I'll have Part 2 of the weekend up later today or tonight, but for now, I had to post this because I seriously almost choked on my Weight Watchers lunch when I saw it.
I know it's been re-edited and whatever, but god, that Nancy Grace is such a fucking bitch:
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Weekend, part 1
The worst thing about holiday weekends is how they completely fuck you up and spoil you for the rest of the week. I mean, after 3 days of drinking, dining out, and lying in the sun, work is not exactly what I want to think about on Tuesday morning when I wake up nursing a margarita hangover and gulping water and Advil, you know?
With that said, I can’t even remember what I did on Friday night right now. Of course, I’m a little bit drunk right now anyway, because tonight was…wait for it…”So You Think You Can Dance,” featuring my British girlfriend Cat Deeley, which of course means that it’s officially summertime. And that means that I make mojitos and Benjie and I sit back and watch all of the young hot boys dance for us and speculate on their sexuality. As I said tonight, watching the show brings back fond memories of last summer’s sweltering nights (well, before we broke down and bought two air conditioners, anyway), when we’d watch the show and then find a nice cool bar to duck into so we could avoid the steamy, stale air in our apartment.
Speaking of stale air – on Saturday night Benjie and I went to Mr. Black, which I’ve vowed never to go to again. I have never once been hit on in that place, and this past weekend was no exception. Per usual, I found myself wandering the dance floor for what felt like hours on end with nary a bit of attention to be found. Finally, I gave up and started drinking Maker’s on the rocks. I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea (particularly after consuming mojitos, red wine, vodka tonics, and vodka Red Bulls), but I did. I got a call from Benjie a while later – he had picked up a trick and was ready to leave. The three of us shared a cab back to Brooklyn, where Benjie decided we needed more drinks. We headed off to the local corner bar. After a single drink, Benjie and trick decided to leave. I sat there alone and ordered another beer and listened to the jukebox and eventually started dozing off (it was about 3:15 am). When I realized I was getting sleepy, I cashed out, left, and hit the pizza place on the way home for a slice of Sicilian. They were all out, however, which – sacrilege! So I got a plain slice and meandered on home, where I passed out around 3:45 am.
At precisely 7:56 am, my eyes flew open. I remembered that No Dice Joe had sent a text the night before ordering Benjie and me to be ready for some discount, Memorial Day weekend shopping at Roosevelt Fields on Long Island. Crazy Joey had instructed us to be ready for 8 am. I had texted him back, “Make it 11 am, please and thank you,” but hadn’t gotten a response.
I groaned, sat up, and turned on my phone. Sure enough, Joey had texted me five minutes earlier asking if I was ready. I was in the process of replying to him to tell him No, Absolutely Not, when my phone started ringing.
“Are you awake?” Joey asked me. “Because I’m picking you up in 20 minutes, so you’d better get in the shower.”
“No, not really,” I said hoarsely.
“Too bad, you’re going,” he answered. “I came to dollar margarita night on Thursday when you called, so you owe me.”
And, dear reader, he was right. He did come to Chelsea for dollar margarita night when I summoned him. And he drove our drunk asses home on Thursday night and saved us cab fare, so I did indeed owe him.
I gamely launched myself into the shower, where – still drunk – I knocked over several bottles of shampoo and dropped the soap. But I was ready in time for Joey to pick me up. Of course, after we met up with Steph and Rebecca and Alex and were in the car on the way to Long Island, I almost threw up several times from the awful, no good, very bad hangover, but that’s beside the point. Let’s focus on the positives – I was ready in TWENTY MINUTES – with a hangover, people! – and that never, ever happens. Ever.
Sure, later that morning, I saw myself in a mirror and said out loud, “Wow, I look like shit,” and Joey kindly replied, “Yeah, you kinda do. I’m not going to lie.” But…TWENTY MINUTES. That is a bonafide record for me.
And I managed to choke back the hot sick in the car. Who’s better than me, I ask? Who???
With that said, I can’t even remember what I did on Friday night right now. Of course, I’m a little bit drunk right now anyway, because tonight was…wait for it…”So You Think You Can Dance,” featuring my British girlfriend Cat Deeley, which of course means that it’s officially summertime. And that means that I make mojitos and Benjie and I sit back and watch all of the young hot boys dance for us and speculate on their sexuality. As I said tonight, watching the show brings back fond memories of last summer’s sweltering nights (well, before we broke down and bought two air conditioners, anyway), when we’d watch the show and then find a nice cool bar to duck into so we could avoid the steamy, stale air in our apartment.
Speaking of stale air – on Saturday night Benjie and I went to Mr. Black, which I’ve vowed never to go to again. I have never once been hit on in that place, and this past weekend was no exception. Per usual, I found myself wandering the dance floor for what felt like hours on end with nary a bit of attention to be found. Finally, I gave up and started drinking Maker’s on the rocks. I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea (particularly after consuming mojitos, red wine, vodka tonics, and vodka Red Bulls), but I did. I got a call from Benjie a while later – he had picked up a trick and was ready to leave. The three of us shared a cab back to Brooklyn, where Benjie decided we needed more drinks. We headed off to the local corner bar. After a single drink, Benjie and trick decided to leave. I sat there alone and ordered another beer and listened to the jukebox and eventually started dozing off (it was about 3:15 am). When I realized I was getting sleepy, I cashed out, left, and hit the pizza place on the way home for a slice of Sicilian. They were all out, however, which – sacrilege! So I got a plain slice and meandered on home, where I passed out around 3:45 am.
At precisely 7:56 am, my eyes flew open. I remembered that No Dice Joe had sent a text the night before ordering Benjie and me to be ready for some discount, Memorial Day weekend shopping at Roosevelt Fields on Long Island. Crazy Joey had instructed us to be ready for 8 am. I had texted him back, “Make it 11 am, please and thank you,” but hadn’t gotten a response.
I groaned, sat up, and turned on my phone. Sure enough, Joey had texted me five minutes earlier asking if I was ready. I was in the process of replying to him to tell him No, Absolutely Not, when my phone started ringing.
“Are you awake?” Joey asked me. “Because I’m picking you up in 20 minutes, so you’d better get in the shower.”
“No, not really,” I said hoarsely.
“Too bad, you’re going,” he answered. “I came to dollar margarita night on Thursday when you called, so you owe me.”
And, dear reader, he was right. He did come to Chelsea for dollar margarita night when I summoned him. And he drove our drunk asses home on Thursday night and saved us cab fare, so I did indeed owe him.
I gamely launched myself into the shower, where – still drunk – I knocked over several bottles of shampoo and dropped the soap. But I was ready in time for Joey to pick me up. Of course, after we met up with Steph and Rebecca and Alex and were in the car on the way to Long Island, I almost threw up several times from the awful, no good, very bad hangover, but that’s beside the point. Let’s focus on the positives – I was ready in TWENTY MINUTES – with a hangover, people! – and that never, ever happens. Ever.
Sure, later that morning, I saw myself in a mirror and said out loud, “Wow, I look like shit,” and Joey kindly replied, “Yeah, you kinda do. I’m not going to lie.” But…TWENTY MINUTES. That is a bonafide record for me.
And I managed to choke back the hot sick in the car. Who’s better than me, I ask? Who???
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Darling, what do you say?
One of the scariest things about getting older was that moment of perfect self-realization in which I took a step back to assess a situation and realized that Yes, I Am My Father. Well, a taller, thicker-haired, drunker version of him, anyway.
My dad is in many ways one of those perfect "dad" stereotypes. He doesn't like to show emotion, he doesn't really engage in conversation, and quite often, he'll grunt or shrug when asked a question that he doesn't feel like answering. And, because he's a cranky perfectionist (see, I am him!), one of his mantras has always been, "If you want something done right, do it yourself."
This of course extends to me as well. In my teen years, I was forbidden from mowing the lawn because he didn't like the way I alternated mowing it. In my father's rule book, you cut the grass horizontally one week, vertically the next time, and on the diagonal after that. Or something like that. Supposedly, it's good for the grass. Anyway, I fucked that up (and I also ran one of the mower wheels off the grass and into one of the many, many landscaping beds in the front yard, sending gravel flying, hitting the mower blade against a rock, and effectively scalping a portion of the lawn), so I was removed from lawn duty and reassigned to car detailing, pool vacuuming, weeding, and trimming shrubs. You know, things that aren't hard and were equally as good for my summer tan. It was a win-win situation all-around.
This is a long way of saying that my father felt he could do a much better job with the grass than I could.
I had a similar feeling this week in Houston. So I think I mentioned before that we have a new employee on my team. She's very nice and I get along with her very well, but I find I'm having trust issues in handing over team responsibilities to her.
She was responsible for prepping for this event, so I sent her a list of the items that I needed her to ship to Houston. The list expressly stated that I needed two of our Dell monitors, and that she should verify that they were similar in both size and appearance. I also told her to bring two smaller bowls to hold our giveaways, but that she could leave the large glass bowl that we usually bring behind, as I wouldn't need it.
Cut to Sunday afternoon, onsite, where I'm unpacking. What do I find? Two monitors that don't match and the big glass bowl.
In the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal - it's not like I freaked out on her or anything. One of the monitors was adjustable, so I was able to make them the same height. I went to CVS and bought two small plastic bowls. And I mentioned to her in a casual aside that she should make sure from now on that she stays on top of things like that.
But that's not the point (and here I cringe, for this is another saying of my father's), is it? This type of thing happens far too often - often enough so that I wonder whether I'm a poor communicator, or if I'm all right and the world's upside down?
Another example: When I arrived on Sunday, our company's booth was set up completely wrong. I found the contractors in charge of setting it up, who were quite irritated that they needed to take it all down and start from scratch.
"Well, I called your company on Thursday and spoke with [woman's name]," I explained to the foreman. "I told her we were not using this booth, that you should leave it in the crates and just ship it back to us, and that she could dispose of the booth cads I had sent previously. Another booth was being air-shipped and would arrive this morning. Did you not get that message?"
"No, I did," he admitted. "But we thought that the pieces that arrived today were to supplement this one, so we combined them according to the specs you sent."
"The specs that I told [woman] to throw out," I pointed out.
"Uh...yeah," he replied.
So, reader, I'm forced to concede this one to my father: If you want something done right, you do it yourself.
And if you need me, I'll be sitting over here with all the other cranky old men.
My dad is in many ways one of those perfect "dad" stereotypes. He doesn't like to show emotion, he doesn't really engage in conversation, and quite often, he'll grunt or shrug when asked a question that he doesn't feel like answering. And, because he's a cranky perfectionist (see, I am him!), one of his mantras has always been, "If you want something done right, do it yourself."
This of course extends to me as well. In my teen years, I was forbidden from mowing the lawn because he didn't like the way I alternated mowing it. In my father's rule book, you cut the grass horizontally one week, vertically the next time, and on the diagonal after that. Or something like that. Supposedly, it's good for the grass. Anyway, I fucked that up (and I also ran one of the mower wheels off the grass and into one of the many, many landscaping beds in the front yard, sending gravel flying, hitting the mower blade against a rock, and effectively scalping a portion of the lawn), so I was removed from lawn duty and reassigned to car detailing, pool vacuuming, weeding, and trimming shrubs. You know, things that aren't hard and were equally as good for my summer tan. It was a win-win situation all-around.
This is a long way of saying that my father felt he could do a much better job with the grass than I could.
I had a similar feeling this week in Houston. So I think I mentioned before that we have a new employee on my team. She's very nice and I get along with her very well, but I find I'm having trust issues in handing over team responsibilities to her.
She was responsible for prepping for this event, so I sent her a list of the items that I needed her to ship to Houston. The list expressly stated that I needed two of our Dell monitors, and that she should verify that they were similar in both size and appearance. I also told her to bring two smaller bowls to hold our giveaways, but that she could leave the large glass bowl that we usually bring behind, as I wouldn't need it.
Cut to Sunday afternoon, onsite, where I'm unpacking. What do I find? Two monitors that don't match and the big glass bowl.
In the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal - it's not like I freaked out on her or anything. One of the monitors was adjustable, so I was able to make them the same height. I went to CVS and bought two small plastic bowls. And I mentioned to her in a casual aside that she should make sure from now on that she stays on top of things like that.
But that's not the point (and here I cringe, for this is another saying of my father's), is it? This type of thing happens far too often - often enough so that I wonder whether I'm a poor communicator, or if I'm all right and the world's upside down?
Another example: When I arrived on Sunday, our company's booth was set up completely wrong. I found the contractors in charge of setting it up, who were quite irritated that they needed to take it all down and start from scratch.
"Well, I called your company on Thursday and spoke with [woman's name]," I explained to the foreman. "I told her we were not using this booth, that you should leave it in the crates and just ship it back to us, and that she could dispose of the booth cads I had sent previously. Another booth was being air-shipped and would arrive this morning. Did you not get that message?"
"No, I did," he admitted. "But we thought that the pieces that arrived today were to supplement this one, so we combined them according to the specs you sent."
"The specs that I told [woman] to throw out," I pointed out.
"Uh...yeah," he replied.
So, reader, I'm forced to concede this one to my father: If you want something done right, you do it yourself.
And if you need me, I'll be sitting over here with all the other cranky old men.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Houston sky was changeless
Initial impressions of Houston:
1. Pretty skyline.
2. Downtown streets are all one-way, with synchronized lights, and very clean.
3. Reminds me of Denver - particularly Main Street.
4. Very humid.
5 No one walks here - perhaps because of #4. It's 7 blocks from my hotel to the Hilton, which is where the conference is located. The concierge almost had a heart attack when I asked for walking directions.
Drew: It's like 6 blocks, right?
Concierge: Yes, but they're very long blocks, sir. And you would hit lights, and you'd have to wait on each corner, unless you want to jay-walk.
Drew: I live in New York, I'm fine with that. But really - six blocks? That's what, no more than a 10-minute walk, right?
Concierge: It's all the way on the other side of downtown, sir. At least 25 minutes.
(It took 10 minutes.)
6. There's a cute little boy working the coffeeshop in the hotel lobby who has great hair and even better lips. He completely fucked up my coffee yesterday morning and I still tipped him two bucks on a $4 coffee. I want to take him back to my room, throw him on the bed, and do naughty things to him.
1. Pretty skyline.
2. Downtown streets are all one-way, with synchronized lights, and very clean.
3. Reminds me of Denver - particularly Main Street.
4. Very humid.
5 No one walks here - perhaps because of #4. It's 7 blocks from my hotel to the Hilton, which is where the conference is located. The concierge almost had a heart attack when I asked for walking directions.
Drew: It's like 6 blocks, right?
Concierge: Yes, but they're very long blocks, sir. And you would hit lights, and you'd have to wait on each corner, unless you want to jay-walk.
Drew: I live in New York, I'm fine with that. But really - six blocks? That's what, no more than a 10-minute walk, right?
Concierge: It's all the way on the other side of downtown, sir. At least 25 minutes.
(It took 10 minutes.)
6. There's a cute little boy working the coffeeshop in the hotel lobby who has great hair and even better lips. He completely fucked up my coffee yesterday morning and I still tipped him two bucks on a $4 coffee. I want to take him back to my room, throw him on the bed, and do naughty things to him.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Drive until you lose the road
Tomorrow morning – Saturday – I’m renting a car at LaGuardia and driving to some town north of Boston for the wedding of a college friend, whom I’ll call Scales. He and I aren’t particularly close, but he invited most of the guys we hung out with in college, so it will be good to see all of them again.
It’s also going to be a little strange. Several of the guys I knew in college are married, and two of them have kids. Which is to be expected, I suppose – after all, we’re 30 years old.
College Friend Jiza emailed me on Wednesday to ask if I was going to the wedding and to share his excitement about seeing everyone together for the first time in, quite literally, years. And while I share that excitement, I realized that the majority of the people I’ll be seeing tomorrow are either in long-term relationships or married. And then there’s me…I didn’t even get to bring a guest to the fucking wedding. I’m going to take the high road and assume that they were trying to cut down the guest list and NOT that they were afraid I’d bring a guy. (Although I’m willing to bet it’s equal parts from column A and column B.)
I guess I’ve been sort of subconsciously processing all this since I turned 30…we all have ideas when we’re younger of how we’ll be, or what we’ll be doing, when we reach a certain age. It’s a difficult thing to reconcile those ideas with the reality; I never would have imagined that at this point in my life, I’d be alone. Lately I feel like there are couples everywhere I turn, and I’m just some freak who can’t find anyone to love or anyone to love me. It’s making me more bitter than usual; full of “why not me?” questions and crazy, in-depth introspection.
Life has been strange lately anyway, so I suppose I’m more out-of-sorts than usual. There are big goings-on happening at work, and I found out on Thursday that The Officemate and I will be getting a new boss within a few weeks. I’ve been pondering for a while now whether it’s time for me to move on, so this may just be the push that I need to abandon working from home in my underwear and actually venture out into the big wide world of working in Manhattan.
For now, though, it’s one step at a time. First this wedding, and then bright and early on Sunday morning, I’m flying to Houston for 3 days for a work event that I’m in charge of. It’s already been a bloodbath in terms of planning and Murphy’s Law, so I’m not exactly holding my breath that all is going to go well.
One thing, however, is certain: I’m going to be in a beautiful fucking mood at 8am on Sunday when I arrive at Logan for my flight. And probably hung over, too.
Hey, we all know that’s usually how I do these things, right?
Right.
It’s also going to be a little strange. Several of the guys I knew in college are married, and two of them have kids. Which is to be expected, I suppose – after all, we’re 30 years old.
College Friend Jiza emailed me on Wednesday to ask if I was going to the wedding and to share his excitement about seeing everyone together for the first time in, quite literally, years. And while I share that excitement, I realized that the majority of the people I’ll be seeing tomorrow are either in long-term relationships or married. And then there’s me…I didn’t even get to bring a guest to the fucking wedding. I’m going to take the high road and assume that they were trying to cut down the guest list and NOT that they were afraid I’d bring a guy. (Although I’m willing to bet it’s equal parts from column A and column B.)
I guess I’ve been sort of subconsciously processing all this since I turned 30…we all have ideas when we’re younger of how we’ll be, or what we’ll be doing, when we reach a certain age. It’s a difficult thing to reconcile those ideas with the reality; I never would have imagined that at this point in my life, I’d be alone. Lately I feel like there are couples everywhere I turn, and I’m just some freak who can’t find anyone to love or anyone to love me. It’s making me more bitter than usual; full of “why not me?” questions and crazy, in-depth introspection.
Life has been strange lately anyway, so I suppose I’m more out-of-sorts than usual. There are big goings-on happening at work, and I found out on Thursday that The Officemate and I will be getting a new boss within a few weeks. I’ve been pondering for a while now whether it’s time for me to move on, so this may just be the push that I need to abandon working from home in my underwear and actually venture out into the big wide world of working in Manhattan.
For now, though, it’s one step at a time. First this wedding, and then bright and early on Sunday morning, I’m flying to Houston for 3 days for a work event that I’m in charge of. It’s already been a bloodbath in terms of planning and Murphy’s Law, so I’m not exactly holding my breath that all is going to go well.
One thing, however, is certain: I’m going to be in a beautiful fucking mood at 8am on Sunday when I arrive at Logan for my flight. And probably hung over, too.
Hey, we all know that’s usually how I do these things, right?
Right.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
She knows Jesus, John Lennon and Cobain personally
Actual voicemail I received on my work phone last Wednesday (picture some guy in a weird Southern drawl alternately yelling and speaking at a normal volume):
I really fucking love how the freaks always find me. Who the hell leaves that on someone's work voicemail?
"I opened up my closet around 9 o’clock last night and Jesus Christ popped out and said, 'You will go to hell, sinner. You will go to hell!' And I’m like, 'Hi Jesus, what’s up? The light was on and I’m just trying to go to bed and you’re in here and you’re trying to condemn me to hell and everything. I got work tomorrow, come on!' And Jesus was like, 'I’m sorry.' And I’m like, 'Well, you can go down to the bar, there’s plenty of sinners there.' And Jesus Christ was like, 'Okay.' And we shared a glass of orange juice and a midnight snack and he left. But let it be known that Jesus Christ was in MY closet."
I really fucking love how the freaks always find me. Who the hell leaves that on someone's work voicemail?
Friday, May 11, 2007
Big girl, you are beautiful
Whew.
So I'm back in New York, and although I'm traveling twice at the end of next week (once to Boston again on Saturday for a wedding, and then flying to Houston the following morning), I'm really hopeful that next week will sort of calm down and I actually begin to breathe again.
Got in late last night...my 6:40 flight out of Logan was delayed for THREE fucking hours due to fog delays at JFK. Didn't get home until midnight, after which I still had to boot up the laptop and finish a presentation for my boss that I've been working on for approximately five hundred years. (It feels that way, anyway - it's over 100 slides, and about half of them deal with sales pipelines, marketing campaigns, conversion rates, blah blah blah. All of which means that I've spent three days running reports and doing data analysis.)
Anyway - the fog has lifted today, but instead it's really, really humid. Like, sticky and gross. As in, you break into a sweat just doing normal shit, like walking.
And you know what else happens when it's really humid? (Girls, I know you know.)
My mop of curly locks, I've discovered, gets fucking HUGE.
(I kinda like it.)
So I'm back in New York, and although I'm traveling twice at the end of next week (once to Boston again on Saturday for a wedding, and then flying to Houston the following morning), I'm really hopeful that next week will sort of calm down and I actually begin to breathe again.
Got in late last night...my 6:40 flight out of Logan was delayed for THREE fucking hours due to fog delays at JFK. Didn't get home until midnight, after which I still had to boot up the laptop and finish a presentation for my boss that I've been working on for approximately five hundred years. (It feels that way, anyway - it's over 100 slides, and about half of them deal with sales pipelines, marketing campaigns, conversion rates, blah blah blah. All of which means that I've spent three days running reports and doing data analysis.)
Anyway - the fog has lifted today, but instead it's really, really humid. Like, sticky and gross. As in, you break into a sweat just doing normal shit, like walking.
And you know what else happens when it's really humid? (Girls, I know you know.)
My mop of curly locks, I've discovered, gets fucking HUGE.
(I kinda like it.)
Monday, May 07, 2007
Everything to everyone
I've been told by more than one person that it's long past time for an update, and because I'm such an annoying little people pleaser, I'm doing just that instead of going to bed - even though I have to be up in 4 hours to catch a flight to Boston, because yes, I'm fucking traveling AGAIN.
So let's see, what's going on?
Two weeks ago was my big customer event, which - in all seriousness - I'd think I'd rather have my balls torn off than go through again. It was one of those things where everything that could have gone wrong did, from one of the guests of honor checking into the hotel and being told they didn't have a room for him because they overbooked (even though I wound up flagged as a VIP, in an executive suite on the concierge floor as an Elite member - ha!) to stupid stuff like the conference facility's sound system not working at all. If there's one thing I hate, it's trying to get something fixed while people all around me who are trying to "help" call my name repeatedly. I mean, sure, I'm a gigantic bitch and all, but if I'm frantically trying to rewrite a VP's PowerPoint presentation 5 minutes before he's due to go on, I don't need, "Drew, when can I get a look at my revised presentation?" and "Drew, do we have Internet access?" and "Drew, we ran out of coffee" and "Drew, it's too cold in here." People, you all need to get off my dick NOW.
These things make me want to rip my tie off, scream that I quit, and go lie on a beach somewhere sipping cocktails for a week.
Anyway - I survived that, left Baltimore, came back to New York for a day, and then left on Saturday morning at 7:45 on a train to New England for The Officemate's wedding. Several other coworkers and spouses were there as well, including my VP and his wife, who insisted on dancing with me but wouldn't let me bring my drink on the dance floor. (I think I actually called her the Drink Gestapo and told her I couldn't dance without a comforting drink in my hand. I am sooo professional.)
It was a great time and The Officemate looked completely fucking amazing, even though she did corner me on the dance floor at the reception and say, "We need to talk about all the things I didn't get to do before I left," since she's on her honeymoon for 2 weeks. I just laughed and told her she was nuts and that I refused to discuss work with her standing in front of me at her WEDDING in her wedding gown.
So what'd that crazy girl do? Sent me an email on Monday from the business center of her hotel in Costa Rica, outlining all the things I needed to cover while she was out. I love her to death, but she's sick. Her husband actually made her swear that she wouldn't bring her work laptop on her honeymoon with her.
The next day, I rented a car and drove to Boston for the week so I could be in the office to train the new girl on our team. Best part of that? The VP who was at the wedding walking in and saying to me, "By the way, my wife says you have a rock-hard ass. The gym must be paying off."
I flushed a particularly lovely shade of red at that, thank you very much.
More goings-on at work resulted in my boss sending me a message from his Blackberry on Thursday that said, "Are you planning on being in the office next week? If not, can you be?" And that's why my ass is on JetBlue's scheduled 6:30AM flight to Boston tomorrow.
Left Massachusetts on Friday night, drove to RI and spent the night with the parents and the dog, and then took the train back to New York on Saturday afternoon. Went out with Benjie and his new boy on Saturday to a party at the Bryant Park Hotel bar and then hit Merchants for food and drinks. Met a weird stripper girl and her hot Puerto Rican photographer fuckbuddy, who coincidentally lives 3 blocks away from us in Brooklyn. The stripper tried to set me up with some friend - she called him and said, "I have your future husband sitting right here in front of me." Sadly, he couldn't make it over. Because what's cooler than blind dates set up by strippers you met 20 minutes ago?
Sunday was late, late brunch, followed by catching up on "The Tudors" and me drooling over hot, hot Henry Cavill, who's my new boyfriend. I have seen the face of God, and it looked like Henry's slammin' big bubble butt of an ass. That boy is beautiful - no other way to describe him.
Saw Spider-Man 3 after that and liked it. Theater was packed and I wound up squeezed between two groups of people who chowed down on popcorn like it was going to be taken away from them at any second. Tobey Maguire is the fuggiest fug who ever fugged and kind of chubby. Drunkst has weird teeth, but they did a good job of disguising her saggy titties. James Franco is a hottie, and when he started dancing the Twist on the kitchen floor with Kiki and grinned that grin of his at her (you know, where suddenly his eyes crinkle up and his mouth opens wide, and it looks like his face just explodes with happiness), well, let's just say that I didn't even care later on when his face was all scarred. (Yeah, sorry about that spoiler. I suck. Still, go see it.) I'd totally let him stick it in.
Wound up at Miracle Grill after that, where I had the nastiest mojito I've ever had, followed by frozen margaritas and lots of appetizers. And somehow I got stuck paying the bill because I was the only one with money. Hmm. Curious how that works, no?
It's now 11:44pm. I have to get up at 3:30am, land in Boston at 7:40am, and am in back-to-back meetings beginning at 8:30 and lasting all day.
Ooh, I'm going to be in rare form tomorrow...
So let's see, what's going on?
Two weeks ago was my big customer event, which - in all seriousness - I'd think I'd rather have my balls torn off than go through again. It was one of those things where everything that could have gone wrong did, from one of the guests of honor checking into the hotel and being told they didn't have a room for him because they overbooked (even though I wound up flagged as a VIP, in an executive suite on the concierge floor as an Elite member - ha!) to stupid stuff like the conference facility's sound system not working at all. If there's one thing I hate, it's trying to get something fixed while people all around me who are trying to "help" call my name repeatedly. I mean, sure, I'm a gigantic bitch and all, but if I'm frantically trying to rewrite a VP's PowerPoint presentation 5 minutes before he's due to go on, I don't need, "Drew, when can I get a look at my revised presentation?" and "Drew, do we have Internet access?" and "Drew, we ran out of coffee" and "Drew, it's too cold in here." People, you all need to get off my dick NOW.
These things make me want to rip my tie off, scream that I quit, and go lie on a beach somewhere sipping cocktails for a week.
Anyway - I survived that, left Baltimore, came back to New York for a day, and then left on Saturday morning at 7:45 on a train to New England for The Officemate's wedding. Several other coworkers and spouses were there as well, including my VP and his wife, who insisted on dancing with me but wouldn't let me bring my drink on the dance floor. (I think I actually called her the Drink Gestapo and told her I couldn't dance without a comforting drink in my hand. I am sooo professional.)
It was a great time and The Officemate looked completely fucking amazing, even though she did corner me on the dance floor at the reception and say, "We need to talk about all the things I didn't get to do before I left," since she's on her honeymoon for 2 weeks. I just laughed and told her she was nuts and that I refused to discuss work with her standing in front of me at her WEDDING in her wedding gown.
So what'd that crazy girl do? Sent me an email on Monday from the business center of her hotel in Costa Rica, outlining all the things I needed to cover while she was out. I love her to death, but she's sick. Her husband actually made her swear that she wouldn't bring her work laptop on her honeymoon with her.
The next day, I rented a car and drove to Boston for the week so I could be in the office to train the new girl on our team. Best part of that? The VP who was at the wedding walking in and saying to me, "By the way, my wife says you have a rock-hard ass. The gym must be paying off."
I flushed a particularly lovely shade of red at that, thank you very much.
More goings-on at work resulted in my boss sending me a message from his Blackberry on Thursday that said, "Are you planning on being in the office next week? If not, can you be?" And that's why my ass is on JetBlue's scheduled 6:30AM flight to Boston tomorrow.
Left Massachusetts on Friday night, drove to RI and spent the night with the parents and the dog, and then took the train back to New York on Saturday afternoon. Went out with Benjie and his new boy on Saturday to a party at the Bryant Park Hotel bar and then hit Merchants for food and drinks. Met a weird stripper girl and her hot Puerto Rican photographer fuckbuddy, who coincidentally lives 3 blocks away from us in Brooklyn. The stripper tried to set me up with some friend - she called him and said, "I have your future husband sitting right here in front of me." Sadly, he couldn't make it over. Because what's cooler than blind dates set up by strippers you met 20 minutes ago?
Sunday was late, late brunch, followed by catching up on "The Tudors" and me drooling over hot, hot Henry Cavill, who's my new boyfriend. I have seen the face of God, and it looked like Henry's slammin' big bubble butt of an ass. That boy is beautiful - no other way to describe him.
Saw Spider-Man 3 after that and liked it. Theater was packed and I wound up squeezed between two groups of people who chowed down on popcorn like it was going to be taken away from them at any second. Tobey Maguire is the fuggiest fug who ever fugged and kind of chubby. Drunkst has weird teeth, but they did a good job of disguising her saggy titties. James Franco is a hottie, and when he started dancing the Twist on the kitchen floor with Kiki and grinned that grin of his at her (you know, where suddenly his eyes crinkle up and his mouth opens wide, and it looks like his face just explodes with happiness), well, let's just say that I didn't even care later on when his face was all scarred. (Yeah, sorry about that spoiler. I suck. Still, go see it.) I'd totally let him stick it in.
Wound up at Miracle Grill after that, where I had the nastiest mojito I've ever had, followed by frozen margaritas and lots of appetizers. And somehow I got stuck paying the bill because I was the only one with money. Hmm. Curious how that works, no?
It's now 11:44pm. I have to get up at 3:30am, land in Boston at 7:40am, and am in back-to-back meetings beginning at 8:30 and lasting all day.
Ooh, I'm going to be in rare form tomorrow...
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