouldn't matter because I am who I am and that was enough. It was like nothing I've ever experienced before, and it was especially strange because it just happened seemingly out of the blue.
Contrast that with today, where I have just choked down four ibuprofen with a steaming gulp of coffee. I'm sitting in front of my computer with twenty-eight things on my to-do list (really, I counted) and absolutely no motivation. I did manage to brush my teeth and comb my hair, but that is the extent of my personal grooming today. Although the weather is beautiful and I got an appreciative "how you doing, pretty?" on my morning trip to the hardware store, enlightened I am not.
October 29, 2007
Battling My Inner Demons
Last night I went to see 30 Days of Night. For those of you who don't know me personally, this was a big jump from my modus operandi, which is to avoid anything scarier than a clashing Halloween sweater. As a child I wasn't allowed to see anything scary (my sobbing sister had to be pulled from The Princess Bride during the ROUS scene), and thus I am highly sensitive to anything slightly creepy. As a result, I have never seen The Exorcist, Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Omen, etc. In fact, until last night I thought that the Friday the 13th and Halloween series were one in the same (Michael Myers being the true identity of "Jason"--in a Bourne Identity kind of way).
In case you aren't familiar with 30 Days of Night, let me recap. In the northernmost town in Alaska, there is a full 30 days in the dead of winter where the sun does not appear. Vampires take this opportunity to seal off all communication (destroying the helicopter, burning the satellite phones, killing the sled dogs) and go on a murderous rampage. The survivors have to band together to fight them off, etc., etc. In the end, they retreat to a metal building highly indicative of an oil refinery building, or perhaps some other infrastructure related to an extractive industry.
I was already a bit nervous about seeing the movie (see above paragraph about my ninny-ways), but as the credits started rolling I noticed with growing horror that the parallels to my plans for next month did not bode well. Note:
On November 24 (a mere 27 days from the darkest day of the year), I will be traveling to a remote mining town in northernmost Alaska. It is common for the weather to reach -40 degrees, and snowmobile is the preferred method of transport. There is a strong possibility that I will be touring buildings with mining equipment (or even visiting the mines themselves), and I just know that I'm going to be thinking--how would I kill a vampire with this [insert technical tool name here].
On the other hand, I now feel fairly confident that I know the rudimentary vampire-killing techniques. Sadly, if the movie is any indication, vampires also move quite fast and the chances of me being able to accurately swing an ax at their carotid artery are pretty slim, especially when you consider that I will be wearing eighteen layers of clothes and will be moving with the deliberate speed of the Staypuff Marshmallow Man.
Where I'm going with this story is that last night as I prepared to go to bed, I was a bit apprehensive. I have really vivid dreams, and I was worried that I was going to wake up all sweaty from nightmares. All alone, I turned on all of the lights in the apartment and prepared for a long haul. There may have been a few tears, but let's not talk about that.
And I was right--I did have dreams about vampires all night long. But in an ironic twist of fate, the dreams consisted of sitting in a long, fluorescent-lit board room with a group of business clad executives and creating a strategy plan for how to deal with the vampires. No actual demons of the night made an appearance, and by the time I woke up this morning I was totally and utterly bored with the topic. If I never see another pie chart about effective vampire removal methods, it will be too soon.
Posted by madchen at 11:59 AM | Comments (0)October 12, 2007
Feeling Ill
I just saw a man commit suicide.
I was walking back to my place after a trip to the bookstore and I noticed some police cars at the entrance to the garage. I assumed it was some sort of auto break-in, but when I got to my apartment on the 11th floor, I looked out the window and saw that there were a handful of police officers standing in a semicircle on the roof of the building.
Voyeur that I am, and thinking that maybe there was a stand-off or something, I got my binoculars and looked over to see a man in his 50s standing on the lip of the raised edge. The police officers were talking to him, and he seemed pretty calm. And then, he took off his shoes and tossed his keys to the negotiator, and then he got down on his hands and knees and just sort of leaned over the side and let go.
I didn't see him fall, thank goodness, but I did see all of the police officers run to try and catch his arms, and then their reaction as they looked over the side. One of them (a young guy) was in disbelief and just kept rubbing his face and another one started yelling in frustration. And now, 15 minutes later, the ambulance still hasn't left with the body, the police tape is up all over the place, and I'm left with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
What a horrible thing--and as hollow and shocked as I feel, I can only imagine what those police officers must be feeling right now. So sad.
October 02, 2007
Feels Like Home
I am slowly but surely putting my mark on my new place.* Last night, in a shameless attempt to avoid the one project that absolutely HAD to be completed by the morning, I got out my tool box and set to work hanging some of the many, many, oh-so-many pictures that so far had been shoved into the Corner Which Must Not Be Named.
I favor the eyeball approach to hanging pictures, which basically means that for any cluster of pictures (and there are many), there are approximately 1.5 nail holes per final nail. I justify this methodology by pretending that I will live in this house forever and—while I may replace the photographs inside the frames—the frames will be there until Armageddon. At which time I'm hoping that Jesus will stand on the bloody grounds of Megiddo and judge my picture-hanging skills favorably in comparison to my other vices.
What I discovered during this process is that I really need a step-ladder. And when I say discovered, what I really mean is, "realized mere fractions of a second before toppling over into a pile of hammer, nails, and various picture frames". You see, dear reader, my Ottoman is just not tall enough to assist in the process, and balancing a small table on top of the Ottoman also proved to be an inadequate move.
Of course, now that the place is beginning to feel like home, I'm off again. This time it's a 4-day trip to Thunder Bay, Ontario. Actually, it's 4 hours from Thunder Bay, Ontario to a place that probably has no phone or internet access. So find some other way to entertain yourselves, my chickadees. I'll be back soon!
* Reader alert! The only suggestion I received in the "what should I call my new place?" contest was "Plato's Cave" which to me seems like it's putting a pretty high bar on what might go on inside…so I'm looking for more low-brow options.
September 28, 2007
Time to Go Home
New Orleans isn't nearly as fun as I hoped it would be. Yes, the man in the elevator flirted shamelessly with me, and yes, I have a spa appointment tomorrow afternoon. But it's been raining all week, I have too much work to do, and I just want to go home.
That said the room is super luxe, the bubble baths are delightful, and I got to see the Grey's Anatomy premiere with a tray of room service in my bathrobe.
It's almost midnight here, and I'm calling it a night--I need to save up my energy for tomorrow. Friday night in New Orleans...anyone want to vote on my plans for the evening?
Posted by madchen at 12:32 AM | Comments (1)September 27, 2007
Lessons You Should Learn Before You Get Any Older
One
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and you would be wise to invest in a more robust medical insurance plan. (Ok, that ones for me.)
Two
Please go through your wardrobe and ditch those miniskirts. While you've got a great body for a mature lady, your knees look old. At the very least, wear them only in very low lighting.
Three
Name-calling makes you look like a petulant child (albeit with a shocking vocabulary). It doesn't matter if you are angry or drunk or even entirely justified, you need to curb that tendency immediately.
Four
I know you are just six, but its time you started living up to your commitments. When you say you're going to call me…well, I expect you to follow through. It's not nice to leave your poor aunt waiting by the phone.
September 25, 2007
The Art of the Huff
In the last few days I've learned a little something about leaving in a huff. Sometimes it's been me ("Good day sir—I said good day!") and sometimes it's been directed at me ("good fucking night, whore"), but what has become glaringly apparent is that no matter who does it, and for what reasons, there are few things that scream "drama queen" like a huffy departure.
As I sit here in my swanky hotel room in New Orleans, tucked into a bed overflowing with pristine white pillows, and watching a Next Top Model marathon, it strikes me that the time and place for such hysterics is in reality television—and I tend to avoid those shows for a reason.
That said, I *would* have left in a huff from the plane today when I got stuck next to the most obnoxious man alive. He talked on his cell phone from the minute he boarded the plane, through the welcome announcements, and only turned off the phone when the flight attendant came back for the second time. He monopolized the armrest, TURNED ON HIS CELLPHONE MID FLIGHT TO SEND A TEXT MESSAGE, asked for double the usual complimentary snacks, and declined to pull his seat back up when we were landing. That, and he had his seatbelt off the entire time. And once the plane landed, he was back on the phone giving whoever had the unfortunate luck of being on the other end of the line sweeping directions and making arrogant pronouncements.
If I could have figured out a way to do it, I would have pushed him out into thin air and considered it a service to humanity. That's the kind of huff that still has a place in my book.
September 22, 2007
On Becoming Jimmy Stewart
Ok, so I don't have a broken leg. And there's no mysterious murder happening in the apartment complex next door.* But I do have a pair of binoculars and a great view of the parking garage out of my sunroom window. And I'm nosy.
So far, here's what I've noticed:
The midnight parking attendant must be in the initial stages of a relationship because he spent 3 hours last night chatting this girl up on the fourth floor of the garage. She brought him food and gave off lots of "I'm here and I'm a woman" signs (clear even from across the street), but as far as I could tell they mostly just stood near his car and talked. I kept waiting for a shocking make-out scene, but none was forthcoming.
Not so with the teenagers in the late afternoon, who drive up to the empty top floor for alternate make-out and drug-swap festivities. There is even the occasional skateboarding, but this tends to attract attention and so the merriment is generally limited to more covert pleasures.
While I have not witnessed it personally, someone had a grand time doing wheelies on the top floor. I know this because of the tight circles burned into the concrete. Some are around the light poles, others are seemingly at random. Frankly, I'm tempted to go up and see if my tiny car can make smaller circles than those already left.
The day-time parking attendant rides his bike up and down the seven floors like the scene from The Sound of Music when the kids all take their bikes through the dappled afternoon sunshine and sing that brain-numbing "do-a-deer" tune. I wouldn't be surprised at all to know that he's humming show tunes to go with his swaying, swerving path.
And there you have it dear reader. High drama in the parking lot.
* I'm also not going to Washington, or jumping off a bridge at Christmastime to see what life would be like without me.
September 20, 2007
Things I've Learned Recently
Being unable to use a thumb is difficult. Being unable to use a thumb AND forefinger is nigh impossible. It also makes one realize just how ambidextrous one really is. I, for instance, never realized that I hold Starbucks coffee cups in my left hand. When forced to drink with my right hand (while also walking down the street), I ended up sloshing caramel latte all over the place. Not pretty.
There is great internet coverage in Trail, BC (that's Canada, eh), but very crappy coverage in St. Louis.
Knife sharpening requires two working hands. Fortunately, this was a lesson I learned quickly, and disaster was averted.
The local Giant Food has a dearth of attractive men. Social Safeway, it is not. Killing twenty minutes while my prescription was filled resulted in precisely ZERO "ohh" moments. But I did get a chance to peruse an entire aisle of ice cream.
Naked Alone Time is best spent with old 90's music blasting in the background, so as to provoke dramatic karaoke moments. Currently I am jamming (albeit in my pajamas) to Biz Markie's "Just a Friend". A classic. James's "Laid" is also excellent for this purpose.
While a tetanus shot might not hurt when given, it hurts like a bitch the next day. And the day after that. And one of the long term side effects can be "wasting of the arm muscle, which may last for many months". Yikes, that sounds bad.
When sung properly, the lyric "you're crazy bitch, but you f*ck so good I'm on top of it" is not nearly offensive as it might otherwise be. When sung PROPERLY.
A mango is a slippery beast and peeling one should only be undertaken with a sharp knife and 10 working digits. Eight will NOT do.
The pharmaceutical companies have gone too far in their pill proportions. I ask you, is this necessary?
September 18, 2007
Calculations
Picture if you will, dear reader, my own personal Master Card commercial:
[zoom in on Ms. Write Again Soon earnestly signing an 8-inch stack of papers]
New condo: $300,000
[cut to scene of Ms. Write Again Soon surrounded by approximately a gazillion boxes]
Movers to help unload your stuff: $150
[flurry of scenes with Ms. Write Again Soon handing over her charge card with abandon]
New bookcases, desk, and shelving: $1,200
[cut to Ms. Write Again Soon coaxing a tiny cat from under the bed]
Pet carrier to transport cat to new condo: $25
[zoom in on Ms. Write Again Soon standing over the sink, crying]
First aid to quell copious bleeding after tussle with cat: $7
[pan across parking lot while a heavily bandaged Ms. Write Again Soon enters a doctor's office]
Visit to Minute Clinic to get tetanus shot after fingers swell to twice their normal size: $49
[cut to a harried Ms. Write Again Soon pushing her way through the bleeding masses]
Midnight visit to emergency room when fingers emit colorfully viscous ooze: $275
[view of Ms. Write Again Soon grimacing as she swallows a silver dollar size pill]
Week's worth of hard-core antibiotics: $190
[zoom in on a pile of used bandages, neosporin, painkiller wrappers, and peroxide]
More bandages and peroxide: $15
[cut to alarmed Ms. Write Again Soon as she looks at the IV antibiotics the doctor proffers]
Follow-up trip to emergency room: $225
Ability to recover from serious bacterial infection while having "naked alone time" in brand new home: PRICELESS
Posted by madchen at 06:21 PM | Comments (1)September 10, 2007
Toothache
I'm typing to you, dear reader, from a motel in the Canadian frontier. It is a mix of surprisingly nice (free wireless internet) and not-so-nice (a gigantic fly that refuses to be shoo-ed out the door). It's a mere 9:22 p.m. and yet I have a strong suspicion that I will be collapsing into a deep sleep in a matter of moments. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to take advantage of this internet connection to do a quick review of the last week's events.
I am finally shedding the headache resulting from two nights in a row of drinking (I can see Ms. NYC Rogue rolling her eyes and trying to remember the last time she went two days in a row without drinking), but have discovered a toothache that is not just annoyingly persistent, but almost assuredly an early sign of jaw cancer. At least, it feels that way tonight.
My trip here is going to be really fun, I think, but already I'm missing my new place. I moved in on Tuesday, but it was only this morning as I dragged my hastily packed suitcase into the pre-dawn lull of the parking garage that I felt the place was sufficiently "moved into" to feel like home. And then to get on a cross country flight, spend 4 hours in a layover, and then get on a prop plane with WAY too much turbulence for my comfort--well, it created an instant homesickness.
Last night I went out with Ms. Secret Blog and Her Boy, along with his two brothers. We saw a fun band (including a post-coma lead singer), drank cider (that in a perfect world would be accompanied by a peanut butter sandwich), and even heard a bit of the Silver Spring Jazz Festival during our arduous trek to find parking (and the subsequent meandering over to the Irish Pub where non-adventurous dinners were later served).
After all that entertainment I was even escorted home by a fireman and a policeman, sort of. These public servant siblings might take a cue from their older and wiser brother, who is a paragon of good manners and who, I'm sure, would have seen me all the way to my building instead of waving a nonchalant goodbye a block from my front door. But they are young and it's possible that I seemed WAY too old to warrant such attentions, and so I will forgive them the oversight.
In the spirit of catching up, I would also like to explain to you, dear reader, about Friday night with Mr. HSBF and how he finally made a move (apparently, removing the fear that my dad would walk into the room in a dramatic repeat of our youthful indiscretions was key to the whole endeavor), but my poor tooth hurts and puts me in a very non-sexy mood. Suffice it to say that I could not be more delighted to finally be in my own place.
Reader Alert! I am searching for a fun blog name for my new place--something like Tara, or Green Gables, or possibly The Den of Iniquity. All suggestions are welcome--especially those that convert to a great acronym.
Posted by madchen at 12:25 AM | Comments (3)September 02, 2007
Finding Zen
This weekend has been one big tragedy of errors and I am one step away from having a total breakdown.
A 2-hour trip to IKEA yesterday, in which I fought alongside every pregnant woman within a 100-mile radius, resulted in having to abandon the ONE item that I ended up finding in stock (a new desk), because the box wouldn't fit in my parents' car--a car I had borrowed specifically because it had trunk space equivalent to the entire interior volume of my Miata.
And today, I am STILL locked out of my new condo because the developer failed to remove the "safety pin" from the front door lock. They promised to fix it on Friday, but when Ms. Wish to See graciously showed up this morning to deliver a couple of items they had been holding, lo and behold, I was still unable to get in my front door.
I've spent two hours on the phone with everyone I can think of--the building developer, the warranty company, the building management company, the building sellers, the project developer, etc. None of them can help--and the ones that can aren't picking up the phone AND HAVE THEIR VOICEMAIL TURNED OFF.
What this means is that I will have to arrange a completely separate day sometime next week to get moved in--I can't even use the "day off" tomorrow since apparently everyone is too busy enjoying the fruits of their labor to fix their gross incompetence from the previous week.
Add to this the fact that I have to "reserve" the loading dock and elevator space in order to properly move all of the big furniture, and the management company failed to return my call on Friday morning, meaning that I have no way of knowing when I might be able to actually move my belongings over It better be next week since come 5 a.m. on Sunday morning I'll be on a plane to the Canadian wilderness.
The bottom line: at the moment I am a proud (and heavily leveraged) owner of an empty condo that will apparently remain out of my reach for the next two days--the only two days in the next month that I had managed to clear for this purpose.
To top everything off, I thought that at least I could run a few errands on the way back to my old place (where I will spend the remainder of the day trying to work on Big Idea stuff that will be impossible to complete this week due to rearranged moving schedules). Unfortunately, my trip to the Big Idea mail box was in vain, since I hadn't brought my keys (having driven my parents' car--now filled with stuff delivered from Ms. Wish to See). The bag of cleaning supplies and groceries that I picked up from Trader Joe's ripped and spilled pasta and tile cleaner all over the sidewalk, and a next of baby spiders appears to have taken root in the growing piles of boxes patiently waiting in the basement for their day of glory.
Getting drunk and blowing the rest of the day off in a fit of pique sounds like the only option left to me.
Posted by madchen at 12:24 PM | Comments (1)August 26, 2007
"I have been so unomtivate dto blog lately. I don't what it is, I htink I'm uninspired."
I couldn't agree more with Mr. Hipster Dork (from whence today's blog title comes). Between frantically trying to pack up for next weekend's move to the New Place, organizing for a quick business trip down to Raleigh (leaving tomorrow morning), and trying to get ahead of the Big Idea--I'm just swamped.
Of course, being so busy with an overwhelming number of small tasks (next in line: locate missing silverware) inevitably triggers a strange desire to sit down and write out long and meaningless stream-of-consciousness ramblings, which brings me to the present moment. Consider yourself lucky, dear reader, that I will restrain myself to a 3 Random Things list*.
1. My dad is sitting downstairs right now watching television. Without a shirt on. This is an unusual thing, since we are a pretty "no unnecessary nudity in common spaces" sort of family. And given that I'm moving in less than a week, you'd think we could keep that policy in place for the remaining "together" time. Wouldn't you?
2. I went on the absolute worst date of my life on Saturday--so bad that the guy in question shall not even be given a name. We had been emailing and talking on the phone for a while and I was almost 100% sure that he was a dud (see "you are too available, call me 8 times a day to check in, and think that vacationing in Colorado is exotic") but I thought I might as well give it a first date. MISTAKE! After the first 10 minutes I just stopped trying to even hold up my end of the conversation, and was treated to an excruciating discourse on the relative merits of Sleep Number Beds vs. TempurPedic Beds. No joke. I could not have escaped faster if the cafe had caught fire.
3. I am having a degree problem. That is, what am I supposed to do with my diplomas? To date, they've remained in their handy cardboard mailers (and in one case, got moved to my filing cabinet). I sort of envisioned that some day I would be in a position to flaunt them in my fabulous office, where young things would cower before the unavoidable glare of my impressive accomplishments. I, of course, would know that having three degrees didn't mean jack, but it would be a sort of ironic statement of my success that I had that much wall space to fill. Unfortunately, that day has not yet come and I'm still in a place where wall space is at a premium and if there are young things cowering in my office (which doubles as a living room), it's for different reasons altogether.
* This was originally going to be a "10 Random Things" list, but I ran out of steam halfway through #2. Not a good sign for my writing skills, but promising for my ability to pack another 5 boxes before I go to bed tonight.
Posted by madchen at 04:04 PM | Comments (1)August 18, 2007
Moving On Up
Well, it's finally happening. The papers are signed, the financing is approved, and in twelve days I'll be moving to my new place.* Seven days ago I had no idea this would be happening at all (having laid eyes on my new place only on Monday), so it's now a game of "hurry up and move".
Tonight I began the process of packing. Since moving back from Sweden two years ago, I haven't really collected many new things (relatively speaking), and a good deal of my previously owned stuff is still stored away in the attic and basement, along with a smattering of furniture still distributed among various friends—namely Ms. Wish to See and Ms. Secret Blog. Going from a 3 bedroom place to a 1 bedroom place is going to be a challenge, and I have a sneaking suspicion I may be donating several truckloads of things to the Salvation Army. If you want to stop by and claim anything you've had your eye on, speak now or forever hold your peace.
But to get back to my point, my room is basically all that needs to be packed. You would think that would be pretty easy. After all, my two dressers don't need to be re-packed, my winter clothes are already boxed up, and my filing cabinet is good to go. What you might be forgetting, however, is Lesson #1 in Packing:
Ms. Write Again Soon's book collection is ridiculous, and moving it should only be done by professionals and/or those with strong backs.
Will I ever re-read The Art of War, so carefully placed by The Art of Seduction and The Art of Traveling? In what reality but mine would The Communist Manifesto be shelved next to The Army Field Survival Guide and The Prince? Why on earth did I think it was reasonable to pick up Lonely Planet books on Spain, India, and Crete from the library sale, besides the obvious logic of adding them to the China, Africa, Sweden, Prague, and Budapest litany of guides?
Please keep in mind, dear reader, that the approximately 150 books I packed up tonight do not take into account the 15+ boxes of books still packed in the attic. The books in my room are ONLY those that I bought in the last 2 years since returning from Sweden. It is for this reason that I am definitely collecting back from friends the bookshelves that I "loaned" out. And by loaned, I mean "thrust upon cheerful friends who were gracious enough to find room for them".
The sad part is that I haven't even begun to tackle the Big Idea books, conference proceedings, supplies, letterhead, computer equipment, and random paperwork. I'm going to leave that until the absolute last possible minute, so that I can continue to work 12 hour days before tackling this lovely moving adventure. When this is all over, I'm going to need a vacation.
* This assumes, of course, that in the next 9 days my dad doesn't decide to take the proffered job in London, thus leaving their Falls Church townhouse without a tenant. In such a case, said townhouse will be rented to me for a ridiculously low price and I will forgo the lovely condo awaiting me in Silver Spring. Such a decision is unlikely, however, so I'm banking (literally) on buying the condo.
August 14, 2007
Why I Will Never Try Meth
I will admit it, I have occasionally dabbled with drugs. And my "drugs" I mean marijuana, which produces (in me at least) a nice laid-back, lazy feeling where everything is doubly funny and I excel at videogames.
While I will spare you my exposition on why pot should be made legal, I want to take a moment to explain why pot is different than other drugs, and why certain other drugs will never enter my body.
This argument revolves around coffee. Caffeinated coffee, more specifically. Which I have had two cups of today. Which is now making me bounce off the walls, tap my feet a bazillion times a minute, and shift around in my chair so that I look like I might have some uncomfortable skin ailment. Which is awkward, since I'm sitting in a Starbucks, trying to work on the Big Idea while the Comcast cable is out at my house.
Why on earth would I need hard drugs when coffee takes me within an inch of psychosis? If two cups of coffee makes me want to dance on the tabletops and run screaming through the parking lot, why do I need coke or speed? Why, in fact would I want to risk it, given that I would probably end up naked on the rooftop of a building, seeing if I could fly?
No, no, better to stick to the occasional frappacino. And if I'm REALLY looking for kicks, I'll follow it up with a shot of espresso.
(Incidentally, it looks like the wallpaper on the far wall is twitching. Just so you know.)
Posted by madchen at 03:38 PM | Comments (2)August 13, 2007
One Thing After Another
The first thing you should know, dear reader, is that I was up until 4 a.m. last night working on the Big Idea. It was partly a result of the mounting workload I've accumulated, and partly because I took a long nap that afternoon that made it impossible to go to sleep at a normal time. Regardless of the reason, however, the end result was a very grumpy Ms. Write Again Soon at her 9 a.m. meeting this morning.
Adding to my grumpiness is that after a weekend of mulling over a decision to purchase a brand spanking new condo in Silver Spring, I finally decided to go for it--only to discover that someone had put down a reservation on it yesterday. Bah--back to square one.
But even that cannot compare to the distress and panic that I'm feeling at the moment. You see, it appears I have misplaced...oh...$5,000 in Big Idea checks. I know I had them somewhere--I distinctly remember tallying them up in my head, but I can't for the life of me figure out where I might have placed them. And I'm not exactly scatterbrained when it comes to things like this--so that fact that searches of three purses, the trashcan, the recycle bin, and my car have turned up nothing leads me to believe that they could only have been taken by alien miscreants, determined to wreak havoc on our civilization via some sort of complex check-stealing scheme.
Part of my trouble is that trying the "last place I saw them" trick isn't working. I have two checks ready and waiting on my desk, and they keep getting mixed up in my head with the missing two checks. I've basically ransacked my room, giving me nostalgia for the Great Curling Iron Disappearance of 2000--which was resolved after 3 days of non-stop searching (it was in the linen closet, which had been searched approximately 37 times before finally yielding its prize).
Sigh--I think it's going to be a long week.
Update! If you guessed "the checks are mixed in with you mom's refinancing-the-old-house papers", you were right! Let us all now breathe a sigh of relief and immediately go to the bank to cash those babies in. And if there is a quick stop at the salon next door for an eyebrow waxing, so be it.
Update #2! I just bought a condo! It's lovely!! And I feel compelled to end every sentence with exclamation points!!! And now I'm going to cook dinner!!!!
Posted by madchen at 12:19 PM | Comments (3)August 12, 2007
Confessions
ONE
Although I've nearly been driven out of my mind with Janie, Jessica, and Mr. Eagle Six living in our house (which was already at capacity with me and my parents) for the last couple of weeks, Jess and Janie's departure for a week in San Diego today made me realize that I do, in fact, adore Janie. When I mentioned in passing that I loved San Diego, she instantly invited me along. When I mentioned that I wasn't invited, she said that I didn't need an invitation, and when I said that I didn't have a ticket for the airplane she brushed this off with an airy wave of her hand. When I said that I had to work, she came over to where I was sitting, looked deep into my eyes, and said "Aunt Jen, you can't work all the time. You need a vacation. So why don’t you JUST COME." I tell you, I was about 30 seconds away from throwing a bathing suit in my purse and agreeing to come along.
TWO
There's something about spending time with Ms. Wish to See that makes me want to purchase expensive electronics. Last summer after a couple of hours with her, I swung by Best Buy on my way home and dropped $1,500 on a digital camera and a digital video camera. Not for any particular reason—just because. And then last week after having lunch with her and Mr. Fliven, I had a spare 30 minutes before my golf game and so I stopped by the Best Buy that was on the way. How much damage could a person who doesn't want a TV and doesn't play video games do in just 30 minutes? Clearly, I underestimated myself, because with 10 minutes to spare I had walked out of the store with the largest flat panel computer monitor they had. It's 24 inches of glorious high definition and here's the confession part: porn looks AMAZING on it.
THREE
I've been in my pajamas for the last 28 hours. But they were clean when I put them on, so I feel that it's not quite as shocking as staying in already-worn pajamas for the entire day. And I was super productive, so I feel almost justified.
FOUR
I actually wrote this entry 10 days ago. But it's Sunday night, I still have a couple of hours of work to do on the Big Idea, and I'm too busy watching Human Weapon (watch it, dear readers, and love it) to come up with anything new and exciting. But we'll re-open the door on online dating next week, so stay tuned!
August 08, 2007
Mission Critical
Aside from the many, many problems I'm facing today (45 minutes on the phone with Comcast to fix the internet, cats yowling for no apparent reason, a bathroom so filthy that FEMA might be called in at any moment), the critical issue at the moment is my lack of clean laundry.
This morning I have been reduced to wearing one of Mr. Pilot's old t-shirts, retrieved from the top of my closet where I had carefully placed it in preparation for a cult ritual that involves fire and chanting, while mounds of dirty clothes wend their way through the washer and dryer. It appears, from a quick perusal of the items on the bottom of the piles, that I haven't done a full load of laundry since the end of June.*
Unfortunately, the buck had to stop somewhere and that somewhere was today.
So here I sit in a plain white t-shirt (cue the catchy "hey there delilah" song), noting that I fill out the chest area quite nicely, but that my biceps can't really compete with the original owner. Perhaps during the next spin cycle I should do a couple push-ups.
* A quick extrapolation indicates that I must have 40-ish pairs of underwear. That even rivals my shoe collection...
Posted by madchen at 01:28 PM | Comments (0)August 02, 2007
The Internet Is New Again
In my ongoing attempt to find interesting things to share with you, dear reader, here are some fun links:
WalkScore – Walk Score helps people find walkable places to live. Walk Score calculates the walkability of an address by locating nearby stores, restaurants, schools, parks, etc. My current home (tucked away on a nice, safe, quiet military base, rates a 32 out of 100, not exactly a walker's paradise, but still in the middle of the pack.*
Paper Pilot – design your own virtual paper airplane and test it out…when you're happy with it, challenge your friends to a flying competition. It sounds corny but it is highly addictive. Mr. Pilot (ha ha) originally challenged me, and it took me WEEKS to worm out of him the secret trick to top 48 feet. So far, my best is 48.1, and I think he's somewhere at 49. Can you break 50 ft?
Maps of War – It's super geeky and yet amazingly interesting. Watch 5,000 of imperial history in 90 seconds, or see which Presidents have led the United States into its deadliest wars. It's cool technology, cool education, and a site that you should feel smug knowing about.
* In a terrible fit of I DON'T WANT TO WORK, I typed in some of my friends addresses and it turns out that Mr. Bad Apologies scores a whopping 92 out of 100—apparently living next to a crackhouse gets you extra points. Ms. NYC Rouge gets a respectable 80. Even Ms. Maryment (52) resides in a walkable locale. The people behind me? Ms. Wish to See (23), Ms. Secret Blog (17), and Mr. Fliven (2), who lives in the boondocks…I mean country.
Posted by madchen at 03:53 PM | Comments (2)July 31, 2007
Answers to Commonly Asked Questions
What does an $85 pedicure get you?
Frankly, not much more than a $35 pedicure, although you do get a semi-private room and the option to take home an orchid bud, the spa's "signature flower". What's even more frustrating is that after patiently waiting the recommended hour to put on any sort of footwear (ok, I spent that hour in the spa lounge and steam room, so it wasn't a huge sacrifice), the polish got smudged 6 hours later when I got into a tightly made bed. A question to my female readers, do you think I would have been justified in going back and asking for a re-do? I mean, shouldn't it be dry in SIX HOURS?
What is the fastest way to get through Dulles Airport security?
First of all, this is my most closely guarded travel secret, and look how generously I'm sharing it with you. Please take a moment and marvel at my munificence. Done? Ok, the secret all lies in which security line you go through. From the main entrance, go all the way to the right side of the building. There is usually a gray partition up next to the elevators, with a security person trying to check your papers and hustle you into the middle line (the left line starts about a ½ mile back near the United check-in). But if you just give a quick smile and scoot around that partition, you can get access to the Secret Security Line, in which I've never had to wait more than 7 minutes. It's made my Dulles experience dramatically different, and so I encourage you to use this trick the next time you're there. Unless of course I am also traveling, and then you would be well-advised to forget this little piece of advice so as not to slow up my transit time.
What does a Canadian haircut look like?
More layers, eh.
Which makes a better pet: a cat or a dog?
Cats, obviously, are the superior pets. You can leave cats alone for a long weekend with just an extra large bowl of water, whereas dogs require an expensive kennel (or just never going anywhere, or else dragging them along). Cats are snuggly and affectionate, without being stupidly loyal like dogs. Both kittens and puppies are ridiculously adorable, but I've never wanted to check into a sanatorium after spending 2 hours with a kitten. Admittedly, cats clean their own behinds, but dogs eat their own feces AND sniff your crotch. Case closed, I think.
July 29, 2007
8 Random Facts about Ms. Write Again Soon
I've been tagged with this stupid meme. If it didn't come from my favorite Brooklyn-via-DC lesbian, I would have just ignored it completely. But since I adore her, I can't. Damn you, Ms. NYC Rouge--do you know how long I've agonized over this list? Hours, I tell you. Are they random enough? Are they interesting enough? Are they too obvious? I shake my fist in your general direction...
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.
#1 Living in Sweden Changed My Eating Habits
While I will never get used to the idea that "fish buried until it rots" is a fine dining delicacy, my year in Sweden did expand my culinary horizons. I now love omelets, salami, cereal topped with yogurt or applesauce (instead of milk), and sandwiches without the second piece of bread. The potato chips "with that great bacon taste you love!" and the spreadable lobster paste…well…I apparently didn't live in Sweden long enough for that to sound appealing.
#2 I'm a Night Owl
I do my best work between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m., and it pains me to get up before 10 a.m. (although I often do). This sleep schedule (which will reappear even after weeks of diligently getting into bed at 9 p.m. and dragging myself out of bed at 8 a.m.) is one of the main reasons that I am so good as a student and as a self-employed business person—I set my daily routine and if I decide to stay up all night working on the Big Idea there is no reason why I can't take a nap the next afternoon. My boss is generous that way.
#3 I Have a List of Everyone that I've Had Sex With
Not a mental list—an actual written list. It's just a couple sentences about each person, the circumstances of our meeting, how good (or bad—sadly there are those too) the sex was, and how we left things. It's like my little black book, only shorter, with more graphic details. I decided to start keeping it a couple years ago when I realized the specifics of some of my earliest boyfriends were getting fuzzy in my almost-30 mind and I wanted to be sure that I would always remember their last names (and certain other things too).
#4 Ms. Wish to See Knows My Identifying Marks
From 2000 – 2002, Ms. Wish to See and I were roommates. At some point was decided—as part of being prepared for any eventuality—we should figure out several key identifying marks on each other's body so that in the case of a terrible accident and/or encounter with a serial killer who chops up bodies we would be able to make a positive ID to the police. As a result, not only does Ms. Wish to See know that I have a tattoo on my stomach, she also knows that I have the visual remains of a graphite pencil tip in my middle finger (from 6th grade) and a scar on my ass from where my C-section birth went a little wrong.
#5 The Beginning to the Movie Tarzan Always Makes Me Cry
While you might not believe it, dear reader, after following the Copious Weeping Episodes of May 2007, I am really not a crier. In fact, up until this year I hadn't cried for eons…that is, unless you count the times when I have accidentally caught the opening scenes to the Disney movie Tarzan. Have you seen it? The one where the parents get shipwrecked on the island and make a little treehouse and all seems well until they are summarily killed by the jaguar? Cast your mind back and remember the horrid Phil Collins song "You'll Be In My Heart" and picture me, tears seeping uncontrolled from my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks, tears soaking any Kleenex that happens to be handy. I have no idea why it happens, but eight years after I first saw the movie, it still happens (and I know because Janie was watching it last week when I walked into the room at the precise moment when the song started).
#6 I Should Be Working on the Big Idea Right Now
This is the story of my life. Every time I watch an hour of television, or read a chapter of a book, or sit down to pen a blog entry, there is a little voice inside my head that whispers nasty things about how much work has piled up. And as the seconds go by, that little voice raises the volume until it is saying in quite a normal tone that I am never going to finish my projects at this rate and that I'm letting down my staff. And then before I can do much else it is screaming that I AM A TERRIBLE FAILURE. All of which makes me want to crawl under the sheets and avoid the Big Idea forever, since who wants to do work that is destined to fail? And thus goes the vicious cycle that must end soon. Today in fact, since I'm already past four deadlines and the buck has to stop somewhere.
#7 I Suffer from a Severe Case of Blog Envy
I adore Ms. NYC Rouge's blog for its uncompromising honesty (and hilarious stories about men approaching her in the subway). I love El Guapo's blog for the way it makes me laugh and then unexpectedly catches me with its poignancy—and I love reading it with a Guatemalan accent. I love Bastish's blog for its amazing photographs and reminders of my time in Japan. I worry that my own blog is not living up to the standards of "best blog I could make it"—primarily because I don't have the time (see #6 above) and that makes me want to just stop writing altogether. On the other hand, "keep a blog for 5 years" is on my list of 50 Things to Do Before I Die and since I'm not on the road to accomplishing any of the others I figure I might as well keep it up as best I can.
#8 I Spend a Lot of Time Naked—Or At Least Semi-Clothed
Part of the joys of working from home is the ability to start a morning conference call in my pajamas, and then squeeze a shower in before my next e-meeting. Because I'm constantly running behind schedule (2007 New Years Resolution is meeting with only partial success) I often find myself sitting for a 45 minute conference call wearing just a towel. And occasionally that towel is wrapped around my hair. At other times I run to the gym in the afternoon and have a repeat of the "wearing only a robe meeting" late in the day…and then there is the whole "in the middle of changing into pajamas when this great idea hit me" hour in front of the computer at night. For that reason, I'm not pushing video-conferencing, although I have all the equipment set up and ready to go. The webcam is a dangerous thing, dear readers. Use it wisely.
So, it appears as though I am expected to "tag" eight people in some sort of horrid chain mail reprisal of 7th grade. I assume that if I fail to do so I will face an unexpected and yet horrible death mere days from now. So I'll do it, begrudgingly. And if my tag-ees decline to participate? Well, that steamroller accident is on their own heads—they'll have no one to blame but themselves.
-- Mr. Bastish – I'm sure he has many random facts to bestow upon his readers.
-- Ms. Secret Blog – whose #1 random fact should be "Why I Keep My Blog a Secret"
-- Ms. Pleasant Mornings – since she needs a kick-start to her blog
-- Mr. Pilot – who did not take my advice and reserve http://mrpilotisanasshole.blogspot.com, but instead writes things about sports that I don't understand
-- Mr. Hipster Dork – although he is probably too busy listening to indie music to participate
-- Ms. Shuffle All - because I think it's fun to tag people that you used to know, but don't anymore
-- Mr. Bad Apologies and Mr. Fliven – I know they've already been tagged, but I'm going for the peer pressure approach
UPDATE: Good lord, who knew it was so difficult to post comments on people's blogs? I give up. I tried the first five and was alternately told to "come back later and try again", to register for some a sportingnews account (no thanks!), or told to log in using my Google account (double no thanks!). I feel I have upheld my end of the bargain, so the chain mail gods had better leave me alone.
Posted by madchen at 12:07 PM | Comments (2)July 19, 2007
3 Years and a Day
Yesterday was the three year anniversary of this website. It certainly doesn't seem like Write Again Soon has been around that long, but then the style of writing and typical content of my blog has changed so dramatically that it doesn't feel a continuous process.
When I look back at my entries from year one, it seems that I was mostly concerned with documenting every absurd thing about school in Sweden, every trifling detail of doing laundry (I still grit my teeth when I think about the Swedish laundry system), and all of the Margaret Atwood books I read. Note: no real discussion of men--it was a long and lonely year.
Year two was mostly about starting up the Big Idea, the perils of living with my family, Janie's amusing commentary (which has gradually grown more patronizing), and my revived dating life. Oh the massive amounts of dating I did in 2005-2006.
Year three was a lot about well...I'm not sure the last year has a defining characteristic. A lot of it was about my dating trials and tribulations with Mr. Pilot (and also Mr. Music, Mr. Bethesda, Mr. FWB, Mr. Officer and a Gentleman, and Mr. Doctor--oh, and that girl who I don't think ever got a name), with a continuing dose of Janie, and some more about the Big Idea. But mostly about guys, I suppose.
What will year four hold for Write Again Soon? It's unclear.
To begin with I have suddenly and inexplicably become more careful about what I write for this website. There is a particular entry that I'm thinking about--one that I've gradually written over the last 6 weeks--that I just can't bring myself to publish because it would invite all sort of curious and angry and potentially VERY angry questions and accusations and I don't feel like dealing with it. On the other hand, it's irritating to know that I have this thing that I've written just sitting on my desktop because I'm too scared to just publish it. That goes against everything I meant this blog to be.
Secondly, now that I'm increasingly busy with the Big Idea ("busy" finally having some relationship to "getting paid"), I'm finding it harder to carve out time to write interesting things...like how appalled I am that the NFL is continuing to let Michael Vick play. They should douse him in cold water, electrocute him, and then throw him in the ring with a couple of starving, provoked dogs and see what happens. That's one fight on which I would be happy to place a bet. Not that I am one to invite controversy, you know.
Third, I'm running into the problem of the "real" me versus the "blog" me. I want them to be separate entities. When I write something for public consumption, I want there to be some sort of automatic immunity from prosecution. I don't want to be scolded in real life (although the scathing commentary left in the comments section is always fun), and I don't want people to automatically assume that the blog entry is the whole, unadulterated truth. I occasionally embellish for artistic flair, and lots of times I leave parts of the story out. That's just my capricious way.
So what does that mean for the future of Write Again Soon? For now, I'm just copying Ms. NYC Rouge's approach to blogging:
Are my words dishonest? Have I actively cultivated a persona that is not myself? The answer is no. But . . . but . . . Oh just fuck it. Enough with the blather. I'm off to have a bourbon and a good time.
Side note: she got lucky with her Ms. K later that night. Perhaps I need to be more active in soliciting kind words from my readers so that we can later meet, have dinner, make out in a taxi, and stay up until the wee hours doing undescribed things? Seems like an admirable goal for the coming year of blogging.
Posted by madchen at 07:49 PM | Comments (4)June 28, 2007
Punished
Apparenty, God doesn't like people who compare heaven to a Four Season's Resort--especially when the resort comes out on top. In the last 36 hours, my life has not exactly been a cakewalk.*
First, I sliced my finger open trying to access a box of reports that were sealed tighter than my knees in the 10th grade. The resulting injury was more than a paper cut, since you could practically see the severed nerve dangling in the wind.
Then, I flubbed my presentation, a little workshop to, oh, say 60 people. (Actually, everyone thought it was great and told me so later, but I walked back to my chair afterwards wondering if the client regretted hiring me.)
And just now I got off the phone with a vendor for the Big Idea. A vendor with whom I'm trying to sever all ties. A vendor with whom I *should* be able to sever all ties, but who it trying to screw me over by pointing out that my contract auto-renewed on 6/4 and I didn't send my formal notice until 6/13, despite the fact that their customer service agent told me that we would have a chance to review all the settings before the next renewal phase.
Obviously, we are both to blame but I find it particularly irritating to have the guy on the other end of the phone try to tell me that I'm now obligated to them for another year at the cost of more than $6,000 when he clearly has no interest in working this out amiably. And by amiably, I mean immediately severing all ties so that I don't have to take them to court.
Because when you get right down to it, the contract clearly states that I can cancel the contract at any time because of technical reasons--which are precisely why I went with another service provider last month. A service provider who has given me zero technical problems, and who costs 1/6 of the mean and ugly vendor that is now claiming that I cannot cancel my contract because I did so based on the price of the alternate vendor and not the technical difficulties that have been plaguing me for the last 2 months.
So that's it. I hereby withdraw all of my former claims about the superiority of the Four Seasons Resort, and assert publicly that heaven is surely a more sumptuous, more delightful place. Now that we have it all straightened out, God, if you could stop my finger from bleeding, restore my public speaking skills, and send this vendor to Hell, I would greatly appreciate it.
* I will admit that it hasn't been all bad. I got a date for Jess's wedding and received a lovely massage at the hotel spa. And I plan on taking a nap in a few minutes, which is always a treat.
Posted by madchen at 01:25 PM | Comments (0)June 16, 2007
Rennaisaince Girl
This week I played tennis (where my league put up a good fight, but lost to the other team), softball (where we won, but I walked away with a giant bruise after catching a ball with my shin), and 17 holes of golf (I was a smidge late for tee time and my foursome started without me).
This week I got (mostly) caught up with my Big Idea work, met with some fun colleagues from North Carolina, arranged to be interviewed for a book on people who are doing amazing things, and am in the process of packing for my trip to Key West (for which I will leave the house in approximately 4 hours).
This week started with a parting of ways from Mr. Pilot (who has become a sort of blur in my head), included several evenings spent with Mr. HSBF (who let me pick the movie, volunteered to help me paint my new room, and was revealed to have terrible taste in dining room furniture) and ended with a weekend in the company of Ms. Janie (who lost her front tooth and is now sporting a goofy smile).
This week I got a dress, but lost a date, for Jess's wedding. I caught up on my accounting, paid a very painful set of quarterly taxes, and yet find that I am still in an excellent financial position. I watched some good movies (Proof and Layer Cake), some overly long movies (The Motorcycle Diaries), and am currently watching the final scenes of Guess Who's Coming to Dinner--which makes me get all teary-eyed every time I watch it.
This week has made me realize that I was wrong about some things and right about other things. And it's made me realize that certain things are much more mixed up and complicated than I initially thought--things that can best be decided by laying on a warm and sunny beach for several days. Lucky for me, that's the agenda for next week.
Posted by madchen at 11:05 PM | Comments (0)June 13, 2007
A Sunny Disposition
As I type this entry, I am in the middle of a thunderstorm that is ripping down tree branches left and right. Picture with me, dear reader, the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz--except that in this case I am not wearing a blue gingham dress, and instead of a small yapping dog I am accompanied by a peacefully snoozing kitty. I may, however, burst into song at any moment--transforming my surroundings from a strange sepia tone into full-on Technicolor. Because that's how I roll.
I am hopeful that my golf date tomorrow is still going to work out, since I would be sad to have cleared my afternoon schedule only to be stuck at home alone and with only my muddy shoes for company. Washingtonpost.com is optimistic--proclaiming a sunny 75 degrees with a light breeze.
I have my doubts, however, since between flashes of lightening and booming thunder, I have observed that the Washingtonpost.com website (updated only 5 minutes ago) says that the current weather is 76 degrees and sunny.
Indeed, I must have missed that ray of sunshine between the raindrops the size of dinner plates.
Posted by madchen at 07:18 PM | Comments (0)June 08, 2007
Things That Made Me Happy This Week
-- Reality checks. Finally, someone has found the balls to stand up and say no thanks, I am too busy leading my country to meet with a sunglass-wearing aging rock star who has somehow managed to become a paragon of world-saving virtue. I'm not saying that AIDS in Africa isn't important and I'm not saying that I don't find the occasional U2 song to be quite catchy, but I am saying that the way world leaders fall all over themselves to meet with Bono is a bit much.
-- The amenities that go with a five star hotel. Ms. Write Again Soon, which newspaper would you like to receive each morning? Ms. Write Again Soon, thank you for your room service order, would you also like to request a wake-up call for tomorrow morning? Just so you're aware, Ms. Write Again Soon, we offer six different kinds of pillows because we know how important a good night's sleep is--just let us know if you'd like someone to bring you a different option.
-- Steam rooms, jacuzzis, and hotel gyms filled with hot young men doing bizarre-yet-entertaining cardio exercises. I don't feel like I need to explain any more, so please just take the next fifteen seconds and picture it with me...
Posted by madchen at 12:55 PM | Comments (0)June 05, 2007
Run Away Idea
Have you ever convinced yourself of something with absolutely no shred of evidence?
When I was back in college, I once had sex with my boyfriend when the condom broke. Because I was leaving for Christmas vacation in Japan the next week, we wanted to find out immediately if I was pregnant. We made an appointment with my OB-GYN, who took some blood samples but said that even if the test came back negative, it might just be too early to tell.
"Do you feel pregnant?" she asked me.
Up until that very moment I hadn't felt any different than my normal self. But her query made me question everything. Did I feel different? Were there tiny signs that I had missed? I left her office and went back to my apartment--and every two minutes for the next three weeks did a check-in--was I feeling differently? Every emotional surge, every aching muscle--it all seemd to point in one direction. Of course, three weeks went by and I found out I was definitively NOT pregnant, but oh my, I certainly had convinced myself that it was an inevitability.
Fast forward a decade. I'm facing something like that now, although a slightly different situation. I was metaphorically walking along and minding my own business when a random thought occurred to me. It grew like a tumor, and now I've managed to convince myself that it is an indisputable fact--even though there is no evidence to support it.
My brain tells me I'm overreacting, my intuition tells me that something is not quite right. Neither is making a particularly compelling argument. And so I will escape to that very pretty place called denial. Turns out it's not a river in Egypt.
Posted by madchen at 01:07 PM | Comments (3)May 30, 2007
Notes on an Early Morning Commute
My trip to New York required an early morning departure from DC. VERY early, dear reader. And since I was still on Vancouver time, I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep the night before. So working on 45 minutes of shut-eye, let me present you with my observations:
-- There are virtually no women taking the subway into DC at 5:12 a.m. The subway car itself was surprisingly full, but I was definitely one of the few, the proud, the XX chromosomed. Normally, it seems to me like there is a pretty good mix of men and women, and I'm not sure exactly why it's different so early in the morning...perhaps this is a question for the social scientists in the audience?
-- There are NO attractive people on the subway at 5:12 a.m. After noticing the overall lack of women, my next observation was the, ahem, lack of beauty surrounding me. I was BY FAR the best-looking person on my subway car (which was more than half full), and let me remind you that I was working on less than an hour of sleep and hadn't put a lot of time into the "dolling up" phase of my daily routine.
-- A venti soy latte is a terrible way to compensate for a lack of sleep. While it might help as a pick-me-up, a heavy dose of caffeine on an empty stomach is a big mistake. First my hands started shaking, then my head started hurting, and then my stomach started rumbling. The results were not pleasant.
-- Depending on the context, the things said to you by men standing in the street can either be extraordinarily shocking or a bit flattering. You want to put WHAT, WHERE? You'd like to see me do WHAT? Well, sir, I don't quite know how to respond, but I'm going to take it as a compliment and continue down the street with a spring in my step.
Thankfully, I've caught up on my sleep, had an incredible massage, and even been in close proximity to A-list celebrities. And now it's time to go home.
Posted by madchen at 09:59 PM | Comments (0)May 29, 2007
Hand In My Pocket
I was throwing some last-minute things in a suitcase tonight (I'm back from Vancouver and off again to yet another exotic destination) and I decided that I needed a jacket. I ran downstairs and rummaged through my vast collection of outerwear, looking for one that was right for the weather expected in New York City (mid-sixties in the evenings). After discarding all the other options, I came across a jacket that fit the bill.
I got this jacket in Austria, on a 2-week trip back in 2005 (that picture is me wearing the jacket in Graz--click the photo to see more pictures from that adventure) with my friend Mandy. It was such a fun vacation, and we met a bunch of super fun people from Sweden and Germany. And I just adore Graz.
I haven't worn that jacket much in the last year—maybe once or twice. Mostly it's just been in the back of my closet, with so many other oft-neglected pieces of clothing. So imagine my surprise to plunge my hands in the pockets and come up with the following: a stick of chewing gum, chapstick, and a condom.
Yes, dear readers, apparently there was a time when I found it necessary to keep birth control options ready at a moment's notice. I can't remember putting the condom in that jacket pocket, but I'm sure I thought "hmm, better safe that sorry" and went about my business. You can see how useful it turned out to be.
It's possible I was inspired by Mr. FWB, who kept a condom within arm's reach where ever he went (strange, but useful). On the other hand, I've never come across an opportunity where I needed such immediate assurance of non-fertilization, so perhaps my Girl Scout preparedness training is a bit oversensitive.
The expiration date on the condom is March 2009, so I left it in the pocket. Having recently read several articles about The Secret (you get what you believe is coming to you), I thought I might as well cast my lot with the good sex crowd.
Posted by madchen at 02:23 AM | Comments (1)May 26, 2007
Homebound
I've been in Vancouver for almost a week now, and the work part of my trip is over. I'm in a new, less-swanky hotel, surrounded by my Robson Street purchases ("like Rodeo Drive, with mountains in the background"), and with grand evening plans for a bath and bad television.
My project went really well, and it looks like I'll be back out here in Vancouver twice in the next month. I'll probably be speaking Canadian by July, ay. But for right now, I just want to be home, snug in my own room with the cats vying for space on my tiny bed. Don't get me wrong, the good life is GOOD, but it's lonely and I'm tired of eating by myself--even if the sushi here is dee-licious.
May 25, 2007
Getting the Ugly Out
Last night I had a dream so terrible, so absolutely frightening, that I would have immediately called up a therapist (or possibly checked myself into a mental hospital) had I not already been late for a meeting. It was like a horror movie in my head, but so much worse because it contained variations and revulsions I had never seen or heard of before. Although completely repulsive from every angle, the most horrifying aspect of this dream was that it all came from inside my own head. I had no idea I was capable of producing such atrocities.
I really did almost have to do something drastic, but there were obligations to be fulfilled and tasks to be completed, and so I went about my day with a dirty feeling inside. And as much as my attention was captured by the work in front of me, I just couldn't shake the nasty impression that I was aberrant in some way, that something ugly was prepared to jump out at any moment.
It wasn't the greatest day. And so I coped the only was I knew how, with obscenely expensive spa treatments. The spa attached to this hotel is like a paradise—people proffer fresh glasses of champagne at every turn, the steam room is specially prepared to be piping hot just at the time you're ready to step inside, the ladies room is awash with gentle lighting, enormous terrycloth robes, complimentary beauty products, and an overwhelming feeling of peace and calm.
Along with a treatment comes complimentary use of the sauna and steam room, an opportunity to sit in the lounge and watch the sunset, snack on some dried fruit, sip some champagne, and read a magazine. The treatments themselves are fabulous, and even though a facial and massage totaled more than half a month's mortgage payment, they were worth every Canadian penny. Because if I can't address the ugly lurking on the inside, I might as well be pretty on the outside.
May 24, 2007
Who Doesn't Love Sit-Ups with Sausages?
I'm in Vancouver this week with a Big Idea client, one of whose employees just happens to be a classmate of mine from Sweden. She's entered a contest for free entry into the UXC TransAlps Race, which is a 600km Mountain Bike Stage Race that goes from Germany into Austria, Switzerland and finishes in Italy over 8 days of riding.
Part of this contest included her and a friend submitting a video to Race Face (the sponsoring company). The top 5 videos were chosen (hers among them) and now it's up to website voters. The team with the MOST votes will be sent to the Alps, all expenses paid, a prize package worth $20,000.
Based on the videos, the girls are a sure thing, but you know how these website contests work! So if you love me (or if you just like to see hot girls in lederhosen), please check out the following video and vote for the Bavarian Bettys!
Here is how to VOTE for the BAVARIAN BETTY'S:
Go to www.raceface.com
Click on the "VOTING IS NOW OPEN FOR THE TRANS ALPS".
Enter your email address and password.
Raceface will then send you a confirmation email to your entered email address.
Click on the confirmation email in your email box.
Watch the videos, then VOTE for the BAVARIAN BETTY'S.
***Please note you must view all videos (only takes a few minutes).
May 20, 2007
OFIIDIM Hits a Snag
My birthday has come and gone, and I feel much the same, dear reader. Turns out that twenty-nine isn't some great turning point upon which everything changes. Nope, it's the same old, same old.
Take for example, my new life plan tentatively entitled Operation Fuck It, I'll Do It Myself (OFIIDIM)--a grand roadmap for empowered living, a way to take back my dreary existence and perhaps even accomplish some of my 50 things (which has been woefully neglected as of late).
It's a superb plan. On paper. What I didn't count on what a small child getting in the way. When OFIIDIM meets Janie, it's not so much a contest of wills as a slaughter.
It started when Jessica called me on Thursday and asked if I could babysit Janie on Friday. I said yes, if Janie would agree to go hiking with me. That was my ONE birthday plan, and OFIIDIM demanded that it be fulfilled. Janie agreed, and even showed up at our house with hiking clothes (sneakers, rather than the usual dress up Cinderella shoes) and a backpack.
Friday dawned gray and threatening, and before I was awake for 20 minutes Janie was beggining me not to go hiking. Instead, she claimed that we would have a much better time watching Disney Channel and playing with barbies. She even offered to do my hair.
Side note: dear reader, if a 6-year old ever offers to do your hair, take my advice and run for the hills. Immediately.
In the end, I gave up the hiking idea and convinced her to go to lunch. Sushi is my favorite food, and I thought that at least if I could have sushi for lunch, that would still sort of be like I was taking charge of my own life. OFIIDIM might somehow be saved.
Janie insisted that she only ate sushi on the fourth Friday of every month. Was this the fourth Friday of the month? No? Then she was very sorry, but she just couldn't do it. Even if it was my birthday.
We ended up at Cosi, where I ate a very-poor-substitute-for-sushi salad and Janie ate half of a kid's pepperoni pizza. We spent the next 90 minutes down the street in a paint-your-own-pottery class where we painted perhaps the most expensive plant holders I've ever encountered. (Since you have to wait for a week for the pieces to be kilned, you'll have to wait until next weekend to see pictures, at which time I think you will agree that no one in our family is destined to be the next Renoir.)
After that great adventure, we went back to Cosi for what Janie termed "a birthday dessert": s'mores. OFIIDIM took another step backwards, since I HATE s'mores. But after six quality hours with Janie, my will had been sapped and I simply led her lead me around by the hand as she assured me that this time I would like them.
I didn't, but at least we were mercifully approaching the time when I could drive her back home, relinquish her to the vagaries of cable television, and take a nap. But before I could do that, I had to appease the tiny voice that was whispering deep in my soul. Yes, dear reader, it turned out that OFIIDIM wasn't dead, just maimed, and it would not go peacefully.
In a last ditch effort to exert some control over my life, I called my mom to confirm that she hadn't purchased my gift yet, and then I decided to take matters into my own hands. I dragged Janie to the Apple Store where I purchsed a shiny new iPod Shuffle in record time.
I marched back to the car and drove us home with a feeling of pride. I had fought a battle of wills with Janie and I had not been demolished! I had wanted an iPod Shuffle and dammit, I went out and got one. There couldn't be a more perfect example of OFIIDIM in action.
Although...when I woke up from my nap that afternoon, I looked over and groggily realized that I have never intended to get a PINK iPod Shuffle. Apparently, Janie had made a very compelling case during the purchasing process that pink was really the only way to go.
Posted by madchen at 11:24 AM | Comments (2)May 17, 2007
OFIIDIM Is A Go
The last couple of weeks have been unpleasant. My dreams have been unpleasant, my companionship has been unpleasant, and…well…basically, I have been unpleasant. Now, with my birthday mere hours away, I have decided that a new state of affairs is in order. And because I simply adore Ms. NYC Rouge and her witty ways, I have decided to give this endeavor a catchy name:
Operation Fuck It, I'll Do It Myself
Ok, so it doesn't exactly have a catchy acronym (OFIIDIM), but it works. Take these examples:
No one wants to go on vacation with me? Fuck it, I'll do it myself.
No one wants to bring me flowers? Fuck it, I'll do it myself.
No one wants to go hiking on my birthday? Fuck it, I'll do it myself.
No one wants to bring me to climax? Fuck it, I'll do it…well, you get the general idea.
I kicked off OFIIDIM today with a trip to the parlor. The tattoo and piercing parlor, to be precise, where a very nice young man was happy to stick a gigantic needle in me.
I've wanted to get a nose piercing for years, and I decided that this was the day it was going to happen. To be fair, I suppose OFIIDIM would require that I stuck the needle in my own nose, but I'm retaking the reigns of my life, dear reader, not giving up my last vestiges of sanity.
Janie was wow-ed. My dad was appalled. My mom just sighed and asked how I was planning on cleaning it. In case you're wondering, a mild combination of antibiotic soap and water does the trick.
Posted by madchen at 10:09 PM | Comments (5)May 15, 2007
Game, Set, Match
Today, I stepped into the 21st century and discovered the joys of Craig's