Preppy Cliche or Possibly Gay

Today I led a private tour of the wine country for a law firm's annual summer associate's retreat. For those of you that aren't versed in the hiring practices of large firms, let me give you a brief rundown.

As you may or may not be aware, law school takes three years. After the student's second year, they have a summer internship. During this summer internship, they are known as summer associates. Basically it's a test run for doing the work. The students apply to several law firms, and they get hired on in the summer (hopefully) by at least one of them. Once they are hired on, they do some work; however, their workload is nothing like that of a full-fledged attorney. Often these summer associates come from a variety of law schools across the country, so the law firm provides them with housing in addition to paying them for their work.

Since this is essentially a 3-month courtship, the law firm also sets up a variety of activities for the associates: fancy dinners, cultural excursions, happy hours, parties, weekend trips. They do all of this to show them how fantastic their life will be should they get hired by the firm. How do I know all of this? Because my friend is a lawyer, and I got to be her date to all of the associate events she attended when she was working in New York for the summer. See, her husband was in DC, so she was allowed a guest to all events. I totally lucked out. I must say, I ate quite well that summer, and I had the opportunity to see quite a few Broadway shows, symphony concerts, ballets, and baseball games. The only drawback was having to spend time with soon-to-be lawyers who were being coddled for an entire summer and believed that they truly were cooler than Jesus (if not cooler, definitely smarter and more highly skilled).

Grab a seat and listen to this example, bearing in mind, of course, that not all future attorneys are like this, but there's always at least one in the bunch. There was a guy, we'll call him Reginald, who was at my friend's firm. He and his fiance, we'll call her Harriet, attended a couple of the same events to which I was invited. Unfortunately for me, I generally sat next to them. At first glance, this couple seemed a bit dorky, but nice enough. Then, I actually talked to them and discovered that they were intentionally pretentious snobs. Quite honestly, I don't think people can be as snobby as they were without making a real effort.

Often when speaking with them, the fact that my friend and I came from Oklahoma was brought up. Even though they were both raised in rural Pennsylvania, they seemed to believe that anyone from a flyover state such as Oklahoma must be a know-nothing hick. We always had to go through my educational background, which, in their eyes was sub-par. No, I didn't go to an Ivy (nor did they), and I ONLY had a Bachelors. Can you imagine? They constantly talked down to me as though I was far too stupid to catch on to their pretensions. When they asked about my friend's educational background, they brought up the fact that she attended Georgetown Law, but were horrified to learn that she attended a state school for her undergraduate degree (as did they). I had to step in and defend her intelligence to them a couple of times (along with my own). Now one night in particular, I was forced into a car with them. I was trying to just take the Subway, but my friend and her fellow lawyers insisted that I take the car. Unfortunately for me, I had to share the car with those two delights. As we drove, they put down the fact that I came from Oklahoma, that I only had a Bachelor's degree, that I worked as an assistant at a record label. They were especially disgusted by the fact that I knew so much about hip hop and rock (since, at the time, my employer was making quite a bit of money off of those genres). I had to listen to them carry on about how classical music is the only REAL music. Rather than spout of my knowledge of classical music (which is broad, since my degree focused on Historical Musicology), I just listed as they constantly put me down. Then we passed through Times Square. Just so everyone is aware, driving down 45th St past Broadway on most nights is a TERRIBLE idea. Why must drivers do it? Anytime a cab driver took me that way, I simply exited the cab. There was no point in sitting in traffic for a half an hour when I could just walk the 2 ½ blocks home.

On this particular night, as much as I attempted to get out of the car, I was denied. No no no…I had to just sit there with Reginald and Harriett. And what did we talk about? Musical theater. What specifically? Well, first we passed the sign for Saturday Night Fever, a play that my aunt had taken me to see a few months earlier. Now, just to be fair here, I'm not a huge fan of movies-turned-musicals, but it was entertaining. I enjoyed it. Harriet saw the sign and said, "Ick. Saturday Night Fever? That must be terrible."

"Oh yes. Can you imagine the kind of people that would go see something like that? Low class." Reggie replied.

I sat there quietly, wondering what to say. Then they asked my opinion. And I responded, "Well, it's pretty popular. My aunt took me to see it in January, and I have to admit, it was entertaining. The dancing was really impressive."

They looked at me with silent disdain. As the car sluggishly moved through traffic we got to the theater where Jeckyl and Hyde was playing. During my time in New York, Jeckyl and Hyde went through three lead males, and it was the brunt of all of my jokes. The commercials were not to be missed. Who were these leading men? Jack Wagner. Sebastian Bach. David Hasselhoff. Of all of them, the Hoff was, by far, creepiest. I've never seen Jeckyl and Hyde; however, at my brother's college graduation ceremony (well, it was really his EMT graduation ceremony), a group of musical theater students sang the love song from the play. And that's as much as I know about it….which is enough to know I never want to see it. (See, I can be a snob too, but I'm rarely malicious.)

On this particular day, Sebastian Bach was playing the title role. Since I often liked to laugh about it, I pointed it out.

'Sebastian Bach? Who's that?", Reggie asked.

"He was the lead singer of Skid Row. Now he's a Broadway star apparently."

"I assume that's not his given name." Harriet was not impressed.

"Uh, no. Stage name. I just think it's funny that he's starring in it and took over for Jack Wagner."

"Who's that?" They both seemed horrified by my knowledge and didn't see the humor in the whole thing.

"He was on a soap opera and had a hit song in the 80's."

"And they think these people are qualified to be on Broadway?" Reginald pondered.

"I wonder what the real Bach would have thought about that?" Harriet wondered aloud (and when she said Bach, she chose to pronounce the "ch" as a gutteral sound, much like Channukah would be pronounced, as opposed to the more standard "k" sound.

"Yes, what would Bacccchhh think of that? I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased that some hack from a, what kind of music did that band play?" Reginald jumped in on the cccchhhh train.

"Uh, they were a hair metal band."

"A what?" Harriet asked. "I don't think J.S. Bacccchhh would appreciate that."

'Not a chance. I enjoy the music of Bacccchhh. You probably aren't familiar." Reggie added.

"To be honest, I took an entire course on Bach. I know quite a bit about him. But that's really neither here nor there."

"Oh, so you are familiar with Baccchhhh? I don't know why anyone would listen to anything other than classical music. It's just a waste of time."

And that's when I stopped talking. The next part of the conversation revolved around the fact that I only had a Bachelor's degree with no solid plans to go to graduate school while Reggie was in law school and Harriett was getting her PhD in English. I had never been happier to get out of the car and wave hello to the hooker in front of my building.

Now before I give ALL summer associates a bad name, many of them are very nice. These two were particularly dreadful. And, just so you have an update, Reggie was fired in his first year on the job. No one was ever fired from that firm. Apparently, he wasn't a good fit.

Now, back to my tour. The morning started off with a bang—literally. My driver and I set out early to go up to Napa, and I've never been happier for having such foresight. As we drove along the 80, we heard a loud "BANG" and the sound of shattering glass. I looked behind me, thinking that a car hit us, where I noticed that one of the windows appeared to be gone. Not believing it at first, I stuck my hand through the windowless window. Yep, no window. We turned around and switched to a new bus. Since we set out so early, this little setback wasn't a problem in the least. We arrived at the resort exactly on time.

I spotted the group, and they started to board. As everyone was getting on the bus, I noticed one summer associate in particular, and I wondered if he had recently auditioned for the remake of the made-for-TV movie, "The Preppy Murders". I kid you not (because this is the kind of thing I could never make up), he was wearing penny loafers, white shorts with a woven brown leather belt, light blue Polo shirt with the collar flipped up, and a white sweater tied around his neck. He topped the look off with sunglasses that rested atop his blonde head. Once on board, he sat with his crossed (man-style) in the middle of the aisle, as he leaned back reading his New York Times. Seriously? The guy wasn't even 25 years old. What is that? At first glance, I wondered if he were gay. No straight man would wear that get-up? And surely it was a joke! But alas, his lady friend, who was a bit taller than him and thin and cute, wearing a plaid dress and white sweater tied around her shoulders acted as the perfect beard.

Once everyone was aboard, I welcomed them, offered them water and air conditioning, and asked if they wanted commentary. Of course they didn't, but they said yes, putting me into the awkward position of giving them a very brief history of Napa Valley. Once I finished my uncomfortable history lesson, they asked me to turn on the air conditioning, and I obliged. Then, they asked for water, so I started passing it to them. As I got to the back of the bus, Prep School Murders was complaining about how cold it was (as if I were deaf).

"I know we asked for the air conditioning, but we don't need to feel like we're in the Arctic. This isn't a ski vacation. We're in Napa. I'd hate to have to put my sweater on. I didn't bring it for that. This is ridiculous. They clearly aren't concerned about our comfort. I don't see why it has to be so cold. I mean, the least they can do is oblige our request. This is unreasonably cold. What are we? In the Arctic?"

I was standing next to him the entire time he was talking.

"It seems a little chilly in here. Do you think we should turn the air conditioning down?" I asked the group.

"That would be nice. It's freezing. You don't have to put it on full blast."

"Right. I'll fix that for you." With that, I went to the front of the bus and adjusted the temperature. It was at that point that I decided to make myself scarce. While making myself scarce, I started getting very irritated by everyone on the bus. Why? Because I know these people, and I'm just as smart and educated as they are…and my background is not that much different…and I too went to a hoity-toity school. Yet, they chose to view me as a lesser human being and treated me as a servant. Is this what my life will become?

As we arrived to our first stop, PSM decided to take over the tour-guiding duties because he found himself to the most hilarious person on the bus. He wondered aloud why I was there since he did such a good job on his own. My day was going downhill fast.

We toured the art gallery at the winery then had a tasting. I stood in the back, desperately wanting a drink. Luckily for me, the wife of one of the firm's attorney's handed me a glass saying, "Here. You need this. It will make us more tolerable."

Try as I might, I can't hide anything on my face. Open book.

We left that winery, and some members of the group abandoned the bus, so the numbers changed. Our next stop was lunch. We got there, and I secured tables and wine for the group. I managed to weasel my way into a on-the-ground picnic with one of the firm's attorney's and her husband. They were quite nice and made an effort to learn a little about me. Hopefully they determined that I'm not an uneducated idiot.

As everyone finished their lunch, I attempted to gather them up to leave. At one of the tables, the picnickers made no effort to clean up after themselves. They just sat there and waited for me to pick up their trash. Little did I know I was also a busboy. I started picking up their trash, and the girls thanked me. I certainly felt appreciated. As I was walking the ten feet to the trash can, a couple of the guys noticed that I was picking up their mess and started helping. They even went as far as to apologize for the bad behavior of their colleagues.

Our journey continued on with a final stop at another winery. We toured the facility, and the group ended up talking so loudly that the tour guide gave up and abandoned his attempt at giving a tour. It was a damn shame because he was a really great guide, and everything he said was quite interesting.

We left that winery and dropped the group off at their resort. Most of them said goodbye and thanked me. A few chose to ignore my existence. Man I love 2nd year law students with a ridiculous sense of entitlement.

Moth Wars: The Battle of the Ugly Rug

Well, at long last, I packed up my computer and "other" office equipment. It took quite a bit more time than I first expected. Who knew there were so many wires back there? Well, I guess I did. And that's probably why I kept putting it off. Okay, so I kept putting it off because I was so darn tired after a long day of tour guiding. Today, I finally did it though. Boy am I glad I did!

What did I find, aside from a mess of wires and dust? Moth World USA. Yep. I found the campground on which my moth rivals set up land grants. Words cannot do justice to the feelings of disgust I felt when I found them. Nor can I describe how disappointed and grossed out I was to see that they had eaten a huge chunk of my rug. Gross. Totally. Gross.

I went on a murdering spree, killing pupas all over the place, but as I moved the computer equipment, I discovered that this job was going to require much more than I was going to be able to handle armed with nothing more than a random business card (that and the corner of the rug was totally falling apart because they had been feasting on it). Did I mention how nasty it is over there? So. Disgusting.

It's a real shame that my vacuum cleaner caught on fire a few months ago. I sure could use it about now. Luckily for me, I do own a Shark handheld vacuum, so I took some time with that powerful machine. It did a pretty good job, but I still had to touch the pupas when I emptied it. Eww.

This time it was 10,000 times more gross than last time. Last time, I picked them off of a different rug. I found a couple hundred. But this time....there were way more. And they were, in some cases, soft and slimey. Ick!

Now before you start thinking I'm some sort of slovenly blob of nasty, let me explain myself (and please don't drop in on me in the next few days because my house might tell a different story than I will here). Much in the same way that my ankles sprain at the slightest sign of goofiness, I have endured a slew of house pests.

When I moved here, one of my friends was kind enough to give me a potted tulip. Little did she know that tulips were my favorite flower, so it was a very nice gift. Unfortunately, it was harboring unwelcome houseguests. The tulip was hosting white flies, and then my house was infiltrated with them. At first I didn't know where they came from, but when I attempted to transplant the tulip, I was horrified to discover that the soil was very...active. So active that I had to take a closer look and discovered that it wasn't soil, but thousands of white flies! Gross. It took AGES to rid my apartment and plants of those little pests. They killed a few plants. AND, they led to spider mites. Ick.

I finally took care of that problem, and I thought I was in the clear. One day I purchased a peach from Albertsons. The next day, I picked up the peach, just to find that it was rotting because it was a fruit fly love den. What happened? My kitchen was stricken with fruit flies. Blah.

Then there were the mice. Oh the mice! I discovered them because one of them crawled up into my vacuum (pre-fire) and I kept hearing it scratching around in there. Not sure as to what the issue was, I let it sit for a couple days and just watched the vacuum suspiciously. At long last, I determined that the sound must be a mouse, so I picked up the vacuum to move it, when the little f-er came running out. I set up about 15 traps to try and catch it, but I was far from successful. When I woke up one night and saw a mouse run across my bed...where I lay my head...I knew I had to do something. I ended up catching the disgusting creature with a glue trap. I woke up in the morning to find it almost completely detached from the trap, trying to free itself. I re-stuck it and tossed it in the trash, not because I'm an awful human, but because I didn't know what to do. After consulting a few people, I decided to check on it in the trash. When I got there, the only thing on the trap was a penny, leading me to wonder if the mouse turned into a penny, or left me a tip (perhaps it was privy to the advice I was given--run over it with the car).

Once mouseville was shut down, I thought I was in the clear. Then the moths came. I was afflicted with these awful creatures for months. My plan of attack was to fumigate my apartment with moth balls for two weeks while I was in China. At first it didn't work, but then, after airing out my apartment and probably giving myself some terrible respiratory disease by breathing the moth ball air, I noticed that the moths had gone away.

Success!

Well, apparently not, because they are back. Luckily, my moth-killing skills have dramatically improved. For the longest time I would just run around my apartment madly clapping about. Now I actually kill them instead of looking like one of the "special" kids.

So, tonight I found their new home, and I'm going to toss out the rug. That is going to be my solution. It better work. I'm sick of them. It's time for another pest. Bring on the locusts!

My First Day Off

For an unemployed person, I sure do work a lot! Friday was my last day of work, and yet, today, Wednesday, is my first day off. I gave tours Saturday through Tuesday. Thank the good lord I had today! So how did I spend my day? Well, let me recap:

4:15 am - Opened eyes and was very dismayed to see that not only did I NOT sleep in, I woke up earlier than usual.

6:45 am - Couldn't keep eyes closed any longer. Decided that I may as well get up.

7:15 am - Wandered around the house trying to figure out what to do with myself.

7:40 am - Showered and washed hair. What a fete!

8:15 am - Ate oatmeal

8:30 am - Watched Today show

8:45 am - Checked email

8:50 am - Dried hair

9:07 am - Realized that I dried hair too long and was late for important phone call at 9.

9:08 am - Dialed number, but couldn't get through.

9:14 am - Dialed another number. Still no dice.

9:21 am - Tried again. Nothing.

9:23 am - Emailed friend in Ireland to say that my calling card was a defective piece of crap.

9:27 am - Surfed the web for information about celebrity dads.

9:35 am - Considered getting dressed.

9:38 am - Called AT&T to disconnect work phone just to find out that I was right in the first place and that it wasn't my responsibility, but my former employer's responsibility, to do that.

9:44 am - Emailed private tour wineries to confirm upcoming tour.

9:47 am - Got IM from friend in Ireland

9:52 am - Panicked because I was chatting with friend, but needed to get dressed and ready for facial appointment.

10:07 am - Got dressed.

10:14 am - Applied mascara.

10:26 am - Left House.

10:31 am - Boarded train toward downtown.

10:33 am - Joked with mother of child that was having a temper tantrum over not being allowed to eat anymore bunny crackers.

10:35 am - Annoyed by the class full of 4th graders that were taking up all of the seats because I wanted to sit...and I AM an elder.

10:36 am - Really annoyed that the teacher did not force the kids to evacuate the handicap seats when a HANDICAPPED person boarded the train.

10:41 am - No longer think temper tantrum is funny. Not the only one either.

10:43 am - Relieved when the embarrassed mother left the train with temper tantrum child.

10:46 am - Waited way too long for 4th graders to exit train.

10:48 am - Waited too long for train to cross 18th St.

10:51 am - Very nervous that facial appointment was in 9 minutes, yet was about 10 minutes away.

10:51:30 am - Very concerned about tardiness.

10:52 am - Getting angry that train is not moving.

10:53 am - Wishing for a time machine of some sort.

11:00 am - Exited train and called salon. Then ran through city to get to appointment.

11:06 am - Entered salon, just to find out that facialist was late too (and was aboard same train).

11:20 am - Began facial

12:15 pm - Purchased products because am sucker.

12:23 pm - Went to restroom and admired clear pores on face.

12:27 pm - Walked over to Macys.

12:35 pm - Wandered around cosmetics section hoping someone would offer to put makeup on naked face.

12:39 pm - Got tired of waiting for someone to offer to apply mascara and went to get food.

12:44 pm - Stood in line at Wolfgang Puck's because wanted Veggie sandwich with Goat Cheese spread.

12:46 pm - Listened as sandwich man told all patrons that tomatoes were inedible in California because they all have salminella.

12:48 pm - Ordered veggie sandwich.

12:48:15 pm - Informed that the veggie sandwich was not available because of the tomatoes.

12:48:17 pm - Confused since tomatoes are a minor ingredient of the veggie sandwich.

12:48:23 pm - Ordered pesto chicken, but really wanted the goat cheese spread.

12:51 pm - Took fully prepared sandwich (sans Goat Cheese Spread) and got iced tea.

12:53 pm - Sat down to eat sandwich

12:53:07 pm - Disappointed in sandwich. Wished there was goat cheese spread.

1:06 pm - Disposed of waste and refilled iced tea.

1:11 pm - Purchased cookie.

1:15 pm - Went to shoe department to search for friend.

1:17 pm - Abandoned search in favor of sitting outside and eating cookie.

1:22 pm - Sat in Union Square, eating cookie.

1:24 pm - Made some phone calls.

1:27 pm - Devised plan to walk the cosmetics section again in hopes that someone would apply makeup to naked, yet unbelievably smooth, face.

1:34 pm - Received phone call.

1:52 pm - Hung up phone

1:52:12 pm - Noticed two people dressed as cows in front of Macy's.

1:52:17 pm - Called the person with whom I'd just spoken to discuss the cows.

1:54 pm - Wondered if they would invite a gorilla into their gang.

1:56 pm - Watched them go into Macy's

1:56:08 pm - Decided to trail them.

1:58 pm - On way back into Macy's, happened upon a video shoot with young girl all done up to appear older and hussy-like walking down street and hailing a trolley.

2:01 pm - Wandered back into Macy's.

2:03 pm - Sauntered around cosmetics area, attempting to look at makeup in hopes that someone would want to apply SOMETHING to my face.

2:06 pm - Circled back around cosmetics area.

2:08 pm - Gave up and went to bathroom in basement.

2:12 pm - Walked by Ben & Jerry's and located the cows. Discovered they worked at the ice cream counter. Suddenly it all made sense--except the weird video shoot, of course.

2:18 pm - Decided to go to Sephora and apply own makeup.

2:22 pm - Got sidetracked by H&M

2:43 pm - Found self in dressing room, naked and dismayed by own appearance....especially from behind.

3:01 pm - Decided to purchase 3 items.

3:06 pm - Received call from shoe department friend.

3:09 pm - Met him while at register.

3:15 pm - Went to lunch with friend.

4:07 pm - Wandered back to Macy's

4:16 pm - Allowed self to get caught up in shoe search with friend.

4:28 pm - Tried on 12 pairs of designer shoes, knowing full well I wasn't going to buy anything because I'm cheap.

4:46 pm - Called another friend to alert her to my planned tardiness to our drinks appointment at 5pm.

4:52 pm - Tried on the full pair of Marc Jacobs shoes that I had no intention of purchasing.

5:04 pm - Purchased the Marc Jacobs shoes.

5:16 pm - Went to board MUNI train toward home.

5:28 pm - After much train drama, finally boarded my train.

5:47 pm - Got off train, feeling totally motion sick.

5:49 pm - Got home and dropped off newly acquired clothes and skincare products.

5:51 pm - Applied mascara.

5:53 pm - Got in car to meet friend for drinks.

6:07 pm - Went to wine bar and drank too much wine, while regaling my friend with all of the reasons why I hate Facebook....starting with the fact that people I don't know keep finding me claiming we were friends in high school....and while we may have attended the same high school, I have no clue who they are...and my memory is good...excellent in fact.

7:48 pm - Went home and tried on Marc Jacobs shoes.

8:02 pm - Decided to make brownies.

8:06 pm - Got sidetracked by IM.

8:34 pm - Decided to write blog.

8:39 pm - Attempted to kill moth in hallway by throwing a cardboard box at the ceiling where it landed. Completely failed at the task.

8:48 pm - Decided to write blog.

9:29 pm - Finished blog...almost.

9:30 pm - Feeling guilty for not having packed up and mailed off computer equipment.

9:31 pm - Decided not to make brownies...and may just go to sleep.

9:38 pm - Reviewed writing and posted blog.

The End.

And that's how I spent my day. Now I have another moth to attempt to murder mercilessly.

I Think I Just Divorced My Job

Well, it's here.  I hung up my uniform (if you call my bathrobe and slippers a uniform), and now I'm done.  It's all over.  And I feel a little weird.

My DSL is still on, so I'm not sure when that will change.  Tomorrow?  Monday?  Who knows.  What I do know is that I have to pack up my stuff and send it away.  Well, it's not my stuff; it's someone else's stuff that's been inhabiting my living space, and has consumed my entire life, for seven years now.

Seven years.  Did I get an itch?  Perhaps.  To be honest, there's a part of me that wishes I could have held on for ten...that would have meant a plaque.  And who doesn't need another one of those?

Anyway, I turned in my "cool" card, so now it's up to me and my sparkling personality to see if I'm "cool" without being a high-falutin' record weasel.  Hopefully I pass the test.  Now I can be a freelance tour guide...and really?  That's kind of cool in and of itself (and no, there's no paycut either, which just shows that I was always paid in glamour...and sadly, it was never that glamorous (Of course that is all dependent on one's idea of glamorous.  If glamorous is forgoing your name so a pop star can just call after you as "girl", then sure.  If glamorous is hanging out in dingy backrooms at record stores or getting into physical altercations with a fax machine, then yes.  If glamorous is receiving as many XXXL promo t-shirts as you could ever possibly want, then definitely.  Most importantly, if the glamorous life is one where you never leave your studio apartment and spend your entire day sitting next to the refrigerator on a computer solving issues that are quite minor in the grand scope of things, then I'm all that and a bag of chips.  Viva la glamour!)).

So, here I am.  And there are the boxes.  In just a couple of days, the last decade of my life will be officially evicted from my home.  Well, that's a little dramatic.  I do still have my Sevendust and Snoop Dogg gold records.  I mean, come on!  How could I possibly part with those?  I just don't have the work anymore, and that's really strange--even though I was ready to let it all go.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm excited about my new adventure.  I mean, come on!  If it works out as I would like it to, I'm gonna have the whole world in my hands.  I'm just sad to close this book.  My friend said, "When you're 17, and you decide you want to work in the music industry, there is no plan B."  She's totally right.  There was never a plan B for me.  All I wanted was everything I achieved.  It may not have turned out exactly as I imagined, but I never knew exactly what I wanted in the first place.  I just knew that I wanted to work in music, and I'm lucky that I made it happen.  Up until now, I could never picture myself doing anything else, and, suddenly, I'm doing just that.

Often, I would laugh to myself at shows, wondering what my 17-year-old self would think of me.  There I was, standing at a show, just as I hoped to spend all of my free time, and yet, I still wasn't that cool.  What would my 17-year-old self have thought if she looked into the future and saw me standing there alone in a room, entertaining myself with the ice in my drink that I slurped down entirely too fast because it was the only thing I had to distract me from the fact that I was trying to kill a half an hour between the bands' sets?  I'm guessing that it wasn't quite like I imagined it, but I still wouldn't trade it in for anything.  And would that 17-year-old be disappointed that I threw in the hat?  Would she have wanted me to carry on and fight the good fight?  It's hard to say.

Now I'm 32, and I've got this whole new plan A (again with no plan B).  As I said before, hopefully I can make it a reality, but I do wonder (and experience is bringing this question), what happens in 15 years once I've achieved the goal?  Will I find myself back in this place?  Who knows.  That's not something I need to worry about right now.  It's just time to get over the hump.

Besides, the true battle is only in its infancy, and that's "Moth Wars 2008: This Time it's Personal".

Zoo Poo

Ew.

Ick.

Yuck.

I just got back from a little errand to the post office.  Being that I arrived a mere 20 minutes before closing time, it was packed. I'm glad the post office was my second stop on this little whirlwind trip down the street; otherwise, I would have missed the UPS pick-up time for my very important papers that I had to drop off at the UPS drop-off.  Phew.  What a relief.  I always feel like a sage when I choose to do something like go to the UPS place first and the post office second where I find that that there's going to be a long wait.  Go me.  Way to plan!  (Of course, we're not going to consider the fact that I had my packages ready to go by 10:30 this morning and managed to waste the majority of my day in a "meeting" that I technicially crashed just for kicks, which resulted in my missing a phone call that I told someone they could make (to me) today (though, in all fairness, I really thought they'd call in the morning before I left for my important meeting after which I decided to treat myself to a "coulda been" delicious melted cheese sandwich), but none of this plays into my tale today).

Back to the post office.  I walked in and the woman who would be my line buddy gave me an odd look of welcome.  She was older and supported her weight on a cane, while holding a large box (presumably to be mailed) in her other hand.  Her clothes were covered in lint or cat hair or something.  I didn't pay her much mind.  Then someone else came in after me and engaged me in small talk about the length of the line.  Then, I smelled poo.

My eyes got all shifty as I tried to pinpoint the origin of the stench.  There were a couple dauchsunds at the front of the room.  Could they smell like poo?  The smell kept wafting in and out.  Maybe I was imagining it.  Back again.  Hmm..I wondered if it was me for a second.  I mean, I am sporting 5-day old hair today...and my jeans probably would have been better off in the hamper than enduring a quick Febreze fix on the way out the door.  But no.  I most certainly was not the origin of the offensive odor.  There are plenty of times when I certainly could be.  I do have a habit of not showering if I don't absolutely have to (read: be around others).  Still, no.

Was it the baby in the carriage in front of the woman in front of me?  I pondered that for awhile as the little dogs left the premises.  The line moved, and the smell was back.  I kept trying to back away from it so the people behind me didn't think I was the bearer of this atrocious scent.  And then, I faced the grim reality.  It was the lady in front of me.  But what was the smell--aside from bad?

Well, I went through a number of things.  Poo?  It definitely smelled like poo.  But not pet poo.  It kind of had the smell of stale old poo.  Musty poo.  But how could it be?  She wasn't homeless.  Crazy, perhaps, but not homeless.  And, as far as I could tell, her pants weren't soiled (and I've been behind that action before, so I know what that smells like).

As I stood there in line, trying to avoid the stench, but also trying to place it (which really put me in an uncomfortable place nose-wise), I finally figured it out.  It smelled like zoo poo.  You know, like when you go into the indoor area of the hippo quarters where they swim around with enormous birthday-cake-sized poo, and the whole place stinks of it.  Could she be a zookeeper?

No, she struck me as more of a crazy cat lady.  Then, I sensed another smell.  Old cigarettes.  Perhaps she was a smoker?  Yeah, probably.  But that wasn't the only smell.  The lady smelled like zoo poo, and if it weren't so important to me that I mail off the chocolate chip cookies that I baked yesterday (if for no other reason than to get them out of my house, so I stop making meals out of them and eating them as bedtime snacks, which leads me to wake up at 3am feeling all sugar-buzzy for hours), then I might have bailed on the line.  But I couldn't.  And I was so close to the front.

I don't know what kind of complicated transactions people do at the post office, but, as I've pointed out before, it is very similar to the time-consuming transactions that took place at the Bank of China while I waited 90 minutes to exchange $50.  Maddening.  And when there's a foul stench next to me?  Unbearable.

Finally, the two people at the counter cleared away, and Zoo Poo and I were able to be helped (seperately, but at the same time).  The zoo poo smell lingered, and I worried again that it might be me (or it got stuck on me somehow), but then...there was a glorious smell.  Vanilla candle.  Oh thank you postal employee for burning a vanilla candle earlier in the day!  What a relief.

My package was mailed, and I high-tailed it out of there.  No more zoo poo.  Then I went to the bakery next door even though I wasn't hungry and the last thing I wanted was a cookie, or cupcake, or cheescake, or muffin, or scone, or tart.  But, I just had to go somewhere that smelled nice.  And then I just had to buy a Mexican Wedding Cookie and a Quake Cookie (oh, delicious chocolate hazelnut cookie covered in powdered sugar--so chewy, so decadent, so right.) because it would be rude not to.  Sure I ate my weight in chocolate chip cookies yesterday (and treated myself to one this morning with my eggs), and I did look in the mirror the other day only to be confronted with a complete stranger because I KNOW that I'm not that chubby, but I really had no choice.  When the girl got my cookies, she offered to put them in different bags.  I'm not sure why (aside from being nice) since they're 1) cookies, 2) not soup, 3) both are covered in powdered sugar, 4) not at risk to contaminate each other with their flavors since one is chocolate hazelnut and the other is pecan shortcake, 5) will be consumed quickly and simultaneously.  And that's how I got over the zoo poo.

Now I just need to get over the stress eating.  My pants don't fit anymore.

Bad.

Maybe I should go to the gym like I keep planning on doing, huh?

We'll see.  It depends on what bad tv is available for my viewing pleasure this evening, and if I choose to just go back to bed early.  Or if I decide that I should start obsessing about changing my life any more than I already am.

Such worries.  At least I don't have to worry about smelling like zoo poo...or do I?

Come Back, Dear Readers!

It's true.  I took a little sabbatical from the blogging.  It wasn't my intention.  It just happened.  Things have been a little on the busy side this month; however, that doesn't mean I don't have stories to tell.

In fact, I did post a couple of new stories for your reading pleasure.  They are backdated, so perhaps they escaped your view.  Please see:

Wingin' it! and Stalked by Reality TV Stars

They're good ones.

Now, so I'm not leaving you high and dry...here's an observation...

Today I was in the Haight, and I was stopped a a stop sign, eagerly trying to cross the street to get to a soon-to-be-vacated parking spot.  In my haste, I started to move without noticing the large, frightening, punk rock street girl who walked in front of my car.  She turned to me and gave me a menacing look.  Her menacing look didn't frighten me as much as the FACE TATTOO.

Alright, people, let it be known that getting a tattoo on your FACE makes you scary.  There's no need to shoot people the evil eye.  You will be frightening even if you are smiling sweetly.  And who is going to hire you?  I don't mean to sound like a frumpy old lady, but seriously...face tattoos are kind of off-putting.  I mean, just think of Mike Tyson.  That guy bit off someone's ear, and he has a face tattoo.  It's totally creepy.

I'm not the best driver, and I make stupid moves like that one all the time.  But I think I'll be much more vigilant next time I'm in the Haight lest I get the stink eye from another person with a face tattoo.

Stalked By Reality TV Stars

Uhhh….why?

I spent my week at a record convention, but more importantly, I spent my week being unwittingly stalked by reality tv stars.  That's right.  Dan from The Biggest Loser was everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.

 

Day 1:

 

It all started at a suite party on Monday night.  I'd spent the earlier part of my evening at dinner with the management team of my company.  We had a delightful time, and when we got back to the hotel, we spent some quality time yacking it up in the lobby bar.  In fact, while in the bar, the CFO (who, for the sake of a visual image, has an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Furley from Three's Company) declared himself my dating coach and proceeded to shoo away any potential suitors (well, to be honest, he shooed away anyone male regardless of their intentions, making me suspect that the dating coach thing was merely a ploy to get me to spend time with him exclusively).  The joke went on all week long—especially after one of my clients believed that the CFO truly was my dating coach and started telling other people (in a somewhat bewildered and slightly worried way) that I brought a dating coach to the convention.  Luckily for me, I was alerted to his confusion early on, so I was able to set my poor client straight.  After that, we were friends for life.

 

Once things were winding down in the old lobby bar, a group of us headed up to a suite party.  We walked in, and I immediately spotted a familiar face in the middle of the room.  I couldn't place him at first, but then I realized…that's Dan from the Biggest Loser.  And then I made another realization—I hate that guy!  At first I wasn't convinced that it actually was Dan, but as I wandered around the party (which didn't take too long because the suite wasn't THAT big), I kept walking past him and determined it must be him.  So that's when I started trying to get other people in on it.  I mean, what if I was just seeing things?  I had competed in a triathlon the day before, and I was still a little tired…and it was late after all.  The first 14 people that I approached didn't watch the show, so they couldn't corroborate my story.  Not to be deterred, I soldiered on and started asking people outside on the balcony.

 

Finally, I found a viewer in one of my friends from New York.  "Do you watch the Biggest Loser?"  I asked.

 

"Yeah," she suddenly got excited.  "Is that really Dan from the Biggest Loser in there?!"

 

"It totally is!"

 

"I have to meet him.  I need to get my picture with him.  Come with me!"  She grabbed my hand, and we went back inside the party.  I stood on the sidelines because I had no desire to meet Dan from the Biggest Loser.  None.  I couldn't help but stare though because he was about my height, and while he was a regular-sized guy now…he started out around 350 pounds on the show.  That dude was HUGE.  Kudos to him for the accomplishment.

My friend chatted with him and got her picture taken.  When she came back, she exclaimed, "That was so cool!  My boyfriend will never believe I met him.  We love that show.  I asked him how is mom was.  And did you notice?  He's drinking water.  Good for him.  You know it must suck to be on that show because people recognize you in public and scrutinize everything you put in your mouth."

That was all fine and good, but I had bigger fish to fry and more important questions to ask.  "Now why is he here?"

She handed me a business card.  It read, "I Saw You On TV".  We surmised that he (and a guy from Survivor who I didn't spot, so I was just taking everyone's word on that one) was on a record label by that name.  Weird.  Well, he did like to claim that he was all rock and roll, so I guess it's fitting.

Once the mystery of Dan from the Biggest Loser was solved, I looked at my timepiece (aka my cell phone) and realized that I needed to get back to my chariot before it turned into a pumpkin.  We left the suite, and I headed outside.  Being the klutz that I am, I tripped on myself and fell in front of all of the people smoking outside.  It was one of those magical maneuvers where I was on the ground and back up before I even fully understood what happened.  I walked so quickly that I made it half a block before one of the smokers called after me to make sure I was okay.

Once I rounded the corner to get the garage where my car was housed, I discovered that I was too late.  A pumpkin it had become…well, it was locked in the garage for the night.  So, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to my house.  Then I opened my wallet to discover that I didn't have enough cash, so I directed the driver to the bank three blocks away from my house.  We pulled up to the bank, and I went inside to get money from the ATM.  Upon my return to the cab, I handed him the money, including a pretty hefty tip, and rather than allow me back in the car to drive me back to my house, he turned around and drove off.  Now just so we are all clear, he drove off in the direction of my house.  Considering the fact that it was 2am, and I was alone, and a girl, and I might have been a little tipsy, and I gave him a large tip, you'd think the least he could have done was to let me sit in the car for the three blocks he was driving regardless of my presence in the car.  But, no.  I had to walk by myself.  So distraught was I that I chose to seek comfort in the doughnut shop one block from my house. 

 

Day 2:

I went back to the hotel for a full day of meetings.  Let's not dwell on that.  Instead, let's get to what happened that night.  Once the meetings were over, I wound up in the lobby bar (in between helping to set-up our suite party).  Who was there?  Do I really need to ask?  Dan from the Biggest Loser.  Seriously?

After that, I went up to our suite party.  Dan from the Biggest Loser was not in attendance; however, I wouldn't have been shocked if he was.

 

Then we had dinner at a Chinese place and came back to the lobby bar.  Who was always at least ten feet away from me?  Dan from the Biggest Loser.  That dude was everywhere.  I went down to a special event and he was there too.  Does he have a decoy?  How is he everywhere that I go?  I went back to the lobby bar, and he was there AGAIN!  I kept pointing him out to everyone around me.  It started to appear to others that I had a sick fascination with Dan from the Biggest Loser.  I couldn't stop talking about him.  I constantly looked in his direction.  I was obsessed…and I can't stand him! (The previous statement is based solely on my feelings toward him while watching the show.  Since I never made any attempt to talk to him in person, I have no idea what he is really like on a personal level, so my opinion is based on nothing more than voyeuristic television viewing and snappy editing.)

As the night wore on, I became more and more exhausted, and my contacts became more and more foggy.  It was time to go.  I said my goodbyes and managed to escape the stranglehold that another friend put on me as he attempted to drag me up to a party (that Dan from the Biggest Loser apparently attended as well).  I went outside to the valet and requested my car.  As I was waiting for my car, I saw someone walk toward me.  He was wearing a tye-dyed tank top and had wild hair and a scruffy beard.  No way.  Rupert from Survivor.

 

I kept glancing over, trying to determine whether or not my eyes were deceiving me.  My contacts were really foggy, so that was a definite possibility.  But, no.  It was true.  Rupert from Survivor was standing next to me in the parking garage at 1:30 in the morning.  It was definitely time for me to go home.

So that was the guy from Survivor that was here with Dan from the Biggest Loser.  Weird.

 

Day 3:

 

More meetings.  More talking.  Some shopping.

 

Then…

 

Lobby bar.

 

Who was there?

 

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

 

Who was I talking about?

 

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

 

What was I saying?

 

I can't stop talking about Dan from the Biggest Loser because he's EVERYWHERE.  It's driving me crazy.  I feel like I'm obsessed with him.  I am obsessed with him.  And I don't even like him.  I just can't help but notice every time he is within ten feet of me, which is constantly!  AAAAAAAAA!

 

Next stop: Banquet

 

Who was there?

Everyone including Dan from the Biggest Loser and Rupert from Survivor.

What was the dress code?

Formal.

 

What was Rupert wearing?

Tye-dyed t-shirt, jeans, Birkenstocks, and a sports coat.

What's next?: Lobby Bar.

Who's there?

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

And what did I do next?

I went on a lame party-hopping adventure led by my dating coach.  Here's the story.  My group of lobby friends and I were going to head up to a party when I spotted my dating coach.  I informed him of the plan, and he told me that the parties were terrible.  One was too crowded and the other was totally dead.  Not willing to take his word for it, I insisted that we go.  So, we all piled in the elevator to head to the big party on the 36^th floor.  The whole ride up to the party, my dating coach told us that the party was too crowded and not worth the effort.  We fell out of the elevator and made our way into the party.  A coworker stopped me in the hallway, but my dating coach located me and pushed me into the party.  It was crowded, but not unmanageable (and, yes, Dan from the Biggest Loser was there).  I found someone with whom to chat, and ten minutes into my conversation, my dating coach came up behind me and told me it was time to see the dead party. 

 

He pushed me out the door and into a crowded elevator.  Apparently, it was too crowded because it wouldn't move.  We got out of the elevator and saw that one opened up on the other side.  Who was in the elevator with us?  Rupert from Survivor.  He made some comment about the other elevator being broken in his very gruff voice and we held a polite conversation.  Some of the other guys from our former elevator piled in.  My dating coach insisted on pushing the button for the 4^th floor.  When I glanced at the button, I noticed it said "Massage – Fitness – Center".

"Uh, where are we going exactly?" I asked.

 

"You'll see."

 

"Should I be concerned that you're taking me to the Massage floor?"  Everyone in the elevator turned to look at us and appeared somewhat horrified.

 

Indignant, my dating coach replied, "That is disgusting.  We aren't getting massages.  We are going to something much less exciting."

 

At that point, we arrived on the 4^th floor, and my dating coach pushed me through the hall to the dead party.  Boy was it dead.  The music was WAY too loud for the 14 people that were in there.  I grabbed a glass of wine, looked around for a bit, then noticed that Dan from the Biggest Loser was there too.  WHAT?!

My dating coach declared the party lame, so we headed back to the 36^th Floor.  Before getting to the elevator, we were informed that that party was shut down.  We went back to the dead party.  Then we decided to go back to the 36^th floor just in case.  They weren't letting anybody back in.  So, we headed back down to the dead party.  At some point, my dating coach decided to call it a night, and I located my original lobby friends.  We all reconvened at another party on the 30^th floor. Oh yeah, and Dan from the Biggest Loser was in there too.

We were there entirely too long.  By 3:30 AM, we were all sitting around complaining about the fact that we were there in the first place.  All at once, we made a hasty exit, and one idiot at the door grabbed my arm and chastised us for leaving.  Apparently the party was just beginning.  I, along with the help of my friends, freed myself from his grasp and went home.

I never saw Dan from the Biggest Loser again…  Nor did I see Rupert…  Until I looked up http://isawyouontv.com/.