Since I've Been Gone

Well, a lot has happened. And since I'm not cruel enough to recap the last two years (three?), I figured I'd give a snapshot of my 33rd birthday and the ensuing five days of torture. New beginnings, celebrating life and all. This is part one.*

My birthday was last Friday, April 12. I spent it at a library conference in Indianapolis, Indiana, where my company had an exhibit. I worked. It was work. Fun.**

I was mildly bitter about having to travel on my birthday, so I had zero qualms about spending $1,100 on my flights because a). both legs were direct, and b). my return trip got me home by 8:30 pm on my birthday. So although I probably wouldn't actually do anything back in Hoboken/the City Friday night, at least I would be home.***

 (You see where this is going, right?)

Long story (too late!) short, my flight got cancelled and I had the pleasure of staying at the La Quinta near the airport. Sadly, they did not have alcohol on the premises. I asked.

(Also, a big shout out to the Indianapolis TSA agents who literally have nothing to do all day except enforce nonsensical TSA regulations in insanely rigid ways. Because - and I am dead serious here - there are no people in the entire state of Indiana. None. There were no lines either time I went through security on both Friday night and Saturday morning. Which, I suppose, gives them ample time to enforce ALL the rules. Stringently! Anywho, I gently placed my three little quart sized bags filled with tiny three ounce bottles of liquids into one of my trays and lo, I was CHASTISED GREATLY because TSA regulations state that you can only have ONE tiny baggie of fluids in bottles that are three ounces or less. Which, no. Never have I ever, since 2006, fit all of my toiletries into one crappy Ziploc bag. I'm a lady with luxurious hair and impeccable skin and that shit takes a lot of products to achieve. AND. AND! I had flown from Newark to Las Vegas three weeks prior, with FOUR bags, and one of them dared to be GALLON SIZED and I  GOT FUCKING COMPLIMENTED on my organizational skills by the female TSA agent in Newark BECAUSE THEY HAVE ACTUAL PEOPLE IN THEIR AIRPORT AND ACTUAL THINGS LIKE KNIVES AND HANDGUNS AND REAL SHIT TO WORRY ABOUT and she suggested that I am an excellent candidate for the TSA Pre-Check program and seriously, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING, INDIANA? /End rant)

Part two, The Flight Home: Where I Learn That Giants Do Exist (Because They Sit Next to Me!) and How to Ensure an Acrimonious Lease Termination: A Lesson from My Landlords coming shortly.

Also, y'all. Sorry for the several year delay. I fail at life for years at a time. What can I say?


 *I didn't mean to make this some sort of Mark Twain serial thing, but I guess I have a lot to say about the last five days. Sorry.

**Not really. 

***Submitted my reimbursement to my boss with an email that said, "As I'm sure you feel terribly guilty about sending me to Indianapolis on MY BIRTHDAY which is a FRIDAY this year, I'm sure you'll happily approve my flight. I spent $1,100. (That's not a typo and no, it's not really in Beijing.) Thanks!" 

Timeline of Events During the Black Hole of Blogging

So, yeah. There was this thing that happened in the stunning lapse of my posting where I met a man, fell in love, and entered a relationship with said man. That was winter '10 - spring '11.

Then we broke up.

Two weeks later, I got a new job.

That juuuuust about sums up summer '11. (Hell yeah! Summa 4 eva!)

Here's a nifty timeline of the events following those two rather stunning and maybe just a little bit life altering events:

October 3: I am diagnosed with shingles.

October 10: I fly to Frankfurt for work, with shingles.

October 21: Shingles can go FUCK THEMSELVES.

October 31st: I fall down a flight of stairs, thus re-injuring the leg I broke two years ago. I am wearing a red flapper dress and four inch heels. NEVER AGAIN.

November 4: Back! Back in the boot! Fuck my life!

November 20th: Thanksgiving Friends Dinner. I get accidentally wasted on Prosecco a mere two hours after I vow to NOT DRINK while walking to the host's apartment.

(Oh, irony is a bitch, isn't it.)

November 21, 2:00 am: Having no goddamn idea what time it is (drunk!), I go to the above-mentioned new (and improved!) ex's house where I proceed to ring his buzzer several hundred times until he answers. At 2:00 AM! On a Monday!

November 21, 2:16 am (estimated): New Ex, being the nice guy he is, drives me home, but not before I a). ask to stay at his house, b). ask him to stay at my house and c). confess that I still love him. Pass out sometime shortly thereafter. In my own bed. Alone. :'(

November 21, 7:15 am: Wake up.

November 21, 7:16 am - Present: Mortification: Learning to Live with It.

Mercury in Retrograde

For reasons that shall remain unmentioned (because they cross all boundaries of common decency) I would just like to point out that I am, in fact, sitting at my desk in my business casual dress without any underwear on.

No, I am not kidding.

Yes, it was a bad morning.

And Mercury can go fuck its red self.

Lesson of the Week:

When going out on a first date-type thing with a person who has, rather effectively, managed to charm the, um, pants off you over the preceding week to ten days, you should maybe ask a few well placed questions when he's sharing a song from his iPod whereby you can glean sufficient enough information to come to a conclusion on how this person feels about said song and music in general, i.e. if he is a person who is, quote unquote INTO music and maybe not just someone who sort of likes music, hey didn't Dave Matthews Band used to be good, like in college, I really loved Crash, and that maybe, if that person is into music and is trying to share something with you and you know, you kind of like that person but not just like them but LIKE LIKE them that maybe you should, you know, listen to the song he's trying to play for you maybe and not just start screaming about your new! favorite! song! to workout to and then assualt him with Adam Lambert.

Just sayin'.

Ah, Love

Last night, while sitting in a wine bar with a friend, I got into a mild verbal confrontation with an incredibly drunken idiot who, when asked if he could stop, um, using my body as a wall and um, LEANING ON ME, and please stop swiping me in the face every time he picked up his beer that he put on the bar, um, BETWEEN me and MY drink, told me the following:

"Stop being so fat."

"Leave New York and go back to wherever you came from."

"Go to church."

Charming! I think I found my new boyfriend!

Sunday Musings

Do you ever feel like parts of your past happened to someone else? You remember what happened but you are no longer able to associate an emotion with those events and, because of that lack of emotionality, you feel as though huge parts of your life never even happened to you.

I've been feeling that way lately, especially about things that I used to feel so passionately about, like failed relationships. I can remember the pain and frustration, but thinking about it doesn't recreate the feeling. It's more like hearing someone else talk about their past, instead of associating with it intimately. Maybe it's because I'm different? Because I (hopefully!) learned from those experiences and won't recreate the worst parts of them. Maybe I'm just growing up. Who knows?

Anyway, it's probably best not to even try to continue to wax philosophical about this or anything, especially cause I'm kind of hungover...

For Your Entertainment

In what is possibly the one of the fastest fails of all time, I will only post twice this week. HA! HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ahem.

Therefore, I dub my weeks to be from Monday - Sunday rather than Sunday - Saturday in an effort to make three posts this week.

This will probably change again, but for right now, this is how it is.

Anywho, I'm kind obsessed with Adam Lambert right now. I don't know why, other than he sort of reminds me of Freddie Mercury. Which I suppose is the point.

And, uh, I was going to try to post a video of him here but I can't figure out how.

I probably shouldn't be allowed to have a blog.