Emma is leaving on Monday. We've had a nice month; I would have liked to keep her longer, but her life is calling her. I don't know what we're going to do with her last weekend in town; there were plans to see the Grand Canyon, but those got scrapped because there's supposed to be snow there this weekend.
I really make a point of not talking about work here, but I just need to tell you all that my shoes are getting me in trouble again. The management are the only people who wear dress clothes... so there aren't a whole lot of folks running around in high heels.
You know how when someone walks in high heels on a hard surface, it makes noise? Well, there's an outdoor walkway that provides the most direct route from my office to the other half of the company. I guess I'm really the only person who it's very conveinent for. The people who work near that wall can hear me coming before I pass in front of their window...
I frequently wear a pair of black faux snakeskin knee-high boots to work. They have a thick, shortish heel, (I think of them as my casual black work shoes) and it's not like I wear them with skirts or dresses that come above my knee often at all. I suspect that they generate less noise than most of my high heels, but that's not the point.
Anyway, I guess when I walk by and they hear me coming, well, it's made them take to calling me "Bootsy". I think it's cute, but after someone called me that to my face, I was sort of given the impression that it was not supposed to be a nice name. I'm not really concerned one way or the other...
Regardless, I have been wanting a pair of super-cute black boots for some time now -- the ones I have have a thick heel and a square toe -- I want some with a rounded toe (I just can't wear points. It's not going to happen.) and a high spiky heel. I have talked myself out of shopping for them because I didn't think it was entirely practical, but now, now I have a very good reason to get myself a pair of super-cute boots... I mean, they're my thing, I'm Bootsy.
Let's stay girly... I was supposed to get my hair cut today, but then I was late leaving work (leaving early none-the-less, but later than I should have) and so I had to be rescheduled.
My hairdresser was really, really nice about it. I was expecting a short lecture on the topic of Not Cancelling Appointments That Other People Could Have Shown Up For and I Would Have Been Paid Then. Instead, she apologized, saying that she could cut my hair in fifteen minutes, but that I don't want her to rush like that.
I'm completely and hopelessly obsessed with my hair. It took me months to find someone in this city who had really good hair and get a referral. The hairdresser was completely right; a bad hair cut would ruin my whole outlook on life for at least ten days. Plus it would undermine my faith in the whole salon and I'd have to go find someone else with cute hair and it could be another six months before I got the haircut that I need today.
What else do I have to tell everyone about? Oh, okay, so I got sloppy drunk Friday night. Sloppy drunk in a tube top. Around people who don't know me. It was a proud moment in my life...
We went to this bar and I had a bourbon and ginger ale. They brought it in a pint glass. Then I finished that and ordered another, but I got a bourbon and Coke instead. I complained and then drank it anyway once it was made free.
I was tipsy, but I was doing okay. The whole experience was really surreal, and I kept thinking that it was the stuff that was happening that was making me feel more drunk that I should have been... except, I'd had a QUART of mixed drinks.
So, the waitresses were basically naked, and then there was a new person and new people make me nervous and I deal with this by monopolizing the course of the conversation (often by telling long and excessively tangent-ridden and detailed stories that are not in good taste)...
And then this guy walks up to us and starts making conversation. He's having a bad day and then as a group, we encourage him to drink. But he's an alcoholic. AND he's also a stand-up comedian.
He told us jokes, after we'd managed to steer the conversation toward his drinking and drug problems... I think there may have also been a divorce in there. I don't blame him for taking control and stopping the getting-to-know-you thing. For like half an hour, we sat (me in my tube top) and tried to help this guy buck up by getting affirmation from strangers...
So, you can see why I thought this was all a little circumstances making me feel like my brain is not working rather than alcohol making me feel like my brain is not working...
Ultimately, there were glasses of Hawaiian Punch and Gin at Steady's friends' place. And a puppy. Happy puppy that I was enamored of. I ended up sloppy drunk taking a defensive position in an argument about the sex industry. I felt like I think my mom feels when she's been partying with her siblings... And at least twice my boobs fell out, but everyone was good enough to behave as though they hadn't noticed if they had.
I am such a class act.
Apparently, I had just had my first taste of liquor that day, because ultimately, I ended up being sick in their bathroom and then rallying briefly before they started watching a PeTA video and I had to hide my head. Then I passed right out on their couch.
Steady and Emma got me home and I woke up the next morning with an amazing headache, a need to chug an awfully lot of Gatorade and a cat who needed to go to the vet...
The Fine Print: Geez, isn't this long enough? But I've been neglecting looking these up because I'm lazy. Granted Em keeps asking me what all the typing is about, but I'll press on... Let's look up some history...
2004: "I'm developing an attitude problem and someone needs to stop it." All about how miserable my job was making me. It was a quick, fast drop down on that one.
2003: "While loading the car, somewhat accidentally aquire another fifteen pound bag of potatoes. Laugh at the absurdity of thirty pounds of potatoes." Little did I know, those potatoes would be the cornerstone of my diet in February.
