So before the third day of the trip officially began, we had a run in with some of our Birthright compadres in the hotel. We went to bed the night before around 11 (I think) and promptly passed out... only to be woken up by drunken, pot smoking, yarmulke wearing 18 year olds in the hallway. I popped my head out into the hallway and used my deepest Camp Counselor Voice to tell them that I didn't give a shit what they were doing, but that they needed to move it into their rooms. They slurred their way into the rooms, shut the doors and everything was good.
Until it happened again. And again. And again. Apparently, staying in the room is far too difficult, and the party kept leaking into the hallway. Sleep total: Less than 6 hours.
The morning of our third day, I woke up before my roommates to use the shower. The shower was... interesting. It was clean (thank God) (heh), but odd. It was a tub/shower combo, but instead of a shower curtain or a sliding glass door, it had half a glass wall and... that's it. So when you took a shower, water sprayed all over the bathroom. The bathroom that had no fan. So everything fogged up (including the glass counter). It was very awkward. Oh, and I forgot about the teeny, tiny beds! The beds were so, so narrow and teeny, we all felt like giants.
We meandered downstairs (where we encountered the loud 18 year olds and glared at them a lot) for delicious breakfast of french toast, pancakes, grapefruit and other fantastic things. After breakfast, we headed upstairs to meet Our Soldiers. I say it like that -- Our Soldiers -- because that is how we referred to them the whole trip. Joining us that day -- and for the next four days -- were eight Israeli soldiers (three girls and five boys). I can't say how fantastic and valuable it was to have them with us. Whenever I had a crazy offshoot question or didn't understand something or just wanted to know why the water heaters were on the top of the buildings in Tel Aviv, they could tell us.
After we met the soldiers, we were off to the market to pick up food for shabbat that night. Baklava, challah, chocolate, dates, fresh fruit -- it was like the best farmers market ever, with everyone yelling in Hebrew and no room to breathe, much less move more than two steps at a time. Dor, the soldier who was with our mini-group of six, navigated us through and negotiated for us, something that came in very handy as the market was one of the few places on our trip where signs were exclusively in Hebrew (which I can't read, write or speak, thank you very much)
After the market, we hopped on the bus and headed to the Old City. Standing outside of the archway entrance, I was amazed at how old it really was. I know that sounds cliche, but it really was incredible. The wall in front of us had slats in it (to shoot arrows at intruders!), the archway dated back thousands of years and I kept thinking "It's like 10th grade Western Civ! Only not boring!"
We headed through the entrance and into the Jewish quarter. We visited the Cardo and walked around the city, but I felt distracted since I knew our eventual destination was the Wall. The Wall is pretty much the only holy site in Judaism and, to put it mildly, kind of a big deal. It's the last remaining wall of the old temple, a place where battles were won and fought over hundreds of years (if you believe the bible, that is). As we rounded the corner to see it for the first time, it really did take my breath away. It's massive and intimidating. And crowded. The Wall has two areas -- one for men and one for women. You'll notice from the picture that the section for men is larger, has tables and chairs and, I can't confirm this, has air conditioning (I don't think I believe that one). The women's area is crowded and cramped and you have to wait for a spot at the wall.
Sanding at the Wall was really incredible. Some people were crying around me and praying and clutching it, and some were silent and reflective. All I can say is that it felt really calm, right there, just for that second. Behind me, I heard a woman sobbing. I turned around to find an older woman -- in her 80s or 90s -- struggling to stand. I gave her my spot and found ofne of the many plastic chairs that were laid out to sit and write for a bit.
After we left The Wall, it was time to head back to the hotel. It was shabbat at sunset, which in Jerusalem meant that everything was going to shut down. We hopped back on the bus and back to the hotel, where I met up with my aunt and uncle and my two cousins. They all live in Jerusalem (with their many children and grandchildren) and because of the tour's tight schedule (and rules), this was the only time we could get together. They looked great, but I was so disappointed to not get to see everyone. The last time I saw all the kids, I was 13 and now half of them have kids of their own. Sheryl and Ellen brought pictures, but it's just not the same.
We had dinner, eating all of the fabulous treats we bought at the market earlier that day, and then settled in for the night. Again, the rules were cramping our style, as we were now stuck in the hotel and it was barely 8 o'clock. After many negotiations, we were shut down and were pretty much on lock down for the night. As you can imagine, this didn't really go over well with all of us. The bratty 18 year olds were upstairs in the hallway being loud and drunk, and all of us were hyped with Getting To Know Everyone energy.
All of this led to many card games, reopening the bar in the lobby (much to the chagrin of the manager) and some drunken political conversations that I stayed out of (a first!). When we did finally go to bed, it was a repeat of the night before, with the loud kids and all of us old ladies yelling at them. It would get worse the next night...
Next up: Shabbat in the Holy Land, crazy protesters and the foreign theater
Okay, I've been back in Portland for a full month and have been dreading blogging about my trip to Israel. Not because it wasn't fun, but because 1.) it's going to take a lot of time 2.) I'm really bad about finishing these kinds of projects and 3.) it was a lot of fun and work is really work-y lately and, really, I kind of want to go back.
Alas. I am caving to the pressure (thanks guys!) and I'm going to suck it up.
Day 1 and 2: Portland to LA to Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in 30 Hours or Less!
I got up at 3 a.m. on Wednesday to fly to LAX. Joe was still in Minnesota and I had the dog, so it was a little stressful. Westely had eaten his way through his new kennel the night before, so I had to pack him up in his tiny kennel and leave him until Joe got back at 1 p.m. the same day. Westely was already unhappy with me and the tiny kennel didn't help. Mom picked me up bright and early at 5 o'clock and, boy, that was awesome.
The flight to LA was uneventful and we landed early, which I would usually say is great. Except. Except that I had, per the instructions from the agency I was traveling with, scheduled my flight to arrive in LA four hours before our departing flight. So now I was at LAX five hours before our departing flight. By myself. At 8 a.m. So that was awesome.
I wandered around and asked all kinds of lost-looking strangers "Excuse me, but are you going to Israel?" Um, no. None of them were. And not only were none of them going to Israel, but then all of them started looking at me like I was some sort of moron. I gave up and sat outside for an hour and called into work to relay instructions to my intern. Yes, that's right. I called into work. Day 1 of vacation and I was on the road to success!
After an hour, I went back in to the terminal. People from our group were finally starting to arrive and, as such, I started judging who I would like and who I wouldn't like. Oh, I kid, I kid. But I did spot this girl with curly hair and a Berkeley sweatshirt and I thought "Hmm, we could be roommates. I bet she has good hair products." This ended up working out very well in the end.
The El Al ticketing counter opened up exactly four hours before our flight. There were a ton of employees there in suits and a couple with Secret Service-esque earpieces and, of course, the guys with really big guns. Very James Bond. It reminded me of Logan airport after September 11th. Which was oddly comforting, in a really big gun kind of way.
They made all of us stand in line as the interviewed each of us one by one. And not just the usual "Did you pack your bag? Do you have any knives with you?" kind of thing. But rather "What is the name of your rabbi? Where did you go to college? What denomination are you? Are both your parents Jewish?" kind of thing. Yeah, it was a little intense. I made it through quickly with a mention of being Sephardic and going to Brandeis (whoo! Jew cred!), but some were not so lucky...
One of our fellow travelers had a very large box with him. The interviewer looked at him and asked, "What is this?"
"A box," he replied.
"And what is in it?"
"Stuff."
"Did you pack it?"
"No."
Oh, no. That didn't go so well. He, like many others on our trip, got a little sticker put on his bags that indicated that all of his stuff would be confiscated and searched. Including his carry on. About five or six people on our trip got their carry ons taken away (all men -- El Al knows not to mess with Jewish women, apparently) and some didn't get them back until our second or third day in Jerusalem. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al.
After checking in, we had time to wander around the international terminal at LAX. Wow, it's super boring there. And the food blows. We gave up and went to sit at the gate, which was a whole different kind of disaster. I've never been to Calcutta, but I imagine it's similar to the international terminal gates. It was crowded. Really crowded. And kind of smelly. And really disorganized. And there were tiny cars that would beep at you and then run over your foot anyway. And no one spoke English except for us and those that did were talking into intercoms that we couldn't hear. (Yes, this is how I envision Calcutta. Though I also imagine cows there and, thankfully, there were no cows in our terminal. At least, none that I could see.) It was so disorganized that our flight ended up leaving close to two hours late.
Not that we knew that when we got on the plane. Yes, that's right. Two hours sitting on the plane. Oh, wait, but I forgot. First you have to take a bus from the international terminal to a special terminal to get on the plane. And the bus has a police escort. And then the plane has a police escort until it leave the ground. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al, part II.
They shoved most of our trip on the back of the plane -- affectionately dubbed The Back of the Bus -- which was very smart. Having forty twenty-somethings who just met on a plane for a 14 hour flight (and a two hour wait before that) must have made the flight attendants want to bail out somewhere over Italy. But it worked out fairly well for all of us.
The flight itself wasn't bad. There was lots of food -- and most of it good -- and everyone just kind of wandered around and hung out in the kitchen for a lot of the flight, which was great. One of the guys on the trip and I started trying to identify That Guy -- you know, That Guy! -- and made our official predictions for the trip. There were really bad movies and Friends reruns and lots of hot pita bread and nice blankets. The flight attendants were way nicer than most American flight attendants and happily fed you on command (yes!) and refilled your water bottle and gave everyone lots of free booze. Not bad, really, for a really, really long flight.
Eventually, we landed at Ben Gurion. The luggage situation got even better at that point. One of the guys on our trip, Anthony, was waiting with me and Michelle (the curly haired girl with the Berkeley sweatshirt) for his bag. He couldn't find it until, finally, it came off the carousel. Empty. Just a bag. With nothing in it.
And then came the box. A box with all of his stuff in it. That's right. El Al had not only searched his bag, but had unloaded all of his possessions into a box. Somewhere, there are some really great pictures of Anthony and his really sad box. Anthony was not the only one on our trip who met this fate, but he was definitely the most amusing about it. Poor Anthony and his sad box.
We met our guide, exchanged our money, picked up our cell phones and got on our bus that would become our home base for the next 10 days. We were so late, we did some quick rescheduling and went to a park that overlooks Jerusalem. We got there right before sunset and had our first real look at the city. They gave us nasty wine for a kiddush and then we piled back onto the bus to head to our hotel.
At the hotel, we left our luggage in the lobby (safe!) and had dinner first. And that dinner, it was fantastic! The food at our hotel -- plug: The Jerusalem Gold Hotel -- was some of the best on our trip, despite the rooms and beds being very, very tiny (more on that later). As we sat down for dinner, a group of Russians at the other end of the dining hall started singing. Loudly. In Russian. It was like crazy Russian dinner theater just for us.
After dinner, we picked our roommates -- Michelle and I found another curly top, Laura, to bunk with us -- and headed to our aforementioned tiny rooms. It had been 30 + hours since leaving Portland and I was so exhausted. Good night!
Next up: Obnoxious 18 year olds, the Old City, davening in Burberry and much, much more!
So my sister has a blog. Not the sister who lives here and works in the same building as me and makes me take her to the cafeteria where she is amazed by the fashion faux pas, but the other sister. The one who produced The Lucinator, the cutest child to grace the planet since I was little (26 is the year of modesty!).
Anyway. My sister has a blog and you should check it out. It's snarky and bitchy and directs you to good fashion deals and she updates all the time. Way more than I do. What are you waiting for? Check it out!
And another birthday has passed. That's right, last Tuesday I turned 26. Before we discuss the passing of time, etc. etc., can we first say how much a weekday birthday totally blows goats? Because it does. I had to go to work and talk to people and not be drunk. Not being drunk on your birthday just seems so wrong. But alas, I am a grownup now -- allegedly -- so I have to play the part.
Actually, it is probably best that I was not drunk. For, in fact, I drank enough the weekend before during my lovely Nicole's Ghetto Fabulous Rock Your Sweatpants and Be A Hot Ghetto Mess birthday party. What did this awesome party entail? Chipotle, beer, bowling, tequila shots, giant double vodka sodas, more bowling and a whole ton of people, including surprise guests. And it was awesome. It was so awesome that when Joe and I got home, we ran into my Scottish Neighbor (name unknown - long story) and his girlfriend (name known) and invited them over for a couple of glasses bottles of wine and conversation about... something I don't remember. We tried to rope in my Italian neighbor (yes, my apartment building has turned into the UN), but he didn't seem up for it. Alas.
Anyway. So there was this birthday and it was great and very exciting. And now I'm 26. And I got a lot of phone calls and emails from all of my friends (hi friends!) who weren't able to attend said party and I've been super shitty and not returned any of them because I am self absorbed and busy. Mostly busy, but probably also self absorbed. Yes, 26 is the year of honesty.
Aside from my birthday, lots of other things are going on. I worked all weekend, so took Monday and Tuesday off and now I know why so many people have slacker jobs -- not working on weekdays is awesome! The stores are empty and no one pushes you at the shoe rack (tiny Asian grandmother, I'm looking at you!) and the lady at JCrew pays lots of attention to you and tells your boyfriend "she's a keeper!" while you are trying on skinny jeans. Yeah, for real, not working was fantastic. We parked downtown and walked to Chinatown, up to the Pearl and back downtown, hitting most of my favorite stores in between and buying indulgent birthday presents like Buffy comics, giant bulk bags of cashews and the aforementioned skinny jeans. Oh, and we almost stopped to harass Kobe as the Lakers were boarding the bus, but figured that we would probably get tackled if we yelled what we wanted to yell. But man, it was almost worth it.
Alas, today was back to real life, including a 10 hour day pushing paper, drafting articles, interviewing volunteers and all kinds of other shenanigans. And then I logged another hour and half at the gym because 26 is also the year of continuing to fit into the skinny jeans and, of course, traveling to Israel where I must look hot because there will be lots of pictures, so, you know, hotness must abound.
Have I mentioned I'm going to Israel? I am. For 10 days. Which is part of the reason why, as much fun as those hooky days this week were, I won't be taking any more of them for a while -- all vacation time must be saved up for my trip and even then, I have a feeling I am going to run out of the vacation time. I have it calculated out (of course I do) and think I will just make it, but that bars any illness or unforeseen issues. So I'm crossing my fingers there.
Okay, and then I got distracted for the last hour doing committee work, so clearly it's time for me to log off and go to bed. I will leave you with many pictures from my birthday extravaganza. Be jealous.
I am sitting on the couch and everything hurts because, oh, the running. Kramer is asleep in the corner and making tiny dog snoring sounds, which are almost cute enough to make me forget that he puked in the middle of my living room while I was at work. I really need to unload the dishwasher, but that is one of the few chores I really dislike, so I am pretending that I don't have to do it. I'll do it anyway before I got to bed. The Colbert Show rerun has the Bush hot dog joke from last week, which makes me think of the Bush press conference about ribs, which makes me thing of college and Boris'. And how I am kind of sad that on the little snap cup thing we did in the office (though they didn't call a snap cup which, really, such a bad choice), only one person said I was funny and everyone else seemed to be focused on how well I do my job and how I actually do what I say I will and blah blah blah reliablecakes. What does it say about me that I would rather be funny than reliable? Am I in the wrong field?
Also, my spellcheck is now yelling at me because "reliablecakes" isn't a word. Apparently, neither is "spellcheck." How ironic.
I have a dog that needs attention, so a quick update:
The DCCC never called me back. Surprise, surprise. The donation boycott shall continue.
Hillary won Ohio and Texas! I love me some Hillary. Yay!!
Kramer is staying with me (see above note about dog). So far, he slept a lot, we've played fetch, I fed him lots of chicken and he howled the whole time I was in the shower.
Joe is in Seattle for the weekend. There may be camping involved. Poor Joe.
The Container Store is having a tax prep sale or something like that. Of course, this led me to finally using my gift card there to buy storage boxes for my 2005, 2006 and 2007 receipts. Before I start on this project, I need to buy new file folders. But, for real, I am going to have some serious fun soon! Think of all the organizing!
The Bourne Supremacy is on. Mmm. Delicious.
I have been found. Hi Tom!
I worked an ACLU event last night. Like last year, Kristen and I ran registration and talked smack about people and then counted all the money. It was fantastic.
This week at work is looking to be really busy, though I am unclear on how much busier things can get. But somehow, while doing all the other stuff that I have to do, I'm also going to Salem and Medford. The Medford trip is for an hour and a half meeting. It will take all day, because I have to fly there, have a meeting, and then fly back. Dad says Medford has a good steak house. I have a feeling I won't get to visit it on my trip.
I ran on Friday and I still hurt. Probably because of the sprints.But still. Ow.
I will now end with a joke that I heard on NPR and that made Patti laugh and laugh and laugh.
Why don't Episcopalians have orgies?
...
...
...
Too many thank you notes to write afterwards!
So I just got off the phone with a phone-banker from the DCCC. The DCCC, for those of you who don't know, is the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee.
The phone call started out as any other. He went into this long spiel about saving Congress and I tried to interrupt to ask if it was a fundraising call. Usually, when this happens, they say yes, I say I appreciate their efforts but have already given, they thank me and we both hang up and go on with our lives.
That did not happen.
He said yes, it was a fundraising call and just kept talking. I tried to interrupt again, saying that I appreciated what he was doing since I have done the same, but that I had already given locally and would not make a gift today. He then asked why I wouldn't make a gift. I repeated that I had already given. He then asked again why I wouldn't make a gift -- did I not have enough money?
I said, no, I had given all that I was going to give. He then questioned if I had really given everything I had and launched into a long diatribe where he told me that I was what was wrong with this country, that a democratic president wouldn't be able to get anything through without a democratic congress and that if I didn't give, then it would be my fault. I repeatedly tried to interrupt him, asking over and over again, "Can I please speak?" When that didn't work, I asked for a supervisor. He refused and again told me that there was absolutely no way I had given everything I had to give because I wasn't doing as much as him and that he was the one trying to make real change, not me.
And that is where I started getting mad. "Do you know me?" I asked. "Do you know that I have worked for the DPO, the DCCC, that I was a professional fundraiser and activist? Do you know that I am a four/four registered Democratic? Do you know how much money I have and how much I've given? How dare you say that to me." During this time, he was also talking. He kept saying he was going to send something to me so I could make a gift.
"You're wasting your time and money. I am not going to make a gift. Please do not send me anything." He kept talking, saying he was sending me a packet and would call again in three weeks. "Please do not send me anything. Take me off your list." Again, he told me that I was part of the problem with this country. And then he hung up on me.
I called the DCCC and left them a message. I fear that message was an angry one, though I did mention that it wasn't the fault of whoever had to listen to said message, but whoever is training these phone-bankers really needs to get a handle on this shit. And until then, though I remain an active Dem, though I give money whenever I can, though I believe in the party and would rather not vote than vote for a Republican, though I will continue all of the shit I do to help the party, the DCCC won't see a dime from me.
Thank you and have a nice day.
So a couple of minor changes around here. New pattern (look, it's Portland!) and I even uploaded some new pictures. Want to see?
Joe sent me flowers at work for Valentine's day. And they weren't roses! Huzzah! I secretly feel bad for women whose husbands and boyfriends buy them red roses on Valentine's day. So boring! My mother hates roses (dad always gets her tropicals or tulips), but I don't mind them as much as her -- I just think they lack any thought. These, on the other hand, were lovely. I took a couple of those close up shots that I want to blow up and frame. If only I had more than 3 inches of bare wall space. But that is another story.
What did we do for Valentine's day? Why, glad you asked. Every year, Joe and I do the same thing and this year was no different. We played hooky from the world for a couple of days, staying at a hotel on the water, splurging for a big, fancy dinner and wandering all over the city to all the places we never have the time to go to. This included a very long walk along the river before dinner, which resulted in fabulous pictures.
The weather in Portland has been fairly incredible for the last two weeks and our hooky weekend was no exception. It was in the 60s all weekend and we went all over town to random antique stores, delicious brats at Otto's, Mississippi records, and all over the place. We didn't talk about work all weekend and, aside from the one completely insane guy we sat next to at the bar after dinner, it was kind of perfect. Yay good vacation!
The week after the vacation, though, has been slightly more hectic. Things at work have been crazy busy and moments to breathe have been few and far between. Today I had to run out early to get my eyes examined because I'm slowly going blind and I have so much work, I tried to log on when I got home. Of course, that didn't work out so well since my eyes were dialated and everything looked way too bright. Though I did still manage to write a couple of emails before I gave up. I am not a quitter! Oh, but I am going to need glasses. Not all the time, just sometimes. Because I am only sometimes blind. Or so confirmed the eye doctor.
Can we talk about that, by the way? With the really bright lights and that pointy blue glowing thing? What is that? Ugh. God bless them, but gross.
On a less disgusting, non-eyeball-related note, Joe's brother, sister-in-law and tiny nephew came to town and said tiny nephew decided that he liked me and declared this by calling me "That." As in, "Mommy, can I sit with That?" And sit with That he did. I mean, when That gives him all of her croutons because she still isn't eating the white devil, how can you not love That?
And now That is going to bed. Happy weekend!
As you may know, Joe and I work dramatically different schedules. Usually, I am asleep by the time he starts work and, uh, still asleep when he's done. He is usually asleep by the time I start work, though awake by the time I'm done. Of course, once I'm done with the gym, it leaves us about three hours of leeway between when I get home and when I go to bed/he goes to work/both.
The weekends are our respite. He only works every other Saturday and not on Sunday, which gives us Saturday afternoon (because he sleeps until noon after getting home at 4 a.m.) and all day Sunday to hang out, cook, watch TV and generally actually be in the same room, awake, at the same time. We also watch a lot of news and football during those hours. Just in case you were wondering.
Anyway, today was one of the Saturdays that he had off. I had a Bar Mitzvah in the morning, some brief shopping with my mom and sister after that, and then it was going to be Joe and Nicole for the rest of the weekend.
That was not to be.
First, I woke up this morning and there was four inches of snow on the ground. This snow was totally unexpected, both by me and the weather people. And, apparently, the rest of the city. I figured that though it was sticking, it was wet (as opposed to frozen) so I could get out, pick up my sister and proceed to the Bar Mitzvah.
That was before my flat iron broke. With my head only half done. You can imagine just how awesome that looked.
I figured that my venture into the snow to the closest Rite Aid for a new flat iron was a test run for picking up my sister. After driving about five blocks west of my apartment, the snow turned to rain and the driving was much easier. I hoped this was an excellent sign for the rest of the day.
Fast forward 30 minutes to me and my now totally straight hair leaving for my sister's house. Driving east, the snow got worse block by block, but my tiny Sentra was making it okay.
Until I got to the part where the road was closed.
Yes, with no warning, they had closed the road from my house to downtown (a fairly major artery in Portland). The police officer guarding the blockade was directing people up over Skyline, a usually treacherous road, but a really stupid choice in the snow. Also, a road that rises another 200 feet along the way. My Sentra was not going to make that. So I had to turn around and make a 12 mile loop to get to my sister's house, which is maybe a mile or so from where the road was blocked.
As we were approaching the synagogue, the weather was getting worse. Two minutes before arriving, my dad called to say we just shouldn't come. Too late. At least we weren't wearing heels.
Everything there was fine and much more family than I expected came into town, so that was nice. Also, they had a Sephardic cantor there from Spain and he was fabulous.
By the time we left, the snow was mostly slush. Two hours later, after shopping, I arrived home to find most of the snow melted. I started packing an overnight bag for Joe's when two things happened: 1.) the news said that it was supposed to freeze tonight and we were going to see another two inches of snow on top of that and 2.) Joe got called into work because Kevin (his counterpart) is sick.
And that is when our date night and weekend kind of went to shit. Until then, even in the snow, I had high hopes. Alas. Joe is now at work. I am now at home, waiting and watching and hoping that the freeze and snow are minimal and I'll be able to leave my apartment tomorrow. If the weather cooperates, Joe and I might get a good 8 to 10 hours awake in each other's presence tomorrow. If not... we are even more thankful for our unlimited minutes plan on our phones, I guess. I know all of this is fairly minor, but it is bothersome and y'all know how I like to complain about things that are bothersome.
Things that are not bothersome? Losing weight. Losing weight is actually totally awesome. Since January first, I've lost nine pounds. I think I have probably announced this to anyone who has eaten food in my vicinity in the last week and probably to a couple of strangers as well. What can I say? I like to brag. Anyway, the nine pounds is but the beginning, but has been remarkably painless once I got through the sugar, caffeine and white-devil withdrawl. For real, that sugar headache the first week was nasty.
Of course, right now I'm watching Ace of Cakes, so it's not like I don't still love my white devil. It's just that I don't want to eat it until my ass can get back into those skinny jeans. Aww, Harry Potter loves his Hogwarts cake. So cute! Ooh, Harry Potter is holding a glass of wine. Boozer.
You see? This is what happens when date night is unexpectedly canceled. Instead of being at Joe's house, cooking a nice dinner, watching movies and enjoying a fire, I am here, eating leftovers and watching Ace of Cakes. Which... isn't really that different, I guess, except that no one is offering to rub my feet. And that is a real shame.
I got up just in time this morning to catch the classic "Donna Martin Graduates" episode of 90210. I can't tell you how exciting this is. Poor virginal Donna gets caught drunk at prom (She didn't eat all day so she could fit in her dress! It was just two glasses of champagne! David's dad gave it to them!) and the evil school board tries to expel her because, conveniently, they had just announced a rule about drunk kids not getting to graduate. And then the class of 1993 - who cared not about the presidential election the previous year - are so mobilized, that they march (out of finals!) to the school board and demand that, well, Donna Martin graduates. And, of course, she does. Awesome.
Anyway. It's 2008. Things have been pretty similar to 2007 so far. Weather sucks, lots of work, and so on and so forth. So far, the biggest news is that I am off The White Devil. If you don't know about TWD, it encompasses: flour, sugar, rice, potatoes, bread, etc. It also includes things like fruit and carrots and corn and ice cream and all that other stuff. It sounds sad, but it's actually kind of awesome - I have tons of energy, I feel better, my hair is crazy shiny and, you know, I've lost some weight. But I've also been working out at the office gym a lot, which is great, but also awkward; watching senior executives work out in tiny shorts or bizarre weight belts or whatever other oddity walks through the door is really weird. But it does give me a lot of time to catch up on my magazine reading. That's exciting.
Also exciting is that we have Wesley this week. In fact, he's currently laying on my foot, having dog dreams and twitching as he chases dream birds and wildcats. The other night, Joe took him out around 3 a.m. and they encountered a family of raccoons and let's just say that thanks to some quick thinking, the raccoons had a much better fate than the bird Wesley caught for us during one of our Sunday barbeques. Wesley has taken to me even more than usual this visit and tried to attack Joe the last two nights when he came home, which was both awesome and terrifying. Awesome because he usually doesn't really like women and loves me so much, terrifying because Wesley has killed wildcats the size of Joe and, really, I don't want blood stains on my carpet. So far, we're all still alive, though, so that's good.
Not much else going on around here. Happy 2008, y'all.
