Jimmy Choo syndrome

In keeping with the "rampant medicalization" theme... because we all need aderol for something or another... off we go with Jimmy- Choo syndrome... why? because my Jenny-bear has it (and it dangerously close to being dubbed "Ginger Spice". yep 'Girl Power' and all of that)

So she calls this morning... you will remember this is my 'bunk the establishment day' where I go in later. As I am picking up this morning's NY times (I have to buy it individually because I get the Wall Street Journal delivered... and somehow I just couldn't have them BOTH delivered... For God sake's man! What would people think?!) I invite her for coffee and a bagel. I am trying to cut back on the bagels... no, I lie I am not. We all understand that if it truly is carbs that make us gi-normous... I will die FAT and HAPPY... and full of carbs.... but I digress... back to invite. She says yes and no.

I am confused. She says yes of course she would love to... but no she could not afford coffee and a bagel because she spent too much on a tickets to a function we are attending tomorrow night. WHAT? To which I am obligated to say... "Sweetheart if you ever tell me any such thing ever again, I swear I will slap you with a dead fish" To which she says "But then I would smell like fish" and I say "exactly".

On to coffee. I adore my Jenny-Bear. We've been over this. I understand her slight embarrassment... we've all been there. To take the edge off we have code words for everything. Today she had Jimmy Choo syndrome. Much like my Mr. Choo who in high school and early college had an inconvenient habit of never having $ to do anything. But he didn't tell us until we were already at said place that required money. Yes he was a mooch. So instead of saying ... I really can't do that right now... we have a bit of Choo. get it?

Aka in my world has been moved up to the Axis of Evil. Which is usually a triumvirate of 3... but I would argue she is big enough to be 3 people. Shy keeps calling her a wombat. Which is funny. And I want to kick him for re-naming my SIMS... but really just for re-naming them better. Curses.

And in other news... Got hit in the side from a woman too old to be driving. They are totalling out my piece... so I'm trying to buy the Jeep Liberty (see pic! it's that color... now what to name her?) Enterprise put me in. What can I say. I'm attached. I love it. She loves me.... My yoga class is laughing at me because everyone knew from Day 1 that I was not going to be alright if I had to give it back. THAT would have been wrong.

Also, I am a genius. About a week ago I slightly twisted my ankle on a BOSU- think 1/2 a medicine ball that you have to balance on and so squats with a body bar... I thought I could ice it and wrap for a couple of days and went right back to training like a bond girl... 4.2 mile run on Sunday, circuit training last night, weights this morning and yoga this afternoon... my ankle looks like it has a bagel wrapped around it. nice.

Gracious loser face.

Not what I thought I would start blogging about today... but with the Kanye thing it works on so many levels. Don't think I have to explain... Kanye threw a public hissy fit... it's terribly funny... and then...

So this is the week... Or maybe next week is the week. I am not a patient man. Have never been confused as a patient man. Don't really see myself growing into a patient old man either.

Soon we will find out what comes of the interview and if we are putting of grad school for another year. ick. Bat-Girl's sage advise (and take it with a grain of salt... she has a lot to deal with putting up with me) is to practice the gracious loser face (think Joey, Friends, he didn't win the award)... because even though we don't need it... just in case we do. My response? I go to make cocoa. Cocoa does not talk back.

Shy (bumped up from Chi squared) says we need no such face... only losers lose well. we have the "not yet" face. If we get a "no" it is only "not yet" and we find a different window to climb through.

Everyone else says it happened too easily not to come through (will blog the specifics later... or bemoan them- whichever)

Even the dream-killer is jumping on the band wagon with this one (I know!) he made me dinner Sunday night. He cordially requested my presence for 7 but I got there at 6ish. Going across the river to get wine just didn't take as long as I thought it would. (Yes, this is a "dry parish" on Sundays. Yes, I realize how country that looks in writing! Focus and keep reading). Mr. Killer is under the impression that watching the Food Network is the same thing as being able to cook. and yet... it is not. He made rigatoni in a white wine/butter/olive oil/ pesto reduction sauce (or that's what he ended up with... who cares what he meant it to be) with shrimp and crab meat... and roasted garlic and tomatoes for good measure. Salted to Kiran's taste.

All was well until he went to the bathroom and came back... and busted me 'fixing' it. To which he proceeds to stomp around the house and say "SEE?! THAT'S why I told your little a** to be here for 7 and not 6-ish!" *sigh* and he makes a good point. Ladies, if a man is ever doing something nice for you, please learn how to clap like a seal at Sea-World. No matter how many mistakes are in it, or how much you know you can do it better. because you will get to do it better.... FOREVER.

So I handed him a glass of wine and pouted and pulled out the "I'm sad and stressed about an interview for a job I really want, and scared I won't get it... which will in turn be your problem because you love me and I don't handle rejection well!" (*whew that was a mouthful*) and all was forgiven. Did I mention I adore the dream-killer in law school. He has posters on all of the doors with notes. The one the bedroom has 2nd degree murder on it... infliction of excessive bodily harm or homicide with specific intent... blah blah. I am very proud of him. He is trying.

I am less proud of him when we sit at the dinner table with candles and music... he clears the table and comes to sit next to me so he look deep into my eyes.... and then asks me to leave because dinner has already taken 2 hours from his study time and he has an exam in the morning. Rat bastard. Honestly, who studies for exams at his age!

Tou·rette's syndrome: Pronunciation: tu-'rets-

Greetings Boys and Girls...

I promised myself no blogs until I knew the outcome of Columbus... which would not create so much pressure had the King of Pride Rock not come down and announce he was putting me on a plane to the ENTIRE northern hemisphere. So if I don't get this job... it is truly of my own volition and lack of any worthiness within me. See? no pressure. none... and yet I am going to be sick.

On to Tourette's... and this is sort of a sad post... because I have outgrown her. That is sad because I adore her, and she adores me... One of my college roommates and a really close friend... I have seen her all of 2x this YEAR and that includes Friday night. Further tear jerker... she still introduces me to everyone as her best friend... Ready for the way that I am a jerk? I don't want to be judgemental... so for the most part I don't tell her about her life minus a few little gentle pushes in the 'right' direction. My way of minimizing risk is that I will not go anywhere with her that I need to be seen in a favorable light...i.e. anywhere that there is the potential for me to run into someone I know... where it would be detrimental to me for her to be falling down drunk trying to throw a Tabasco bottle at some guy because she does not like the cut of his chin.

Every time I see her, there is an episode... and I promise myself that I will never go anywhere in public with her again. And then time passes and I imagine I am exaggerating and it wasn't that bad. We do it again and I spend the rest of the night trying to contain the crazy that is my friend. She is a Beautiful Disaster. If Jenny-Bear is my compliment of physical opposite... Tourette's is my caricature. The worst it could get if you were fueled by hysterical emotions and illegal substances.

She is deemed Tourette's because that is an adequate summation of her actions. It is the way she dances, screams, speaks, and essentially is. Bear in mind I say this with much affection. and it breaks my heart that she has not grown past the point of drinking as MUCH as possible... as FAST as possible.

She is dating a new guy. He is a good Christian. He does not drink, smoke, or have relations (and has never). He believes what he believes and it is admirable. Tourette's has dated him for 2 weeks and is determined to break him. I don't know why I feel the need to beg her not to. He is who and how he is... that makes him the man he is... to challenge that just to see if you can is juvenile, petulant, selfish, and wrong. She understands it, and sees it as disrespectful... but her attitude (as it is towards all males) is "I'm sorry about your d*ck".

And it makes me sad. Because as much as I want to scoop her up and make it better, she won't heal until she stops doing that (well among other things). and maybe she doesn't want to... and that is her choice as well. and ick nonetheless.

Happy Birthday JD

dunno if you're still reading. my readership tends to be those closer to me that don't leave their footprints lest someone else we know make fun of them. Believe when I say better things are coming for you. they have to.

I spend tomorrow in Columbus on another leg of the cosmic bunny slide. I'll let you know how it turns out as soon as I know. It is wierd that re-assuring messages are starting to come from the strangest places... says the girl that tells a complete stranger that she believes life holds better for him if he learns to shift through the Sh*t faster. Life has become a sort of Disney movie (DON'T even ask who I would be) where the trees are trying to talk to me (not literally you smart a**). and it's scary... or it would be if I were not a bond girl.

oh yeah, and what's up with blogger and the pics?

Rumble Little Girl, Rumble.

Today I was looking forward to having the Bird Flu. The thought of coming to work was completely mind numbing, and the sheer futility of my time here again brought me close to tears. The thought of playing hookey got me through yesterday... and then I woke up this morning and got ready to come back here. What happened to the Master Plan?

My heart may not be in the right place to be truly Corporate... but I will be damned if I going to let someone walk all over me. Aka is wrong. and incredibly fat. but the important part is wrong. In a meeting she brings my name to the table. What she says is that I spend too much time talking to people... like I am 6-years old and we get time out for talking? The meeting to help my department got pushed, she was treated to an email outlining the issues and the response was a pat on the head and a grammatically incorrect, with many many errors in syntax of how "management" is addressing these "issue" to gather "those information" to get us "the material" to help me do my job.

The best part is I don't need it, because I won't be here long enough to see the loss associated with our mistakes due to lack of clear policies and an adequate representation of banking laws. BIOTCH.

The analyst can bite me and her BFF can shove her supplies and budget.

Chicago texts fervently because he is worried. He is insecure about sounding like a girl but is persistant. He is concerned because as he puts it... "It has never taken you 3 days to spare 30 seconds for me" which is true. He silently listens to me lament and I talk myself to exhaustion to which he says... "Soon enough you will be off to school, why does it matter" and I would (and do) argue "Because I am here now, and the person that I am says I will try my best to do the best in any given circumstance..." to which he says "ok" (i love that he gave me the last word on the phone).

and later he texts... "but you still have to thing BIG PICTURE, baby"

and while he is right... and I will have remained gainfully employed like I promised while boss lady is on vacation... the person that I am says that Aka will not get the better of me. after all, at the end of the day, I can always sentence her to the rest of her life... as her.