And Then...

Last night was an awkward evening all-around. Shocking, I know. We went to see BB King, who was good, and old, at Ravinia with my co-workers. Fiji was (rightfully so) not all that excited about going. Hell, neither was I. But I got a Henna tatoo from this crazy lady in the business office. I asked for a star on my inner forearm and ended up getting a flower vine from my elbow to my wrist. Bygones. I was reminded, once again, that I have serious personal space issues. Big time. This should come as no surprise. When we arrived I went to go get the tickets from my boss at the front gate. I stood there clutching the poles of the fence like I was some sort of preppy jailbird. Which basically I am. Anyway, as I was waiting a woman came over to the gate (from the inside) and stood, literally, directly in front of me. I was like, UM HELLO. Are you KIDDING me here? But apparently my invisible superpowers work even when I don't activate them. I wish I could draw a picture. WAIT. I could. But that would take too long. So use your imagination. I was standing there. Then she comes over and stands on the other side of the fence/gate, practically nose to nose. It made me real uncomfortable, but I'm stubborn and competitive so I had to WIN. That was MY spot to stand (?). I'm irrational. But win I did. Well, actually, my bossman came over and passed me the goods, which I am guessing is kinda like when people bring you cigarettes in jail. Yeah. Just like that.

So that happened. Then we go over to bask in more awkwardness and it was hot. And there was cheese melting everywhere, so I ate it. Obviously. I had no choice. And drank lots of wine. And well, I guess that's it. But it was awkward. Believe you me. And then the financial services director got drunk and curled up with our blanket in a fetal position while we were in the bathroom (a.k.a. arguing outside the bathroom). So that was weird. I'm not sure I can begin another sentence with "And," but yet I know that I totally can. And then we went home. TA-DA!

Babies and Balloons. (And Booze. Clearly.)

This weekend I co-hosted my very first baby shower. It was fun. And not lame. At all. That may have something to do with the fact that we had a very elite guest list, but it was most likely due to the champagne. And the balloons. And the pretty flowers. And the pretty ladies surrounding me. Especially the mom-to-be. It's like, boobs up she's totally normal, like not-having-a-baby normal. But you can't really avoid the hugenormous boobies and balloon-like belly. She looks great. So now, when I'm pregnant in like 17 years I can look back and be like, WHY? Why do I have to be the uggo heffer preggo lady and all my friends get to look glowy and cute and fresh while I look sweaty and frumpy and fat? WHYYYYYYYY? And then I'll do that slapping yourself routine that I've always wanted to try. Wow. Dare to dream, folks. Dare. To. Dream.

Anyway. Picture pages, picture pages time.

p.s. I made those flower arrangements. All.By.My.Self. Well, and the input of Kboo. She's the boss.
p.p.s. Those metal pails were our party favors. There's a PLANT growing in there. Kinda like a BABY growing in HBee's belly. Get it?
p.p.p.s. Clearly I like balloons. Kinda neurotic-like.

Write this down.

A life without the internets is a life I don't want to live.

For instance, this morning. This morning was a life I didn't want to live. The crazy storms stole our interwebs university-wide and we were all alone. Lost. Secluded. Well, secluded together without the internet. And, honestly, I'd rather be secluded secluded. Without the scientists trying to drag me down. Or trying to explain to me what a topoisomere is. Or tell me there are too many hydrogen atoms on that structure outside my office. They must not notice that my eyes have glazed over and my fingers are pluggling my ears.

Anyway, alls I'm trying to say is that I didn't have the intrawebs for approximately 4 hours at work this morning and it sucked. Also, I want to revise my previous statement by saying, "A WORKDAY-life without the internets is a WORKDAY-life I don't want to live."

The end.
Goodbye.
That's all.
Good year.
So long.
Word.

The Empty Side

Last night while grabbing a quick bowl of noodles with a friend I hadn't seen in months, I began describing my strange health as of late. The dizziness, the slight (but unproductive) nausea, the lethargy. Her eyes lit up, in shock, disbelief, and to be honest straight-up fear, as she exclaimed/inquired, "Are you PREGNANT?!" Now it was my turn to be shocked and afraid, "NO! Oh, NO! I mean, I have my period RIGHT NOW. As we EAT. Uhh, yeah...so, no."

After we got that settled, she asked how everything else was...and then, 5 minutes later, after my random rambling was done, I returned the standard, "how are you?" Which was when the tears started welling in the corners of her eyes and I grasped my heart. (I tend to do this, as if I'm protecting it from lurching out from beneath my ventricles and tissue and breast.) She's not a crier. She's not unemotional, but she's a rational thinker. A very successful businesswoman. An achiever. And she just broke up with her boyfriend.

I wanted to hug her, but I resisted, knowing that would make it even worse. (You know how sometimes when you are on the verge of a serious breakdown, the gentle touch of another person who is attempting to comfort and console, manages instead to open the flood gates. You know? Or when you're super nauseous and the mere stroke of a friend's hand on your back sends you running for the bathroom. Kinda like that.) Anyway, instead I listened. And was there. And sometimes? Sometimes that's all you need.

That and for someone to make it all better. And to tell you that everything is going to be ok. To take away the pain. And the hurt. And the wonderings. And the loneliness. And the regrets. And the worry. And the emptiness. In your heart. And on the other side of the table.

Little People

Fiji and I spent the weekend with my family, including my 2 nephews and 1 niece. Adorable little people. And holy hell, TALKATIVE. It's like now that they're able to converse in full sentences (for the most part) they are letting loose with all the stuff that they've been storing up in their brains when all they could do was point to stuff and cry because adults were too stupid to understand what it was they were talking about.

The youngest is a monkey. Literally. He climbs everything. The counter. Chairs. Your leg. Trees. In addition, he LOVES monkeys. Just like ME. We are so related. However, he has mastered the art of pretending that I don't exist. No joke. He won't respond to my questions and he looks right through me. Apparently, he only sees and hears men. Which is nice.

The girlchild is a doll. She's beautiful. And girly to the max. Which is odd because she has no girly female role models. At all. She repeats everything I say. Fun. She likes to hold my hand and have me paint her nails (with the disapproval of her mother) and sit on my lap and stuff.

The oldest does not shut up. Does. Not. Shut. Up. He's smart and remembers everything. He's written books and is a terrific artist. He has 7 songs on his iPod. He took an extreme liking to Fiji, which was quite convenient for the rest of us. He made up his own rules for Monopoly and almost won. He's also a cheater.

When I was saying goodbye, girlchild wouldn't stop hugging me and I was forced to peel her little fingers away. I got kinda choked up and ran away.

I love them all dearly. And they love me, which makes me feel all warm and tingly inside. But, flyingFLUBS, silence is priceless. PRICELESS.

I just attended a Departmental BBQ where there was a keg, as in FREE BEER, and I did not partake. Let me repeat: I rejected free beer. I feel so weird. And alone. I don't even know who I am anymore.

Update: I was just called upon for my "beer drinking skills" to untap the unfinished keg. I'm not sure which is more embarrassing: 1. the fact that they immediately thought of me or 2. the fact that 300 scientists couldn't finish one keg. Or 3. I didn't help. Or maybe 4. that as I untapped it I sprayed beer all over myself and can't even blame it on the booze.

Goose

Shockingly enough, I have yet to mention our lovely bird (Fiji's actually, I'm merely step-birdmom). Her name is Goose and I love her. Well, it maybe kinda took me a little while, but I love her now. A whole lot. Like, I'm attached. Seriously. In fact, one night after a few too many libations on the roofdeck, I ventured downstairs to take a whiz and decided it was time for me and Ms.Goose to set things straight. I can't recall specifically what took place, but many words were shared and honestly, ever since then we have had a special bond. Mainly displayed by the fact that she no longer hisses at me when I get anywhere near her.

Anyway, for the past couple of months she's been falling off her perch(es). It started occuring more and more frequently and she was starting to actually hurt her wings/shoulders. In addition, she's been doing this little dance by her water dish. It's realcutelike, but potentially suggests that something may be awry upstairs (ifyouknowwhatImean). So, we schedule an appointment with her vet. Now, I had a dog all my life, and a cat when I was real young, but I was never the adult then (ha--implying that I am one now) and therefore I didn't have to do those responsibile sort of tasks. Anyway, we took her to the vet on Saturday (slightly hungover after Josh Ritter at Ravinia and before starting to booze again for the Cubs game--see very responsible and adultlike over here) and the vet mentioned the words, "Neurological Damage" and "I have no idea what's wrong with your crazy bird, so you're going to have to see an AVIAN SPECIALIST." Firstly, I had no idea there was such a thing. Second, and more importantly, that BITCH. Did she just call my bird RETARDO? I got kinda pissed and refused to listen to anything else she said. Luckily, the Feej isn't such a brat.

Cut to Monday...we take her to the "Avian Specialist" in the burbs and we wait, and wait, and waitandwaitandwait. It smells like piss. SHOCKING. So, poor little Goose. She's kinda freaking out. But she tries to hold it together. Until they take x-rays of her little tiny body and draw some blood from her teeny neck. And she lets them (and us) know that she is RippedPissed. Not. Happy. So, we wait again. And then the vet comes in to explain that basically little Gooselady is storing calcium in her femurs/thighs in preparation for laying some serious eggs (HEY-OH!), but she's unfortunately not laying all the eggs so the calcium is building up and making her legs all weak. Also, she's storing up some other sorts of lady juices and some other acids that can cause gout (not cool). So, they shoot her up with a bunch of birth control (that lusty little lady!) and some pain killers. Basically, they give her some meds and send us on our way. And in conclusion, our bird is NOT mentally disabled. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Good year.

Friday Confessional: Pearl Jam Style

I am mildly obsessed with one of my spin instructors. Mildly, as in crazily. He's like a rock star, like a gym spin rock star, if there was such a thing. Which I declare there is. So there. Anyway, like I said, mild obsession. One time he said my friend's name at the beginning of class and I felt intense (completely, ridiculously intense) pangs of jealously. Seriously. And then I refused to talk to her for the rest of the day. (Not really. I have a hard time holding grudges.) So, the obsession mainly presents itself in that I frequently (and casually) reference him outside of class, and occasionally wonder what he's up to. That sorta stuff. I should also mention that he is married with two kids and commutes from out of state and is insanely in love with Pearl Jam.



So last night, as Fiji and I walked by the Vic Theater where Pearl Jam was playing and all the crazy fans willing to pay hundreds, maybe even thousands, of dollars to see them play such a small theater, my mind wandered to SpinGuy, wondering if he was in that very line. In that very place. And if that would be the moment in time where our paths crossed outside the spin studio. Apparently that wasn't the moment. Bygones. Then Fiji and I hit up our favorite neighbor/music store to pick up a CD I've been wanting (Albert Hammond, Jr. Check it out.) and Joe, the store owner, gave Fiji a Pearl Jam sampler because he loves him. Coincidence? Anyway, as we were listening to it I was all, "Can I bring that to SpinGuy tomorrow morning?" And Fiji was like, "Um, NO." And I was all, "FINE. Ruin my chances. Cockblocker."


So, to my shock and PLEASANT surprise, while I was setting up my bike this morning in spin, SpinGuy came directly over to me and initiated a conversation. I must mention that this has never happened before. I mean, he's real friendly. To everyone. And always goes around the room saying hello. However, he has never officially asked me a specific question other than, "How are you?" or "Hello." or "Can you please stop staring? I am trying to lead a class here." But this time, this time was different. He walked directly over to me like a man on a mission and said, "What's new?" Which, LUCKILY, I had something interesting and somewhat coherent to respond with, which was "DID YOU SEE THE PEARL JAM SHOW LAST NIGHT?" The caps are totally necessary as I was clearly yelling, you know, in order to let everyone know that SpinGuy and I were building a relationship over here and they best be stearing clear. And then we talked, back and forth, and had a REAL conversation. About Pearl Jam, fine, but still. It happens that we are BOTH going to the Cubs game tomorrow and he is going to Lolla on Sunday and so obviously I am too. And Fiji. (If he doesn't mind being the awkward third wheel on my date.)

I just feel like this is really going somewhere magical. Me and SpinGuy. (And Fiji.) See, spandex CAN be sexy.

Tea Time Totalers

First things first, alliteration is the coolest.

I thought I would give y'all (I can say that; I went to college in the south, er, a mostly southern state. SNATCH.) a little update on what the scientists have been eating at tea time, since I find it amusing slash sickening that these people eat such lavish (or not) desserts every day. As in EVERY. DAY. One would think it would make more sense to, I don't know, provide a summary at the end of the week, but I find myself to be quite nonsensical. And I like it. And so will YOU.(Just stay out of my way or you'll pay, listen to what I say. Hey, why don't I just go and eat some hay. I can lay by the bay, make things out of clay, I just may, what'd ya say?) Ahem. Anyway. Back to the scientists:

Monday: Muffins. As in the "way unhealthy kind," as it was explained to me by my favorite scientist who is leaving at the end of next week. Tear. TearTearTearTear.
Tuesday: Smores. Apparently they would put a graham cracker, chocolate, marshmallow in the microwave for 10 seconds, then cover with another graham*, then stuff their awkward faces.
Wednesday: Ice cream and donut holes. Let me repeat. Ice cream AND donut holes. WT? Seriously?

*Explanation necessary? I think not.

Out of the blue, my boss asked me if I used the phrase, "I'm just not feeling it." I was unsure of how to appropriately respond so I just looked away and fiddled with my new clicky PEN in the hopes that he would too. Success! However, at the end of the meeting he asked how my Access query was coming along and I responded (you guessed it. I am THAT girl.), "I'm just not feeling it." Luckily he has been suffering from a horribly terrible cold for the past week and therefore hopped up on all sorts of drugs, so I'm pretty sure he won't remember.