6 posts tagged “white devil”
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.
So today our whole department went to get out OLCC training. OLCC - for those of you not in the liquor know - is the Oregon Liquor Control Commission and they make all kinds of crazy rules that keep Oregon all crazy safe (only 1% of the drunk driving deaths in the whole country happen here), but, you know, some of the rules are also crazy. Like, for example, non-alcoholic beer is classified as a soda and alcohol is considered a food, but it's not a food when you're actually serving it because you have to have actual food (5 items, minimum, and not peanuts) available when you're serving booze. I know. It's weird. I don't make the rules. But I know all the rules because I listened to the guy tell us about them for four and a half hours and then we had to take a test. On a scan-tron. Like in high school. But not high school because you have to be at least 18 to get your servers license.
It was the first time for the whole team to be together since, oh, by the way, we hired a new assistant and her name is Courtney and she's starting in two weeks, but we dragged her ass to the OLCC training because we could. And we all seemed to get along well considering we didn't really talk much except about how, really, the 3rd party liability law really blows for servers. Oh, but we did make fun of the guy who, when asked what countries were in the top 10 alcohol consumption per capita, shouted out "Hawaii!" And I bet he passed the test. For real.
But - if I pass the test, which I'll know in a couple of weeks - I'll be licensed to serve booze for the next five years. So if this whole fundraising thing doesn't work out for me, I can always be a cater-waiter-bartender. Oooh, then I might have dental insurance! Hmmm. Perhaps it is time for a new life plan...
In the meantime, I'm sitting at home, itching to send a million emails because I've been watching event planning shows on the Style network (otherwise known as Event Planner Porn), but our work email is down. Why? Why not? So instead I'm going to go back to watching Kathy Griffin and eating sugar free, fat free chocolate mousse. Sexy.
So my apartment complex has a gym. This was one of the bonuses of moving here - the whole free gym/clubhouse/work out room/pool thing that all slightly overpriced apartments should come with. Or at least what my sense of suburban entitlement tells me these apartments should come with.
I usually work out outside because it gives me something to look at aside from a TV or a blank wall. But about two months ago, I realized my workout wasn't really working for me and I needed to start running. Running on pavement? Hurts. So I moved to the treadmill in my free gym. Yes, there's just one treadmill. The gym is free - my sense of entitlement can only ask for so much.
The first day I ran on the treadmill, I met Gym Guy.
Gym Guy is kind of awesome and kind of creepy. He's a very large, late-30s/early-40s, black, bald guy. He always wears gray sweats head to toe with a purple sweatband around his head. The sweatband is kind of an odd touch for a guy like Gym Guy - a little too hipster, I think - but he's always wearing it.
Aside from the purple headband, the only weird thing about him is that - at most - he works out for five minutes. Total. Some days he spends more time standing by the treadmill talking to me as I huff and puff than he spends working out.
One day he walked in, said hello to me, lifted a set of free weights about seven times, said goodbye to me and walked out. Seven times. One time he rode on the stationary bike for about three minutes. There was one time I don't think he didn't anything at all except drink from the water cooler.
But he's always there, making me feel vaguely uncomfortable and vulnerable all at the same time. There I am, 6:30 in the morning, running like a giant hamster in spandex pants. The gym is far away from the other apartments and no one is in the office at that point in the morning, so I'm constantly thinking of how I would make a girl-under-attack escape or, at worst, how long it would take someone to find me should Gym Guy turn homicidal. And did I mention Gym Guy is huge? I'm not scared of him, per se, but wary. I mean, I know I look hot in my spandex pants and all, and how long can Gym Guy resist?
Then again, that might be too much of a workout for him.
Today, Gym Guy wasn't there. I skipped my run on Saturday (and paid dearly for it today, by the way) and I wonder if maybe Gym Guy noticed I was gone and decided not to come back. He does seem to enjoy the camaraderie afforded to him through the gym.
Or it could just be his sweatband was in the wash and he felt naked without it. Either way, really.
People you don't really want to find you? They find you.
