But aren't they all?
I have, through the mastery that is iTunes, discovered yet again that the songs JOEY and TOMORROW, WENDY should be on everyone's top 10 list.
I've been playing them like I played them when I was a teenager, which is to say how I play everything that strikes one of my personal chords.
Overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover.
I sang these two songs my entire 25 minute drive into work this morning. By the time I got to my office I could barely speak. It felt great.
Yesterday when I got to my exit off the freeway, I looked up, because I saw hundreds of birds flying. There were HUNDREDS of black birds flying from a line of trees west towards the 5 freeway.
It reminded me of this one time in Ohio when I was so desperate, I was so lost, and I would drive home these lonely country roads, home to a house I wasn't comfortable in (my parents') driving home from a job I despised (entering medical claims for an insurance broker) and I saw these birds that would fly in circles and circles and circles over the cornfields. They were crows, so it was murderous.
And I wanted away so badly.
I wanted away so badly that I was crazy with it.
One time, after a particularly "not anything in particular" day, I saw the birds and had to pull over. I was about 5 minutes from my parents' house, but I couldn't go on.
I pulled over onto the dirt shoulder of a country road, next to a pig farm that stank, and I cried until my heart broke, put itself back together, broke again, and then healed.
About three months later, I packed up everything that I couldn't live without, it fit comfortably into a Ford Escort, and I drove West.
I have never lived there again.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Things You Can Count On
1. In a hotel, my husband will dry himself with the shower mat.
Honey, do you KNOW what that tiny, folded, thick towel by the bathtub is?
2. At a wedding, I will drink too much.
3. A dress that was tight in May, with unrestricted eating, will probably be uncomfortably and unflatteringly tight when you bust it out on the day of and at the place of a wedding ceremony in September.
These are three things you can count on.
Oh Britney....
Well by now you have all seen IT.
While better than you or I could possibly hope to do, she bombed. BOMBED.
And I have to comment. I HAVE TO!
While I actually LIKE the song, and for that I'm twisting in an hurricane of shame, she is so lackluster and unprepared, I'm speechless.
If you are going to bust your post-baby body out in a sexy outfit, you'd best have a slamming body, and while she looks great for having two kids (and actually better than I do after, um, NONE) she is not slamming. Except those margaritas, apparently chased down with a healthy handful of fire cheetos and Taco Bell.
This was totally her chance to go up there and shut everyone's mouths. You'd have thought she would be practicing her ass off, yet by all gossip accounts, she was partying until dawn every night leading up to the event. You just have to watch the other performances to see how other artist, seeking to either establish themselves or further their star-wattage, took the opportunity to create something that people would GASP at.
Remember when Michael Jackson took the stage at the Motown 25th Anniversary Show?
I watched that with my father and both of us, BOTH OF US, were speechless. Breathless during, and absolutely stunned afterwards.
We sat silent a moment, and then my dad said, "My God, what a TALENT!"
This was back when an artist's affectations were forgiven, absolutely, for talent. And MJ flowed along that vein until it was bled dry, frankly.
But while Britney Spears was a major success for the teen-crowd, she never truly translated to the world at large, and her growing pains were, quite honestly, excruciating to watch. She married stupidly, got pregnant stupidly, and then proceeded to destroy her reputation and the solid fan base she'd built up over her brief, but phenomenal, rise.
You cannot move into the adult market by acting like an asshole adult. And yet that's what she did. She broke out of her child-tart persona into a horrifying, ADULT WHORE, new image, replete with idiotic behaviors and questionable parenting choices.
And while I will admit that I breathlessly waited to see how bad she would be, I was not at all prepared for the sympathy I felt on Monday while reading the excoriating reviews. She's a young, dumb girl who grew up quickly and collapsed under a wave of her own ill-choices. She's a young mother who is now divorced, and cannot imagine that her husband married her for herself. She's estranged from her family and brutally abused in the press. I feel bad for her.
But enough about her.
Let's focus on other people, who did this star thing right: THIS lady was at the zenith of her career for this 1990 VMA performance, and she pulled out all the stops.
That is what a STAR is, ladies and gentleman.
Monday, September 10, 2007
NYC with CLP
I started using the Nicorette patch again last week, WELCOME DREAMING, WELCOME WEIRDNESS!
Goodbye morning lung pain and so much wheezing.
The first day I used one I came home early and fell asleep on the couch.
I immediately drifted into a vivid dream.
CLP and I met up in New York. We were both very dressed up, I was wearing the torturous shoes from my NYSE day, yet they didn't hurt me. Which convinced me I was dreaming. We met up in a hotel and hung around the lobby, which looked suspiciously like the Riu Caribe lobby, but more upscale and no palm trees.
We drank several margaritas and then ventured out into the city for some food. I was craving a sundae, one which was also very suspicious, it looked just absolutely exactly like this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dooce/295333358/ (pardon me, but I'm in Safari and so cannot hyperlink. Damn Safari!)
Along our walk, CLP gradually changed out of her dress up clothes, I would look over and she was dressed up fully, then look away and when I looked back, the blouse was gone, replaced with a hoodie (which I don't think she ever wears) and then looked again and she is in cargo shorts (again, not sure she has ever worn these in my presence) and then finally I looked back and she was in Birkenstocks and right then I was sure again that this was a dream, because I believe she'd rather I drive my thumbs into her eyelids than wear Birks, but maybe the years have changed her. Maybe I always, all along wanted CLP to be a hippy. Regardless, I remember being pissed in the dream, because I hadn't brought any other outfit, and now we didn't match.
We stopped at the place that had the sundaes as pictured above and it was 7 minutes until 10pm. They told us they could seat us, but that they were out of mostly everything, except Thanksgiving dinner. We said, ummmm, really? And the waitress stomped off in a huff. We sat there debating whether or not to just go, and I pleaded with her to let me get my sundae and then we could leave. The waitress returned with a plate of charred hamburgers. "And these are for you," she chirped gaily.
CLP and I looked at each other and in unison got angry. We demanded just our sundae and we would leave. They brought out a dish full of melting ice-cream and Cool-Whip. We took one look and walked away.
Out on the street, we started worrying whether it was too late to eat anywhere. We stopped and talked to the ticketseller in a movie theatre, behind the glass fishbowl, you know? And he assured us it was NYC and we could eat until whenever we damn well pleased. We kept walking and came upon a huge, brightly lit casino, which also advertised mortgage rates. I remember pondering this heavily as I stood and stared at the busy, open air (because of course!) casino. I remember thinking that getting your mortgage at a casino was probably a bad idea, but I was curious how good (or bad) the rates would be. We kept walking and came upon several small shoe stores, all open air, and all with circular displays of shoes.
We split up in the shoe store and I heard CLP exclaiming about all the cute shoes she was trying on. Even in my dream I scoffed, because I will never forget being stoned out of my mind in Amsterdam many years ago while CLP mourned her Fred Flintstone feet in all the cute Dutch shoe stores. And that was after she got pissed because they won't serve mustard with a ham sandwich and the idea of mayonnaise on ham grossed us both out tremendously. I put on a heavily strapped leather shoe which had a lower heel and then limped around with two different shoes trying to see if it would hurt my feet. I picked up one bootie type shoe and the leather flapped around, broken in places. I looked less closely and realized it was a skinned pig head and revoltedly put it back.
(I have explained before that I have a wickedly perverse subconscious, and now you belive me).
At this point the dream ended. We never got food, and we never went anywhere in particular. And I thought about this dream the whole next day, trying to eke some sense out of it. And for a while I thought that it meant something about my friendship with CLP, and how absolutely everything we do is the most fun I've had, even when we do nothing. Even when we sat in her apartment in Cincinnati and played gin rummy and smoked, and used her cool ashtray that had a button that dropped all the ashes into the bottom of the container. Even when we drove around Toledo as teenagers, listening to A Daisy Chain 4 Satan and Skinny Puppy. Even when we ordered delivery food from the one place that delivered in Toledo after 3:00am. Even when we watched the Oscars from a pubic haired bed in an unclean hostel in Amsterdam. Even all those times, I've always had the best time of my life with this girl.
I know what the dream meant.
It means I miss you, Potterchick.
It means I miss you really a lot.
Goodbye morning lung pain and so much wheezing.
The first day I used one I came home early and fell asleep on the couch.
I immediately drifted into a vivid dream.
CLP and I met up in New York. We were both very dressed up, I was wearing the torturous shoes from my NYSE day, yet they didn't hurt me. Which convinced me I was dreaming. We met up in a hotel and hung around the lobby, which looked suspiciously like the Riu Caribe lobby, but more upscale and no palm trees.
We drank several margaritas and then ventured out into the city for some food. I was craving a sundae, one which was also very suspicious, it looked just absolutely exactly like this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dooce/295333358/ (pardon me, but I'm in Safari and so cannot hyperlink. Damn Safari!)
Along our walk, CLP gradually changed out of her dress up clothes, I would look over and she was dressed up fully, then look away and when I looked back, the blouse was gone, replaced with a hoodie (which I don't think she ever wears) and then looked again and she is in cargo shorts (again, not sure she has ever worn these in my presence) and then finally I looked back and she was in Birkenstocks and right then I was sure again that this was a dream, because I believe she'd rather I drive my thumbs into her eyelids than wear Birks, but maybe the years have changed her. Maybe I always, all along wanted CLP to be a hippy. Regardless, I remember being pissed in the dream, because I hadn't brought any other outfit, and now we didn't match.
We stopped at the place that had the sundaes as pictured above and it was 7 minutes until 10pm. They told us they could seat us, but that they were out of mostly everything, except Thanksgiving dinner. We said, ummmm, really? And the waitress stomped off in a huff. We sat there debating whether or not to just go, and I pleaded with her to let me get my sundae and then we could leave. The waitress returned with a plate of charred hamburgers. "And these are for you," she chirped gaily.
CLP and I looked at each other and in unison got angry. We demanded just our sundae and we would leave. They brought out a dish full of melting ice-cream and Cool-Whip. We took one look and walked away.
Out on the street, we started worrying whether it was too late to eat anywhere. We stopped and talked to the ticketseller in a movie theatre, behind the glass fishbowl, you know? And he assured us it was NYC and we could eat until whenever we damn well pleased. We kept walking and came upon a huge, brightly lit casino, which also advertised mortgage rates. I remember pondering this heavily as I stood and stared at the busy, open air (because of course!) casino. I remember thinking that getting your mortgage at a casino was probably a bad idea, but I was curious how good (or bad) the rates would be. We kept walking and came upon several small shoe stores, all open air, and all with circular displays of shoes.
We split up in the shoe store and I heard CLP exclaiming about all the cute shoes she was trying on. Even in my dream I scoffed, because I will never forget being stoned out of my mind in Amsterdam many years ago while CLP mourned her Fred Flintstone feet in all the cute Dutch shoe stores. And that was after she got pissed because they won't serve mustard with a ham sandwich and the idea of mayonnaise on ham grossed us both out tremendously. I put on a heavily strapped leather shoe which had a lower heel and then limped around with two different shoes trying to see if it would hurt my feet. I picked up one bootie type shoe and the leather flapped around, broken in places. I looked less closely and realized it was a skinned pig head and revoltedly put it back.
(I have explained before that I have a wickedly perverse subconscious, and now you belive me).
At this point the dream ended. We never got food, and we never went anywhere in particular. And I thought about this dream the whole next day, trying to eke some sense out of it. And for a while I thought that it meant something about my friendship with CLP, and how absolutely everything we do is the most fun I've had, even when we do nothing. Even when we sat in her apartment in Cincinnati and played gin rummy and smoked, and used her cool ashtray that had a button that dropped all the ashes into the bottom of the container. Even when we drove around Toledo as teenagers, listening to A Daisy Chain 4 Satan and Skinny Puppy. Even when we ordered delivery food from the one place that delivered in Toledo after 3:00am. Even when we watched the Oscars from a pubic haired bed in an unclean hostel in Amsterdam. Even all those times, I've always had the best time of my life with this girl.
I know what the dream meant.
It means I miss you, Potterchick.
It means I miss you really a lot.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Team Day
Tomorrow is my Team Day.
I'm going Salmon FISHING on a boat.
I have to be at the pier (40 min away) at 5:30am.
Nothing could make me a team player more than getting up at 4:15am.
Let's hope it rocks a bit, I hear we have some squeamish people.
Salmon Fishing.
FISHING!
On a boat - roughly handled and probably minimally cleaned.
On an EARLY BIRD BOAT.
Early + Salome = NOT A TEAM-SPIRIT.
Early + Salome = usually a pretty raging, angry, chainsmoking and fire-eyelid Salome.
Especially because Salome likes to drink margaritas and smoke cigarettes until the wee hours, then top that off with sparkling water and an hour of book.
Salome is in trouble, ladies and gentlemen.
I'm going Salmon FISHING on a boat.
I have to be at the pier (40 min away) at 5:30am.
Nothing could make me a team player more than getting up at 4:15am.
Let's hope it rocks a bit, I hear we have some squeamish people.
Salmon Fishing.
FISHING!
On a boat - roughly handled and probably minimally cleaned.
On an EARLY BIRD BOAT.
Early + Salome = NOT A TEAM-SPIRIT.
Early + Salome = usually a pretty raging, angry, chainsmoking and fire-eyelid Salome.
Especially because Salome likes to drink margaritas and smoke cigarettes until the wee hours, then top that off with sparkling water and an hour of book.
Salome is in trouble, ladies and gentlemen.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
In Other, Non Crushed News
A retrospective of our Holiday Weekend:
1. Watched three movies: The Cave, Fracture and The Lookout
The Cave was actually pretty awesome.
Fracture SUUUUUUUUUCKED. Sucked! Ryan Gosling went to the same teacher that taught Brad Pitt all the tics and twists he uses instead of acting his way through the "Oceans" series. Unwatchable. Bad plot, unbelieveably unbelievable subplots. Yawn.
The Lookout was FAAAAAAAANTASTIC. Run out to your video store this weekend and get it. Stars that kid from 30 Rock and he is a marvel.
2. We went to an awesome party with our awesome friends. Friends, be ye ever so awesome.
3. The Pope hosed down the entire house because the spiders had decided it was theirs. They were wrong. But one thing that always happens when you hose the spiders down? THE BIGGER SPIDERS come out. Thank you, Mr. Horrifying, for the case of heebies I went to bed with. I almost had to call my husband to let me back into the house after my nightly (300th) smoke, because you were too close to the door for my comfort.
4. Both the Pope and I read a book: Maximum Ride by James Patterson. He liked it for its cheap and easy thrills, and how it kept his interest the entire time. I read it (great premise - flying bird people! Sweet!) but I was annoyed by the familiarity of the tone and the childish asides. The damn thing ended abruptly plugging its already-out sequel. It is nice when you read a book in a series and the other ones are out by the time you have finished. It is especially easy to do this when you're reading your way through a plastic bag of paperbacks that a friend of yours dropped off for you at work. I looked online for the sequel and discovered......
Dum Dum Da Dum!
IT IS A KIDS SERIES!!!!!!!!!
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
AhA! Ha! HA!
I'm currently contemplating whether or not I care, and whether or not I'm going to bust my ass over to the 1/2 price book shop on Wednesday and buy everything else that's out. Not that it is great writing, or anything, sniff, but the premise (like I said) is pretty cool and it was an enjoyable read. But I'll be even if I went to the bookstore, they probably won't have any of the other books in the series. I'll bet I'd have to buy them off of Amazon.
Those tweens are pretty miserly with their books.
In other news, I'm watching episodes of that show Flipping Out on Bravo. Guy does good work, but what an asshole. I don't know why those people work for him.
1. Watched three movies: The Cave, Fracture and The Lookout
The Cave was actually pretty awesome.
Fracture SUUUUUUUUUCKED. Sucked! Ryan Gosling went to the same teacher that taught Brad Pitt all the tics and twists he uses instead of acting his way through the "Oceans" series. Unwatchable. Bad plot, unbelieveably unbelievable subplots. Yawn.
The Lookout was FAAAAAAAANTASTIC. Run out to your video store this weekend and get it. Stars that kid from 30 Rock and he is a marvel.
2. We went to an awesome party with our awesome friends. Friends, be ye ever so awesome.
3. The Pope hosed down the entire house because the spiders had decided it was theirs. They were wrong. But one thing that always happens when you hose the spiders down? THE BIGGER SPIDERS come out. Thank you, Mr. Horrifying, for the case of heebies I went to bed with. I almost had to call my husband to let me back into the house after my nightly (300th) smoke, because you were too close to the door for my comfort.
4. Both the Pope and I read a book: Maximum Ride by James Patterson. He liked it for its cheap and easy thrills, and how it kept his interest the entire time. I read it (great premise - flying bird people! Sweet!) but I was annoyed by the familiarity of the tone and the childish asides. The damn thing ended abruptly plugging its already-out sequel. It is nice when you read a book in a series and the other ones are out by the time you have finished. It is especially easy to do this when you're reading your way through a plastic bag of paperbacks that a friend of yours dropped off for you at work. I looked online for the sequel and discovered......
Dum Dum Da Dum!
IT IS A KIDS SERIES!!!!!!!!!
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
AhA! Ha! HA!
I'm currently contemplating whether or not I care, and whether or not I'm going to bust my ass over to the 1/2 price book shop on Wednesday and buy everything else that's out. Not that it is great writing, or anything, sniff, but the premise (like I said) is pretty cool and it was an enjoyable read. But I'll be even if I went to the bookstore, they probably won't have any of the other books in the series. I'll bet I'd have to buy them off of Amazon.
Those tweens are pretty miserly with their books.
In other news, I'm watching episodes of that show Flipping Out on Bravo. Guy does good work, but what an asshole. I don't know why those people work for him.
Hope Springs Eternally Crushing
A lady posted an ad on Craigslist Lost and Found on Monday stating that she has found a colony of stray cats in South Seattle. Three of the cats look feral, but one cat, a large orange and white tabby, looked like a lost pet. She said this cat would come close to people, but be started away by any loud noise.
I emailed her immediately and sent a picture of Finny. She called while I was out and told JP where to find the cat colony, complete with makeshift shelter and food area.
The area is about 4 miles N of where we leave. Stretching the bounds of possibility, but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.
We went there last night and only saw two of the four cats she's seen there, and neither was the orange and white cat.
Tonight we went back, a little later, a little more towards dusk. As we approached, the Pope said, look there...
I looked, and behind a fenced area sat a cat that was almost identical to Finny. ALMOST. And no matter how long I stared, or hoped, or wished, it wasn't Finny. There was an orange spot on this cat's nose.
"Orange Spot?" I asked the Pope, "Or an injury?? Maybe it is blood, and it will wipe right off and underneath that cat will be Finny."
Because it is possible that Finny shrank a couple of inches, and grew fatter, and that his face shape changed, or that the white markings on his face have retreated below his eye level.
How can it be that there are two cats that look so much alike and yet THIS one, THIS FOUND ONE, is NOT my little man?
BECAUSE WHY IS IT MY WORLD THAT HAS TO BE BROKEN, THAT CANNOT BE FIXED?
It wasn't Finny. And my heart, which had swelled up so large it almost broke open my ribs, deflated again.
He is still out there. And he is either lost, dead, taken or (and maybe in all cases) never coming home.
And the world just wants me crushed.
We left a bunch of food for the cats, because even in my broken and banged up world, all cats have someone who loves them.
I emailed her immediately and sent a picture of Finny. She called while I was out and told JP where to find the cat colony, complete with makeshift shelter and food area.
The area is about 4 miles N of where we leave. Stretching the bounds of possibility, but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.
We went there last night and only saw two of the four cats she's seen there, and neither was the orange and white cat.
Tonight we went back, a little later, a little more towards dusk. As we approached, the Pope said, look there...
I looked, and behind a fenced area sat a cat that was almost identical to Finny. ALMOST. And no matter how long I stared, or hoped, or wished, it wasn't Finny. There was an orange spot on this cat's nose.
"Orange Spot?" I asked the Pope, "Or an injury?? Maybe it is blood, and it will wipe right off and underneath that cat will be Finny."
Because it is possible that Finny shrank a couple of inches, and grew fatter, and that his face shape changed, or that the white markings on his face have retreated below his eye level.
How can it be that there are two cats that look so much alike and yet THIS one, THIS FOUND ONE, is NOT my little man?
BECAUSE WHY IS IT MY WORLD THAT HAS TO BE BROKEN, THAT CANNOT BE FIXED?
It wasn't Finny. And my heart, which had swelled up so large it almost broke open my ribs, deflated again.
He is still out there. And he is either lost, dead, taken or (and maybe in all cases) never coming home.
And the world just wants me crushed.
We left a bunch of food for the cats, because even in my broken and banged up world, all cats have someone who loves them.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Carl Jung, I Need Your Help
I've been dreaming of Finny for the last few weeks.
For the last two or three weeks, every other day I would dream that Finny came home. I would dream him in vivid orange, and he would walk through the cat door and say Hi, like he used to.
Or I would dream that he would be in our house when we got home from Cancun (at least three times while on vacation).
Last night (I've just woken up) I dreamed that he came home while I was in the house, getting ready for bed.
He was filthy, thin and skittish. It didn't matter, I curled up next to him on the bed and kissed and hugged him until he fell asleep, exhausted.
And then things got weird. When I woke up (in the dream) I had to go to a hotel for meetings about Scotland. I went to the meetings, which were all about getting people together in a room and then the meeting would abruptly end. I was ALWAYS smoking a cigarette in the dream, and always put it out under the table as soon as my boss appeared, because he HATES smokers.
Somewhere in the middle of this I went to the vet, to make sure Finny was okay, he'd had some stomach seizures in the night, and I wanted to help him be well.
I had Finny in a carrier and we were in line. I explained to the vet that this was urgent, that he'd been missing for three months, and needed to be seen NOW, because anything he had he'd had for months, and we needed to help him. HELP HIM, RIGHT NOW, I shouted, and I was crying in the dream.
They couldn't see him at that moment, but they let me put him into a waiting room. But the waiting room had an opening in the bottom of the door, and Finny kept running out. I didn't want to traumatize him (because maybe he'd decided to leave me for good this time) and so I took him back home in the cat carrier. I did notice that sometime during the night he'd cleaned himself and was no longer filthy with mud.
Then I went back to the vets later that night, but forgot to bring Finny in his carrier.
BY THE WAY - the entire time in real life, my husband is snoring. I kept waking up to yell at him to turn over, and then quickly went back to sleep so I wouldn't miss anything. Finally, at 8:00am this morning, I got up and stomped over to the guest bed so I could dream in peace. As I type this, he is still snoring, he has no shame.
So I'm back at the vets and I forgot to bring Finny! I'm devastated, and all the vets are sitting around a board room table, waiting to examine Finny. It is like a convention of Vets, all the best ones in one place, and I've forgotten Finny!
I make an appointment for the next morning and go back to my ridiculous series of meetings in the hotels.
The next day I get Finny from home and he is now pure white. Instead of bright orange with a white face, chest and paws, he is solid white.
As I'm taking him to the vet, and as I'm at the vets, his orange begins to appear on his shoulders, back and head.
I wake up before the vets tell me what is going on, but the whole time, I'm looking at this white cat, and thinking, this isn't Finny, but then I look in his eyes, and he nuzzles up to me, and I know it really is.
I wish that these dreams meant my little guy was coming home soon. I still really miss him and think about him probably too much. I wish that you could just wish for things and they would happen.
Not for the first time in my life, I wish I could go back to a specific place in time, and do something differently, like shut the cat door on that Monday, May 14th and not let them out that day.
For the last two or three weeks, every other day I would dream that Finny came home. I would dream him in vivid orange, and he would walk through the cat door and say Hi, like he used to.
Or I would dream that he would be in our house when we got home from Cancun (at least three times while on vacation).
Last night (I've just woken up) I dreamed that he came home while I was in the house, getting ready for bed.
He was filthy, thin and skittish. It didn't matter, I curled up next to him on the bed and kissed and hugged him until he fell asleep, exhausted.
And then things got weird. When I woke up (in the dream) I had to go to a hotel for meetings about Scotland. I went to the meetings, which were all about getting people together in a room and then the meeting would abruptly end. I was ALWAYS smoking a cigarette in the dream, and always put it out under the table as soon as my boss appeared, because he HATES smokers.
Somewhere in the middle of this I went to the vet, to make sure Finny was okay, he'd had some stomach seizures in the night, and I wanted to help him be well.
I had Finny in a carrier and we were in line. I explained to the vet that this was urgent, that he'd been missing for three months, and needed to be seen NOW, because anything he had he'd had for months, and we needed to help him. HELP HIM, RIGHT NOW, I shouted, and I was crying in the dream.
They couldn't see him at that moment, but they let me put him into a waiting room. But the waiting room had an opening in the bottom of the door, and Finny kept running out. I didn't want to traumatize him (because maybe he'd decided to leave me for good this time) and so I took him back home in the cat carrier. I did notice that sometime during the night he'd cleaned himself and was no longer filthy with mud.
Then I went back to the vets later that night, but forgot to bring Finny in his carrier.
BY THE WAY - the entire time in real life, my husband is snoring. I kept waking up to yell at him to turn over, and then quickly went back to sleep so I wouldn't miss anything. Finally, at 8:00am this morning, I got up and stomped over to the guest bed so I could dream in peace. As I type this, he is still snoring, he has no shame.
So I'm back at the vets and I forgot to bring Finny! I'm devastated, and all the vets are sitting around a board room table, waiting to examine Finny. It is like a convention of Vets, all the best ones in one place, and I've forgotten Finny!
I make an appointment for the next morning and go back to my ridiculous series of meetings in the hotels.
The next day I get Finny from home and he is now pure white. Instead of bright orange with a white face, chest and paws, he is solid white.
As I'm taking him to the vet, and as I'm at the vets, his orange begins to appear on his shoulders, back and head.
I wake up before the vets tell me what is going on, but the whole time, I'm looking at this white cat, and thinking, this isn't Finny, but then I look in his eyes, and he nuzzles up to me, and I know it really is.
I wish that these dreams meant my little guy was coming home soon. I still really miss him and think about him probably too much. I wish that you could just wish for things and they would happen.
Not for the first time in my life, I wish I could go back to a specific place in time, and do something differently, like shut the cat door on that Monday, May 14th and not let them out that day.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Hello There!
It's been WORLDS since I last sat down and updated this. I've got letters upon letters (and some of them are sorely needed).
I did some traveling. It is clear that my people need letters from me.
It is also clear that the world is full of people that are not my people. My people would never behave in such ways.
Let's begin....
Dear Ladies from England Wearing Size 34 Bikinis,
There is absolutely no call for this type of horror. On behalf of me, and the tender stomachs of those I traveled with, please put yourself away. The glare alone off the pool from your thighs is giving me sunstroke. I have the sense to at least cover up in a one piece, you should be so sensible. I appreciate and am somewhat jealous of your general joi de vivre, however, I appreciate and intend to keep using my retinas.
Get Thee a Coverup,
Salome
We went to a resort in Cancun, Mexico. YES! Cancun! Did you watch the news about Hurricane Dean? WE DID. We were barricaded in our room for 12 hours in anticipation of Dean, which turned out to be nothing, and the hotel stopped serving alcohol for approximately 31 hours. Yes, I was counting. Yes, Salome fans, I was totally pissed.
OUTRAGED, in fact.
Dear Mexican Government:
Kind Senors and Senoras. Por Favor. I am but a tourist in your majestic land. I am here for the beaches, the sun and the blue skies. I have paid my American dollars towards your tourist industry, and let's all agree, shall we? That is all you have going for you at the moment. You need me, and I need you, a place to spend my hard-earned American dollars and drink myself silly. Right? We're all friends, my friend. Mis Amigos. I understand that for a large majority of any country's population, the thought of unrestricted alcohol in the face of a natural disaster would make a government uncomfortable. But my American ancestors were Irish, sirs, and I think we both know what that means. If you want me to be of any assistance in the face of a natural disaster, you'd better have a drink waiting. Prior to asking me to do anything, and immediately upon my doing said requested thing. For you to take alcohol away from me for over 24 hours (31! Treinta y uno! Dios Mio!) was cruel and unusual punishment in the extreme.
I will Not Hurricane in your Province Again,
Salome
The Resort was gorgeous, the company was superb, and relaxation was had by all. When I say that the company was superb, I mean that the company was SUPERB. I've talked about Lakshmi and DB, and we had their awesome daughter with us, too. Lakshmi and I are old soul friends. There is nothing we can't encounter together and not have fun. She was even cool when I was sneaking tequila shots when the bar was closed (Because please, everyone, I'm Irish! Did you not think I would find alcohol when none was offered? Pshaw!)
I'll tell you what: If you ever find yourself at a resort with a Category 5 Hurricane bearing down on you? You'd better hope that you are with DB and Laskshmi. They are quite simply two of the most fun people I've ever encountered, and I consider myself insanely lucky to have made their acquaintance. I'll write more about them later, but have I told you about the flight home yet?
Dear Woman with the Screaming Child for the 5 hour flight from Charlotte, NC to Seattle, WA:
Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking GOD! Your child SUCKS! You know it, and you can be damn sure that the 100+ people on this godforsaken flight know it, too. But I have a few tips for you, should you be interested, and if you don't want to get the snot beat out of you in the airport parking lot (am I right 23A? 21C? You're with me, right? Damn Straight!) you will sit BETWEEN your two children on the flight. In fact, here's a short list of things to remember next time you fly with that unbelievable fucking hellion:
1. If she wants something, goddamn GIVE IT TO HER.
2. If she doesn't want something, GODDAMNIT TAKE IT AWAY!
3. TYLENOL
4. VALIUM
5. LOLLIPOPS
6. Anyfuckingthing to get her to stop screaming for the 5 hours would have been appreciated while you sat on your ass and read your US Magazine. In fact, I would have reenacted the entire magazine for you with SOUND EFFECTS had you just had the sense to set it down and FIND OUT WHAT THE FUCKING PROBLEM WAS!
Glaring at You from 23B,
Salome
So I don't know.....I really needed this vacation. I had gotten to the point at work where any request for me to do my job, the thing that they pay me to come in and do every day was just such a CHORE, you know? When everything that you need to do in your life to have a house, and a marriage, and two cats, and everything had just gotten to the point where I was so tired, and so fed up. And so done. I was just done with everybody asking so many things from me.
What I needed was to lie in the sun with cool chlorinated water very close by, for the dunking and dipping as necessary. I needed really strong frozen margaritas and people that make me laugh heartily. And I had that, for 6 out of the 7 days that we were in Cancun. And for that one day, the only component I didn't have was the frozen margaritas.
And on the first day I was back, it was my 33rd birthday, and the Pope's 36th birthday, the same day, as most of you know.....I had a great, relaxed, glad to be back kind of day. But I missed Lakshmi. I missed that morning greeting with her. I missed the glances, the inside jokes, the things that made us laugh on the trip, known to just the two of us. I missed DB's endless good nature. He never got annoyed or irritated. I missed the heat. (Yes, traveling buddies, I was freezing when we got back to Seattle) Who would have thought I would have missed the endless rivers of sweat that fled down my temples and settled in the crook of my bra. My shirts smelled like pee when I got back. Was that just me?
I stood in the clearing of a major Mayan historical site. One of the new Seven Wonders Of the World. It was so fucking hot, and I was such a landwhale, I couldn't get into the mystique and the history.
It is late, and that is enough for know.
Stay tuned for more updates - I might go crazy and do dailies! Woo! There is no baby to see pictures of, but if you go to www.clanbuchanan.co.uk you will see the most beautiful little girl that has ever been born, I mean, honestly, isn't she just striking and gorgeous? And you can get her mom's updates on being a first time mom, which I find charming, hilarious and very enjoyable. It is a site I now check daily.
Enjoy, everyone, I'll be back with a force in the coming days, and you tell me whether that is such a good thing. Could I swear any more?
Yes, yes I can and I enjoy it, so get ready and stay tuned. I've got BUCKETS of letters to share with you.
Salome
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I Can Kill Time and Opportunity Like No One Else
The Pope has been on a business trip since late Sunday night. I had such plans for these four days alone, you have no idea.
This is what my plans were:
Goal Monday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House
Actual Monday: Stressed and Non-Productive all day, came home, read book on couch until waay too late.
Goal Tuesday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House - Return Sonicare heads (HATE THAT THING) - buy clothes for trip
Actual Tuesday: Was up late reading, stressed at work - came home and finished book on couch - started another.
Goal Wednesday: Write Paper (Goddammit!!!) - Work Out - Clean House - Return Items - buy clothes for trip - Go to Costco to get book Lakshmi recommended.
Actual Wednesday: Wrote first draft of paper (thankgod) - watched Top Chef - vacuumed at midnight - sat on couch reading new book until very late.
Goal Thursday: Finish Paper and send to peers for review - Work Out - Clean House (because if you break it into four days, you're not a maniac scrambling around and sweating profusely, you know??)
Actual Thursday: Finished paper and sent to peers for review - CLEANED MY MANIAC SWEATY ASS OFF
I'm actually a little distressed. It seems I am entirely incapable of being productive. I actually killed some time on Amazon last night, searching for books to help me be more productive, instead of actually being productive. Fascinating, isn't it?
I have not lost the weight I wanted to by August. This is only the goal I made last September. So I'm about on target to be thin by my death. I lose about 12 ounces every 2 years. I might actually be ahead of the game. Of course, for every 12 ounces I lose every two years, I gain about 37 pounds a minute, just by breathing the air that food was once fragrant in. Do the math. Have you ever seen that movie Gilbert Grape? Yeah, that's probably going to be me.
But you know what? I give up. It isn't happening with all this not-trying I've been doing, and clearly freaking out about it and stress-eating isn't going to work, so I'm just going to be happy being soft. My face will look younger as I age that way.
So, come next Wednesday morning, I'm going to whale myself out onto that beach and burn myself to a crisp. Hopefully there will be people from Iowa at the resort, because you just KNOW they're going to be fat.
I remain,
Corpulently yours,
Salome
This is what my plans were:
Goal Monday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House
Actual Monday: Stressed and Non-Productive all day, came home, read book on couch until waay too late.
Goal Tuesday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House - Return Sonicare heads (HATE THAT THING) - buy clothes for trip
Actual Tuesday: Was up late reading, stressed at work - came home and finished book on couch - started another.
Goal Wednesday: Write Paper (Goddammit!!!) - Work Out - Clean House - Return Items - buy clothes for trip - Go to Costco to get book Lakshmi recommended.
Actual Wednesday: Wrote first draft of paper (thankgod) - watched Top Chef - vacuumed at midnight - sat on couch reading new book until very late.
Goal Thursday: Finish Paper and send to peers for review - Work Out - Clean House (because if you break it into four days, you're not a maniac scrambling around and sweating profusely, you know??)
Actual Thursday: Finished paper and sent to peers for review - CLEANED MY MANIAC SWEATY ASS OFF
I'm actually a little distressed. It seems I am entirely incapable of being productive. I actually killed some time on Amazon last night, searching for books to help me be more productive, instead of actually being productive. Fascinating, isn't it?
I have not lost the weight I wanted to by August. This is only the goal I made last September. So I'm about on target to be thin by my death. I lose about 12 ounces every 2 years. I might actually be ahead of the game. Of course, for every 12 ounces I lose every two years, I gain about 37 pounds a minute, just by breathing the air that food was once fragrant in. Do the math. Have you ever seen that movie Gilbert Grape? Yeah, that's probably going to be me.
But you know what? I give up. It isn't happening with all this not-trying I've been doing, and clearly freaking out about it and stress-eating isn't going to work, so I'm just going to be happy being soft. My face will look younger as I age that way.
So, come next Wednesday morning, I'm going to whale myself out onto that beach and burn myself to a crisp. Hopefully there will be people from Iowa at the resort, because you just KNOW they're going to be fat.
I remain,
Corpulently yours,
Salome
Monday, August 06, 2007
Husband on Business Trip: Day One
The Pope is on a business trip.
So far I have overslept by 2 hours (the volume was turned all the way down! Dammit!)
Used 37 dishes - I can't believe it, I don't know how I've done it, especially since all I've eaten is a bottle of wine!
I have also taken out the trash and cleaned the cat litter.
I have kissed Leo 43 times, and told him that Daddy will be home soon.
Leo has decided to hibernate for the week, leaving the bed only to eat and then go back.
There are two big trips coming up, and I'm not going on them.
Which partially makes me nervous, and partially relieves me, because I'm tired of the work traveling at the moment.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Written the Day After I Met Him
I am poised on the rocks
a forbidding muted coast
visceral
and shivering.
I am not scared.
It is not cold.
And somewhere a tiny girl runs through a meadow filled with flowers
promise all around her
and laughter
everywhere.
I think of you as if made of art
and I would defile you
smudge you
with my inelegance.
You are very beautiful.
intricate
fractured
passionate
strong
Even my words are daunted
adjectives rendering themselves inadequate
flying from my mind, gathering behind my head
peeking out to discover if you are real.
Because I’ve been at this beach,
stripped raw
before
and STILL.
And I am sure that no one like you has ever come by….
So you must be lost, friend.
To find me here,
shivering
now stunned.
But I am not scared.
It is not cold.
And somewhere I’m a tiny girl, flying through the fields of
THIS.
-1/22/04
Funkytown
Can't write anything now. I'm in a funk.
Not a depressed funk, an irritable one. Everything sets me off, I'm too busy to do anything well, and I find that at the end of the day I've accomplished nothing, so what am I busy doing?
My mind and emotions are whirling.
Can't get anything out in a coherent manner. Everything I try to communicate on has terrible mechanical/electronic issues, I feel like the entire world is telling me to shut up.
Vacation coming up, really looking forward to it, hopefully I'll write more soon, but right now I don't want to talk.
I just don't want to talk to anyone right now.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Capsized, Erring on the Edge of Safe
FINALLY! ONLY THREE HOURS LATER!
Click on The Con
I may have figured out a way to blog songs.
The Pope is sorry for you all.
But I don't know what he means!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Drowning
To say that the last few days have been a rollercoaster would be to grievously underestimate how frightening, how pit-falling, rollercoasters can be.
Especially to the human heart.
I stood there on a balcony of the most expensive hotel in Edinburgh, illegally smoking a cigarete, in my pajamas, the events of the day reverberating raucously in my head, my inadequacies flying in my face and battering me like bats.
Encircle me, I need to be taken down. (new Tegan and Sara song lyric that is resonating in perhaps every single wrong way)
I stood there and looked out over the beautiful city that I have a hand engraved invitation to, and the only thing I can think is, I'm so completely unworthy and unprepared for this.
Please don't misunderstand me. I know what I do well. I do it well, everyone says so. But what this is is completely untread territory. I don't know what to do, and every step I take appears to be wrong, every impression is suspect, every instinct is rebuked and I am lost and falling and drowning all at the same time.
Here's where I take out my glass heart and beat it against the first stone thing I come to.
There are such highs and they are tinged with wonder, and then there are lows, that are probably not lows, but everything is so important, and there is no room for mistakes, and that is all I seem to be doing.
I'm trying, oh my god I'm trying so hard, but there are no breaks, and even where there is good news there are hard times, and why doesn't it ever get any easier.
And he's right here. He's here when I need him and he's here when I don't, and sometimes I wonder why he stays. Because even when I need him I turn away because I hate the fact that I need anyone or anything. Except Lucy because she knows I need her and I know she needs me and in our intensely private and exclusive little sphere of vulnerability there is nothing that is misunderstood.
And then there are mechanics, computers, phones that don't work easily - time differences, returns to offices that were trashed in your absence, trashed with the expectation that Salome would just fix everything when she returned, because that is what she does, isn't it? She fixes things. She can't build them, because she doesn't know how, or doesn't do it right, or her observations and instincts are wildly incorrect, but you know what?
If you break something, I will know how to fix it for you. Even if I can't fix what I break. Even then.
Especially to the human heart.
I stood there on a balcony of the most expensive hotel in Edinburgh, illegally smoking a cigarete, in my pajamas, the events of the day reverberating raucously in my head, my inadequacies flying in my face and battering me like bats.
Encircle me, I need to be taken down. (new Tegan and Sara song lyric that is resonating in perhaps every single wrong way)
I stood there and looked out over the beautiful city that I have a hand engraved invitation to, and the only thing I can think is, I'm so completely unworthy and unprepared for this.
Please don't misunderstand me. I know what I do well. I do it well, everyone says so. But what this is is completely untread territory. I don't know what to do, and every step I take appears to be wrong, every impression is suspect, every instinct is rebuked and I am lost and falling and drowning all at the same time.
Here's where I take out my glass heart and beat it against the first stone thing I come to.
There are such highs and they are tinged with wonder, and then there are lows, that are probably not lows, but everything is so important, and there is no room for mistakes, and that is all I seem to be doing.
I'm trying, oh my god I'm trying so hard, but there are no breaks, and even where there is good news there are hard times, and why doesn't it ever get any easier.
And he's right here. He's here when I need him and he's here when I don't, and sometimes I wonder why he stays. Because even when I need him I turn away because I hate the fact that I need anyone or anything. Except Lucy because she knows I need her and I know she needs me and in our intensely private and exclusive little sphere of vulnerability there is nothing that is misunderstood.
And then there are mechanics, computers, phones that don't work easily - time differences, returns to offices that were trashed in your absence, trashed with the expectation that Salome would just fix everything when she returned, because that is what she does, isn't it? She fixes things. She can't build them, because she doesn't know how, or doesn't do it right, or her observations and instincts are wildly incorrect, but you know what?
If you break something, I will know how to fix it for you. Even if I can't fix what I break. Even then.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Wow
There is so much going on right now, there is so much that has been going on.
I'm reeling from the activity, the cities and the work. I'm tired. I go to bed tired, I wake up tired, and I drink massive amounts of caffeine to try and fend off the loopy "not quite there" feeling in my head.
That being said, I would not trade this for anything. In the last three days I've had more great things happen to me than I have had in years. (except 8/26/06), or (1/21/04) perhaps, or especially, especially (5/12/07).
On Sunday night I caught a flight to NYC.
I arrived very early Monday morning and took a cab from JFK Airport to the Ritz Carlton Battery Park. I checked in and went up to my room and I wheeled in my luggage and stopped dead, my mouth hanging open. Because the huge picture window in my room looked out at an unobstructed view of the statue of Liberty. Unobstructed view of Ellis Island and the Harbor. It was incredible.
It was so incredible that for the two days I stayed there, everytime I was in my room, I stood at the window and looked at the statue. It was breathtaking.
So here is a brief summary of what's been going on.
Monday:
10:00am - arrive at hotel. Shower, change and walk to a local bakery for coffee, bagel.
11:30am - Meet up with SK (SK WAS THERE!!!) We have another coffee and sit in the bakery's outside area and talk.
1:00pm - go back to room and read docs for my 2:00pm meeting.
2:00pm - meet with one group - meeting goes until
3:00pm - meet with another group - meeting goes until
4:00pm - Meet with major new job group forum - meeting lasts until
6:45pm - run upstairs to room and change clothes
7:15pm - Meet with new partners (Aye - the Scots) and catch cabs to
7:30pm - Il Buco Wine Cellar - private dining event in wine storage basement of great Tuscan restaurant
We drink copious amounts of wine and have discussions and a five course meal until
11:30 - return to the hotel. SK calls me - they're at the bar.
11:35pm - bar with great people from my company until
1:15 am - back to the room and I lay down, but too wired to sleep - because tomorrow is exciting.
Tuesday:
6:15am - wake up call
6:20am - coffee is delivered. I am shaky and strung out from lack of sleep. Shower and put on my new, gorgeous suit and awesome black pointy toed slingbacks. Look like a million bucks. Feel like a billion.
7:30am - meet up with members of my company and walk to the NYSE.
7:50am - uh oh, these shoes pinch my toes. This might be a problem. Five blocks is 10 miles in pinchy shoes.
8:30am - We're through Security and into the Board Room of the NYSE, for a plated dinner before we ring the opening bell.
9:20am - We're advised to eat eat eat, finish quickly because we're leaving in minutes. The senior management goes to the podium, the rest of us are escorted to the trading floor.
THE TRADING FLOOR is unbelievable. Scary, so much chaos, so much activity. People running (RUNNING, full out speed) from station to station, phones ringing, people shouting and traders making trades by tapping the screens of computers that are mounted high on the booth walls.
9:30am - My company rings the opening bell at the NYSE. On the floor, we tear up, smile like lunatics and clap until our hands hurt. We are all of us, as one, proud and elated for this moment. It is our 10 year anniversary as a publicly traded company on the NYSE. We are toured around the floor and a kind trader explains what he is doing to us. It makes absolutely no sense. I look around to all the really smart people I work with, and they have no idea, either. I feel better.
11:00am - Company Board Meeting in the Board Room of the NYSE. I'm invited to sit in on the Scottish presentation. I'm asked to tell the Board about myself. They ask me a question, I answer it. A board member I've worked with speaks up after I'm done and gives me his highest support. The Scots pass out high quality scotch to the directors. We leave.
Walking back to the hotel I am sure - THESE SHOES HURT. 5 blocks is now 16 miles, and I imagine there will be blood on my feet when I take them off.
12:00pm - back at the hotel - I run upstairs, blow kisses to the statue and take the wretched shoes off. I put on comfy black sandals, take off my suit jacket and run back downstairs.
12:15pm - The van I've arranged arrives and we pile in, taking the Scots on a tour of one of our current construction projects, adjacent to the East River. The scope of the project is breathtaking. They are pounding over 1,000 pilons into the ground because it is fill. There is a Thunk Thunk Thunk of the piling machine ringing in the background. We are all awed by the scope of this project.
3:30pm - the Van drops us back at the hotel. I rush upstairs and grab my binder because
4:00pm - meeting with another group that lasts until
6:00pm - run upstairs to the room - change into dinner clothes. SK comes over and we toast to our fortunate lives with a little champagne (gift from the scots to me).
7:00pm - dinner with the folks from my company. It is nice and lasts until
10:00pm - a huge group of us go out to Tribeca, we are at the bar until someone needs nachos and we leave in search of nachos.
12:15am - we are back at the hotel and the bar is closed, so we do a slumber party (with five of us girls) in the room of one of the coolest ladies at my company.
3:00am - we all leave the room and go back to our rooms to go to bed.
4:15am - I am finally falling asleep.
Wednesday:
8:15am - my wake up call. I get up, there's coffee. I'm in bad shape.
9:00am - I'm in my colleague's room for a call. The person we're calling has forgotten, so we drink coffee and chat and look out at the incredibly stormy weather that is raging outside. Thunder, lightning. We turn on the tv and learn that all flights out of NY airports are delayed. We buy tickets for the train from NY to Boston to be safe (we have a 2pm flight scheduled.)
10:00am - I'm back in my room, and I go back to bed for two hours.
12:15pm - I get up - shower, dress and pack up.
1:00pm - check-out, store my bags and stroll around Battery Park until
2:05pm - my colleague is off her call and we take a cab to Penn Station
3:00pm - our express train from NYC is completely sold out, everyone has departed the airports to try and get to Boston and other places.
6:30pm - we arrive in Boston - go to our hotel and check-in. It is a dump.
7:30pm - we stroll around Boston Common, my colleague went to school here and she tells me about the things we pass.
10:00pm - I'm home and call the Pope, because I miss him and love him.
Midnight - I'm going to bed.
Salome
I'm reeling from the activity, the cities and the work. I'm tired. I go to bed tired, I wake up tired, and I drink massive amounts of caffeine to try and fend off the loopy "not quite there" feeling in my head.
That being said, I would not trade this for anything. In the last three days I've had more great things happen to me than I have had in years. (except 8/26/06), or (1/21/04) perhaps, or especially, especially (5/12/07).
On Sunday night I caught a flight to NYC.
I arrived very early Monday morning and took a cab from JFK Airport to the Ritz Carlton Battery Park. I checked in and went up to my room and I wheeled in my luggage and stopped dead, my mouth hanging open. Because the huge picture window in my room looked out at an unobstructed view of the statue of Liberty. Unobstructed view of Ellis Island and the Harbor. It was incredible.
It was so incredible that for the two days I stayed there, everytime I was in my room, I stood at the window and looked at the statue. It was breathtaking.
So here is a brief summary of what's been going on.
Monday:
10:00am - arrive at hotel. Shower, change and walk to a local bakery for coffee, bagel.
11:30am - Meet up with SK (SK WAS THERE!!!) We have another coffee and sit in the bakery's outside area and talk.
1:00pm - go back to room and read docs for my 2:00pm meeting.
2:00pm - meet with one group - meeting goes until
3:00pm - meet with another group - meeting goes until
4:00pm - Meet with major new job group forum - meeting lasts until
6:45pm - run upstairs to room and change clothes
7:15pm - Meet with new partners (Aye - the Scots) and catch cabs to
7:30pm - Il Buco Wine Cellar - private dining event in wine storage basement of great Tuscan restaurant
We drink copious amounts of wine and have discussions and a five course meal until
11:30 - return to the hotel. SK calls me - they're at the bar.
11:35pm - bar with great people from my company until
1:15 am - back to the room and I lay down, but too wired to sleep - because tomorrow is exciting.
Tuesday:
6:15am - wake up call
6:20am - coffee is delivered. I am shaky and strung out from lack of sleep. Shower and put on my new, gorgeous suit and awesome black pointy toed slingbacks. Look like a million bucks. Feel like a billion.
7:30am - meet up with members of my company and walk to the NYSE.
7:50am - uh oh, these shoes pinch my toes. This might be a problem. Five blocks is 10 miles in pinchy shoes.
8:30am - We're through Security and into the Board Room of the NYSE, for a plated dinner before we ring the opening bell.
9:20am - We're advised to eat eat eat, finish quickly because we're leaving in minutes. The senior management goes to the podium, the rest of us are escorted to the trading floor.
THE TRADING FLOOR is unbelievable. Scary, so much chaos, so much activity. People running (RUNNING, full out speed) from station to station, phones ringing, people shouting and traders making trades by tapping the screens of computers that are mounted high on the booth walls.
9:30am - My company rings the opening bell at the NYSE. On the floor, we tear up, smile like lunatics and clap until our hands hurt. We are all of us, as one, proud and elated for this moment. It is our 10 year anniversary as a publicly traded company on the NYSE. We are toured around the floor and a kind trader explains what he is doing to us. It makes absolutely no sense. I look around to all the really smart people I work with, and they have no idea, either. I feel better.
11:00am - Company Board Meeting in the Board Room of the NYSE. I'm invited to sit in on the Scottish presentation. I'm asked to tell the Board about myself. They ask me a question, I answer it. A board member I've worked with speaks up after I'm done and gives me his highest support. The Scots pass out high quality scotch to the directors. We leave.
Walking back to the hotel I am sure - THESE SHOES HURT. 5 blocks is now 16 miles, and I imagine there will be blood on my feet when I take them off.
12:00pm - back at the hotel - I run upstairs, blow kisses to the statue and take the wretched shoes off. I put on comfy black sandals, take off my suit jacket and run back downstairs.
12:15pm - The van I've arranged arrives and we pile in, taking the Scots on a tour of one of our current construction projects, adjacent to the East River. The scope of the project is breathtaking. They are pounding over 1,000 pilons into the ground because it is fill. There is a Thunk Thunk Thunk of the piling machine ringing in the background. We are all awed by the scope of this project.
3:30pm - the Van drops us back at the hotel. I rush upstairs and grab my binder because
4:00pm - meeting with another group that lasts until
6:00pm - run upstairs to the room - change into dinner clothes. SK comes over and we toast to our fortunate lives with a little champagne (gift from the scots to me).
7:00pm - dinner with the folks from my company. It is nice and lasts until
10:00pm - a huge group of us go out to Tribeca, we are at the bar until someone needs nachos and we leave in search of nachos.
12:15am - we are back at the hotel and the bar is closed, so we do a slumber party (with five of us girls) in the room of one of the coolest ladies at my company.
3:00am - we all leave the room and go back to our rooms to go to bed.
4:15am - I am finally falling asleep.
Wednesday:
8:15am - my wake up call. I get up, there's coffee. I'm in bad shape.
9:00am - I'm in my colleague's room for a call. The person we're calling has forgotten, so we drink coffee and chat and look out at the incredibly stormy weather that is raging outside. Thunder, lightning. We turn on the tv and learn that all flights out of NY airports are delayed. We buy tickets for the train from NY to Boston to be safe (we have a 2pm flight scheduled.)
10:00am - I'm back in my room, and I go back to bed for two hours.
12:15pm - I get up - shower, dress and pack up.
1:00pm - check-out, store my bags and stroll around Battery Park until
2:05pm - my colleague is off her call and we take a cab to Penn Station
3:00pm - our express train from NYC is completely sold out, everyone has departed the airports to try and get to Boston and other places.
6:30pm - we arrive in Boston - go to our hotel and check-in. It is a dump.
7:30pm - we stroll around Boston Common, my colleague went to school here and she tells me about the things we pass.
10:00pm - I'm home and call the Pope, because I miss him and love him.
Midnight - I'm going to bed.
Salome
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I have nothing to say.
I mean, really, I don't have anything to say.
I'm sitting here, craving a cigarette, but spending my time with you lot, and there is really nothing to report.
Except maybe this:
On Sunday I'm flying to New York, to New York City - to stay in the Ritz Carlton (Battery Park) and then attend some meetings and then on Tuesday, my company is going to ring the opening bell at the NYSE. I don't know that I'll be at all visible, I was thinking so, but lately have gotten some emails that make me think I'll be off to the side and not on camera (and I was totally going to do the Carol Burnett thing as a signal to my mom that I love her and wish she was there with me) and that really bums me out, because I bought a really nice suit for it.
After NYSE (which still, how cool, because we'll be given a tour of the trading floor, and really, who gets to do that? One of the requirements is that women in sleeveless dresses and open toed shoes are not allowed, presumably because you'll get punched and tromped on what with all the frenzied people throwing paper and bidding?
Who knows. Anyway, I need to get shoes.
From NY I am flying then to Boston. I'll be in Boston for one day on a top secret sleuthing mission and then I fly to Edinburgh. I'll then be in Edinburgh for 6 days. Three of them to spend searching for a home and learning the area, and three of them spent with coworkers for the design of our new buildings.
Two full days of meetings with little ones being added on.
We look to start at 7:00am each day and end approximately 10 or 11pm.
But I will be with one of my mentors, a man who has encouraged me at every step I've taken, the man who would not fire me when I first started working there, no matter that I was late to work every single day.
And I was the receptionist. It was fairly important that I be there.
At one point, because I got in at 8:15 for my 8:00am shift every day for a year, this kind mentor-man changed my hours to an 8:30am start, whereupon I promptly started coming in at 8:45am.
I am just hardwired to wake up late. Always, always, always late.
I get home on the 26th. I'll be posting as I can, because I've been given a laptop.
I said I needed to keep up on my work emails, but really I just needed to be able to check my gossip sites and talk to you folks.
I'll be in touch,
Salome
p.s. Those mosquito hawks are out in force. And when I say out in force, I mean dotting the walls of my house with a vengeance. They are stupid, and tend to buzz all around me, knocking against me until I slap them away with a frenzy. And sometimes they die, and leave little pellets of themselves behind. And I don't know if that's poop, babies or brains. And this fact simultaneously skeeges and fascinates me.
That is all.
I'm sitting here, craving a cigarette, but spending my time with you lot, and there is really nothing to report.
Except maybe this:
On Sunday I'm flying to New York, to New York City - to stay in the Ritz Carlton (Battery Park) and then attend some meetings and then on Tuesday, my company is going to ring the opening bell at the NYSE. I don't know that I'll be at all visible, I was thinking so, but lately have gotten some emails that make me think I'll be off to the side and not on camera (and I was totally going to do the Carol Burnett thing as a signal to my mom that I love her and wish she was there with me) and that really bums me out, because I bought a really nice suit for it.
After NYSE (which still, how cool, because we'll be given a tour of the trading floor, and really, who gets to do that? One of the requirements is that women in sleeveless dresses and open toed shoes are not allowed, presumably because you'll get punched and tromped on what with all the frenzied people throwing paper and bidding?
Who knows. Anyway, I need to get shoes.
From NY I am flying then to Boston. I'll be in Boston for one day on a top secret sleuthing mission and then I fly to Edinburgh. I'll then be in Edinburgh for 6 days. Three of them to spend searching for a home and learning the area, and three of them spent with coworkers for the design of our new buildings.
Two full days of meetings with little ones being added on.
We look to start at 7:00am each day and end approximately 10 or 11pm.
But I will be with one of my mentors, a man who has encouraged me at every step I've taken, the man who would not fire me when I first started working there, no matter that I was late to work every single day.
And I was the receptionist. It was fairly important that I be there.
At one point, because I got in at 8:15 for my 8:00am shift every day for a year, this kind mentor-man changed my hours to an 8:30am start, whereupon I promptly started coming in at 8:45am.
I am just hardwired to wake up late. Always, always, always late.
I get home on the 26th. I'll be posting as I can, because I've been given a laptop.
I said I needed to keep up on my work emails, but really I just needed to be able to check my gossip sites and talk to you folks.
I'll be in touch,
Salome
p.s. Those mosquito hawks are out in force. And when I say out in force, I mean dotting the walls of my house with a vengeance. They are stupid, and tend to buzz all around me, knocking against me until I slap them away with a frenzy. And sometimes they die, and leave little pellets of themselves behind. And I don't know if that's poop, babies or brains. And this fact simultaneously skeeges and fascinates me.
That is all.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Special Letter July 9, 2007
Dear Size 4 Women Who Put Your Pants in the Macy's Clearance Section Clearly Marked L - XL,
You are despicable bitches.
Fat Assedly,
Salome
You are despicable bitches.
Fat Assedly,
Salome
Friday, July 06, 2007
Letters July 2007
Dear Tough-Looking Older Gentleman with the Tats Walking the Small, White Poodle:
Awwwww. One look at you and I knew that was your wife's dog.
His little sparkled collar goes great with the big anchor tattoo on your forearm.
I was fully prepared to drive by you, wave and have you smirk with embarrassment while hacking out a lungful, just to prove your testosterone, when you did the most surprising thing: You didn't see me wave because you were watching this tiny white poodle with so much affection and love that your attention was decidedly elsewhere.
So I think this: That is your wife's dog, but you love it more than she does.
Keep on Rocking In the Free World,
Salome
Dear People Who Schedule Conference Calls at 7:00am in the morning Pacific Standard Time:
Huh? Whaaaa? (clears throat) (chokes down night hack) (gulps coffee) (squeaks out a "YES" or "No" as appropriate).
Sorry about that. I gave it my all. And that wasn't a lot.
ZZZZZZZzzzzzzz,
Salome
DEAR CRAZY CAMPER GUY WHO THREATENED MY SECURITY GUARDS WITH THE PROMISE OF A GUN BECAUSE YOUR PARKING PERMIT IS EXPIRED:
Your daughter may work at Hooters, but I assure you my security officers are not perverts. They may be overzealous, yes, because I never asked them to monitor the parking tags of a lot licensed to a parking company, but they are not perverts.
And when you showed up at my site 10 minutes after I had gone home, drunk and threatening to bring a gun to "do the job" to my security officer?
YOU ARE LUCKY I WAS NOT THERE. I would have kicked your ass back to the trailer park you lousy piece of shit.
My security officer tried to talk you down, because he is a gentleman and gives everyone the benefit of the doubt (not the best thing in a security guard tasked with protecting the site from batshit insane people like you) but when you asked him to call the property manager and he refused, saying you could sober up and see her tomorrow? He was doing you a favor. Because when I found out about this tonight I got your parking permit revoked and put out an APB on your sorry ass. If you show up when the guards are there they will call 911. If you show up when I am there I will bust your ass personally. For my guards and for all the times I've been annoyed and had to suck it up.
I will call the cops only after I have verbally assaulted you within an inch of YOUR life, you lowlife, drunk-ass scum.
You're a filthy, lousy degenerate,
Salome
Dear People Who Weren't Home Whose House We Set on Fire with Fireworks But Quickly Put Out:
Whew. Was THAT ever exciting. You should buy that neighbor dinner, because he scrambled up onto your roof faster than a howler monkey after (whatever howler monkeys really like and will chase). And MY FRIEND, Gaia, ran so fast I think her 10 month pregnant belly was left in her yard. (her hips hurt today, poor, darling lovely friend).
We are so sorry about your house. No confirmation it was us, but it probably was. What are you doing being out of town on the 4th of July in a city where fireworks are legal with that old cedar shingle roof? I think you should hold yourself responsible. If you ever want to kill a great fireworks show, set a house on fire.
The fire was put out, not much damage, no one was hurt and I've never seen two 15 year old kids clean up fireworks detritus so fast in my entire life. But then, I'd never seen a 10 month pregnant woman move that fast, either. Gaia rocks and she could still beat you in a footrace.
Sssssssssssssmokin'
Salome
Awwwww. One look at you and I knew that was your wife's dog.
His little sparkled collar goes great with the big anchor tattoo on your forearm.
I was fully prepared to drive by you, wave and have you smirk with embarrassment while hacking out a lungful, just to prove your testosterone, when you did the most surprising thing: You didn't see me wave because you were watching this tiny white poodle with so much affection and love that your attention was decidedly elsewhere.
So I think this: That is your wife's dog, but you love it more than she does.
Keep on Rocking In the Free World,
Salome
Dear People Who Schedule Conference Calls at 7:00am in the morning Pacific Standard Time:
Huh? Whaaaa? (clears throat) (chokes down night hack) (gulps coffee) (squeaks out a "YES" or "No" as appropriate).
Sorry about that. I gave it my all. And that wasn't a lot.
ZZZZZZZzzzzzzz,
Salome
DEAR CRAZY CAMPER GUY WHO THREATENED MY SECURITY GUARDS WITH THE PROMISE OF A GUN BECAUSE YOUR PARKING PERMIT IS EXPIRED:
Your daughter may work at Hooters, but I assure you my security officers are not perverts. They may be overzealous, yes, because I never asked them to monitor the parking tags of a lot licensed to a parking company, but they are not perverts.
And when you showed up at my site 10 minutes after I had gone home, drunk and threatening to bring a gun to "do the job" to my security officer?
YOU ARE LUCKY I WAS NOT THERE. I would have kicked your ass back to the trailer park you lousy piece of shit.
My security officer tried to talk you down, because he is a gentleman and gives everyone the benefit of the doubt (not the best thing in a security guard tasked with protecting the site from batshit insane people like you) but when you asked him to call the property manager and he refused, saying you could sober up and see her tomorrow? He was doing you a favor. Because when I found out about this tonight I got your parking permit revoked and put out an APB on your sorry ass. If you show up when the guards are there they will call 911. If you show up when I am there I will bust your ass personally. For my guards and for all the times I've been annoyed and had to suck it up.
I will call the cops only after I have verbally assaulted you within an inch of YOUR life, you lowlife, drunk-ass scum.
You're a filthy, lousy degenerate,
Salome
Dear People Who Weren't Home Whose House We Set on Fire with Fireworks But Quickly Put Out:
Whew. Was THAT ever exciting. You should buy that neighbor dinner, because he scrambled up onto your roof faster than a howler monkey after (whatever howler monkeys really like and will chase). And MY FRIEND, Gaia, ran so fast I think her 10 month pregnant belly was left in her yard. (her hips hurt today, poor, darling lovely friend).
We are so sorry about your house. No confirmation it was us, but it probably was. What are you doing being out of town on the 4th of July in a city where fireworks are legal with that old cedar shingle roof? I think you should hold yourself responsible. If you ever want to kill a great fireworks show, set a house on fire.
The fire was put out, not much damage, no one was hurt and I've never seen two 15 year old kids clean up fireworks detritus so fast in my entire life. But then, I'd never seen a 10 month pregnant woman move that fast, either. Gaia rocks and she could still beat you in a footrace.
Sssssssssssssmokin'
Salome
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