Saturday, July 31, 2004

Please... Just One More Hit... Then I'll Quit...

Well, this blog is simply taking a life of its own. It started out as a curiosity, something everyone was doing. Since I had lived a sheltered life, I'd never tried it. I thought it smelled kind of funny, but in a cool way. Then my friend M. told me about hers and if she was doing it, I definitely had to do it! I couldn't be the ONLY one of my friends who wasn't doing it! Who cares what mom told me. Yes, if my friends were to jump off a bridge, I would do it to. After all, who would I hang out with if they were all dead? Like, duh!

Anyway, so began my fall into the crazy world of blogging. It started out slow, where I tried it once, it made my head hurt the next day. But then M. started pressuring me three days later: "you don't have another entry????" And so I held my breath and did it again. The side effects were better the second time. A little more experienced, I could handle the visions. But what I could especially appreciate was the fact that my blogging friends liked me just a little more because I was now one of them. And my non-blogging friends looked at me (on IM and on the phone since I haven't had a chance to see them at all since my whole blogging thing began) as if I was a little more dangerous and cool.

And all of a sudden, I seemed to fall off the cliff. Every day, a new blog. Some mildly amusing, some just horrible desperate rants of a woman potentially on the brink of a psychotic episode. Yet, no matter what my state of mind, I had to do it. I kept doing it. It doesn't matter if it requires stealing money from oil tycoons, I have to get my blog fix (note from editor: anyone know where I can find an oil tycoon? Sweetie Pie and I need a new living room fan).

But what's gotten worse is that on the days where I actually can shake my way through my need for blogging, I now have to deal with the hardest form of cruelty ever: peer pressure.

For some it ends in high school. For me, it's just a part of every day life. But as my friends logged on to my blog yesterday and noticed that for the first time this week I hadn't added a post, the cruelty began:

"no blog?"
"why you no blogging?"
"Are you going to post today?"

And my head started spinning. My toes curled. And yet I fought on. Work had to be done and having had a new butthole added earlier in the week by my president for missing a deadline (I hear plastic surgery is painful and I now believe it. Having an extra butthole chewed out, is extremely painful), I was a woman on a mission. And yet, at least every ten minutes, thought of my blog crossed my mind. But I fought on. I had to leave work at a decent time to do my mystery shop (which by the way we had a horrible experience at a restaurant we usually go to. I'm sounding like the biggest bitch in the world in the report, but I'm just being accurate, since there was, in fact, a typo in the menu, toilet paper on the bathroom floor, we never did get our beers and my salad only came out once I begged for it, when Sweetie Pie received his on time)

But I'm losing my train of thought... Anyway, I managed for once to have enough spine to tell my friends "no."

And I cried and sobbed over it, knowing that I was probably a little less cool. So I buckled "But I'll post tomorrow," I swore.

And so here I am. On a Saturday morning. Women across the country are laying in bed with their husbands, turning down their sexual advances.

Me, I'm in our office, with my 14-year old cat typing away.

I hope you're all happy. I am the product of all of you. You have no one to blame but yourselves.

Love,

Catwoman

P.S.: I am traveling to Houston for business Monday and Tuesday. Although I will try to post from there, it might be difficult. There, you've been warned. Now leave me alone you monsters!

Thursday, July 29, 2004

This Blog Is Brought to You By...

Well, even though I refuse to take advertisements to keep the editorial integrity of this blog, a friend of mine has begged to be included in my random train of thoughts (which really wouldn't make them random anymore, but hey, he's from Chicago, so pardon his lack of logic).

And today, he's been especially sweet to my IM whinings, so as a reward, he asked me to be included in my blog. So everyone, please give KPB a big round of applause for attempting to be a good guy until he busted himself for wanting something.

Just kidding KPB! But everyone else, from what I hear, KPB is one heck of a musician, so next time he has a gig, I will let you know so that you can check him out.

As the TV folks would grovel: "please support our sponsors!"

Love,

Catwoman.

You've Lost That Barfy Feeling, Wooooo That Barfy Feeling

Actually I haven't lost that barfy feeling and I'm having a very mild anxiety attack. This week's been brutal at work and I feel like a turkey in a pack of swans right now and it seems I keep going "gobble gobble" and giving myself away. It's not that I mean to or that I can't get the job done, is that once people start picking away at you and finding things wrong in everything you do, all of a sudden it seems you can't do anything else than go "gobble gobble" and look hideous. Because after all, that's all turkeys do.

I've told myself I would keep this blog light and make attempts at it being funny. I know I don't succeed very often at that, but at least I give it the old university try (for the record I know the expression is "college try," but I'm from Canada, so I didn't go to college). But today, I really don't feel good. I'm run down from going to the Nickelback concert last night and I woke up with horrendous stomach pains and a dizzy head. And I'm hating the job.

I have to say I may work with the most anal people in the world. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm quite the opposite of that. In fact the only thing anal about me is... well, enter your own ending here, I don't want to get crude on the Internet.

And so I feel frustrated. Very regularly. I feel frustrated because people like me who are not anal and borderline very disorganized have our own way of working. We do it in chaos, but as long as no one calls us on it, we'll always get the work done. But when someone freaks out about the way you are handling things, it causes the very well juggled chaos to come crashing down and sends people like me in a panic.

Anyway, that tends to be my daily dance these days. And I have to say, it ain't fun at all. And so now I'm back to being five and wondering what I want to be when I grow up. Only problem is, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I was five. I was going to be a vet. I wasn't picky about the animals, I'd take anything, but I had decided I would have a sign that would say "I do not treat snakes, worms or bugs." Because they creeped me out then. Actually, they still creep me out.

I noticed yesterday that there's something worse than having the weight of the world on your shoulders. And that's having wet jeans on. Doe ANYTHING feel heavier than wet jeans? I went to the Nickelback concert last night with my sister-in-law and anyone in Dallas knows that we got TORRENTIAL rains last night. So of course, our evening out meant a lot of running in the rain. And my jeans got soaked. I'm talking turn on the washing machine and take out the jeans when it's completely filled with water and then just put them on. That's just how it felt last night. It was insane. Maybe the reason I feel so crappy today is because of the pneumonia.

Pneumonia... That's such an interesting word to me. Love the silent "p." I wish I could have a really cool name with a silent letter. Like "Boob," but the second "o" would be silent. So then I could get all offended when people call me "Boob." I would scoff at them and say "It's BOB, you moron! The second "o" is silent!" Of course, since I don't go through life scoffing at people and calling them morons, I'd probably just go through life being called boob, which I think the novelty would wear off really fast on that one.

Anyway, back to sitting in my cube feeling sorry for myself.

Love,

Catwoman.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Marriage is Like a Box of Chocolate...

You never know what you're going to get... And it feels especially good when you're really PMSing!

It's funny, I've been married for almost two years now and I have to say, it's really flown by. It's strange, when I see people getting who are about to get married, they tend to get cold feet, second guess themselves, the whole shebang. With me, it was strange, despite my having a problem with committing to anything, I never got cold feet. Maybe it's because Sweetie Pie brilliantly handled me. After all, we were engaged on July 17th and married on August 28th, barely enough time to even book the airline tickets, get work off and find someone to feed the pets.

I distinctly remember being nervous on the way to the chapel. Here we were, giggling at the changing leon lights in our black limo, amazed by the tackiness of it all, when this fleeting thought of "OH MY GOD!" entered my mind. But our stupid limo driver wouldn't shut up the whole way, so I never had a chance to even finish that thought. Which is probably a good thing.

I admit that there are times where I look at Sweetie Pie and I think "holy crap, I'm really going to spend the rest of my life with this person?" but then he eats chocolate ice cream and gets it all over his face like a four-year old and I think "wow, I'm the luckiest woman in the world."

I think soon-to-be brides don't appreciate my candor when they say "did the part about 'til death do you part freak you out" and I answer "Not then, but it sure does now!"

Because really, forget commitment phobics like me, is there ANYONE out there who can say that they want one thing for the rest of their lives? I mean there are a lot of things I love, like right now, I am OBSESSED with Chik-Fil-A. Does that mean I'm still going to want a #3 combo with four buffalo sauces in 20 years? I seriously doubt it.

But then I guess that's what marriage is. The decision that you will in fact still love that #3 combo, despite the fact that it may make your arteries completely clogged up and the buffalo sauce gave you acid reflux. And that's what's most amazing about it.

I used to think that people who got married in Vegas were fools who didn't take the sacrement of marriage seriously. And then I found out that as a Canadian, I wasn't allowed to get married outside of the US. Since I still wanted my dream wedding in France, we decided to have the ultimate anti-traditional wedding. And what's more anti-traditional than Vegas?

The ceremony was 15 minutes long (Sweetie Pie later said it could easily have been half as long, since he got bored about three minutes into the sermon) and yet it didn't mean any less, or any more, than the big church wedding the following year.

People always ask us if we felt different after we got married. I always love Sweetie Pie's answer, because he says something along the lines of "I don't know if it's because we lived together before we got married, but it just always felt the same." Which I think he means as a good thing. At least I hope he does.

Did I mention our backdoor is open? Yeah, any robbers reading this, our backdoor is very likely wide open for you to enter our home. D. fed the pets for us while we were in Austin this past weekend. And we're not sure how, but he somehow managed to get the lock on the door handle locked, which we've never been able to do before. Well, of course, then despite our best efforts (OK, Sweetie Pie's best efforts) to get it open again, it wouldn't budge So rather than lose the use of our backdoor, Sweetie Pie went to town with a saw or drill of some kind and sawed through the lock. Problem solved! Door opens again! But of course, now it just won't lock. Which means that if we don't remember the latch, the door can be opened by a dog or the wind. However, it still succeeds at keeping my very obedient cats locked out, as they just stand at the door politely, rather than throw themselves at the door like drunken British football hooligans the way the dogs do.

I came home last night to find the back door wide open and all four pets having a meeting of the minds outside, all laying on the patio together. As I entered the yard, I noticed something had met a tragic death in our yard. Pieces of something's fur or flesh were scattered around. Upon closer inspection, the victim happened to be a brand new bag of cotton balls. Sadly, it looked like it may have suffered for at least 10 to 15 minutes before it finally gave up the fight to live.

Sorry this post wasn't funnier, guess I'm in a whispy mood today. I'm pretty sure that's not the right word, but whispy feels right. I guess there's nothing funny about love. Man... Does that ever suck!

Love,

Catwoman

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

I wish I were anorexic...

People with anorexia have so much self control... Me, not so much. I eat any food put in front of me like some kind of starving zoo animal... I roll my eyes at people on the phone when they annoy me and give the finger quietly to my cubemate when she pisses me off. In other words, I have no self control.

I figure, if I was anorexic, I could probably have the self control to not do those other things.

Speaking of getting or giving the finger, I don't get hit on very much anymore. Ever since my single girl body has been weighed down by a huge diamond on the fourth finger of my left hand, I've found that men don't seem to notice me very much. I'm sure the extra 20 lbs I wear around like a wool sweater probably don't help either, but I'm going to say it's the diamond.

The one category of men I've noticed that still seem to like me are the Kwik Oil men. Apparently I exude some kind of hormone that only men who spend all day laying under cars can pick up. Every time I get my oil changed, it's the most exciting day ever, because I get hit on and flirted with and asked if I'm single (apparently Kwik Oil men aren't very good with noticing large diamonds either). It always eventually becomes creepy and I end up driving Little Aggie out of the parking lot as fast as her four wheels will allow her to go, but until that point, I always feel like the hottest woman on Earth.

Anyway, the other day, I got to experience flirtation at its best. I was speeding along on the highway, going at a pace that some might call speeding, but I just call it "I'm running late and I need to haul ass," when I arrived behind a beaten up pick up truck who was puttering along in the left lane. I did what any normal person with a pulse would do and dangerously tailgated him (Sweetie Pie says if I drive so close to the car in front of me he can't see the bumper, it's too close, but I just call it being space conscious. Lots of cars out there, I just want to make sure everyone has enough space). Anyway, Mr. crappy pick up truck was either not noticing my flirtatious ways, or he was gay. But either way, he wasn't moving.

Exasperated, I finally just passed him on the right (a huge no-no in Europe by the way, in case anyone cares). Well, by then, Mr. Crappy Pick Up Truck had noticed me, and if I might say, he really seemed to like what he saw, because he put his hand towards me and waved his middle finger at me.

I guess it's been a while since I've been single, but man, I had no clue that's how kids these days got girls' attentions. Guess I should just be glad someone felt enough pity for me to take me off the market.

Love,

Catwoman

Oh I Wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner...

Because then, I'd have my own song. And people would really, really love me. Of course, it would also mean that I would meet a brutal death where I would be eaten alive by insanely strong stomach acid and drowned in a pool of beer.

Which really, doesn't sound like a lot of fun.

But at least, I wouldn't have to work here. Which right now, drowning in beer and being eaten alive by stomach acids doesn't sound so bad. But maybe I'm just being whiny.

Today is a very sad day, because I've realized that I've run out of things to bid on on eBay. I just never saw this tragic day coming and yet this morning, I woke up, stumbled to the computer (I'm a hard sleeper, not a drunk, just for the record) and logged on to the only auction Web site worthy of my business. And there it was, sheer joy. But as I got ready to click on the little white box located over the word "browse," all of a sudden, my mind went blank. "Think!" I screamed to myself (silently, since Sweetie Pie was still asleep). But nothing came to mind. My mouth went dry. My throat closed up and my chest started struggling for breaths as I realized that I had bought everything there was ever to buy on eBay.

I wonder if I can get in the paper for that? After all, that idiot who ate 20,000 Big Macs got tons of coverage. It's funny to me how idiots like that guy can manage to singly get more coverage than anybody else. Oh the number of times clients have had actual real newsworthy announcements and we PR folks can't get them any coverage. I think I'm going to start getting my clients to eat Cinnabons three times a day or IHOP pancakes six times a day, since they have a lot of catching up to do. At this rate, we'll get them great TV coverage in about 20 years.

I think I need a new theme song. My theme song for the past seven or eight years has been "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind. And I have to say, as far as theme songs go, it's served me well. It's peppy and whenever it comes on, especially the part that goes "I believe in the sand beneath my toes," it makes me feel happy and like this sitcom I call my life actually has purpose. But then I wonder if I've taken the part that says "I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life" way too seriously. Because i just don't seem to ever be happy. It seems that I can only appreciate the things I have for a few seconds before I go "Ooooooh! Cookie!" Which having been around kids lately, I've noticed is really cute when you're two years old.

"Ha ha!" The grownups around the two-year old say. Isn't his lack of focus hilarious? Don't you wish you were two again? Which makes me think, why would I wish to be something I already am? That'd be like me wishing for big boobs. Oh wait! I already have them and they prevent me from looking non-slutty in anything not called a muumuu. I really think I am two years old on the inside. The fact I've managed to keep this blog going for a week now (not every day I admit, but still...) is like a small victory for me.

The only things I've managed to keep going for long periods of time are the following:

- Breathing (which is HUGE kudos for me!)
- Feeding the cats for eight years on my own (although I cheat with this one, the cats usually yell at me for two straight days when they're out of food, so I admit that I kind of get forced to keep feeding them)
- Sweetie Pie, the first man who didn't bore me to tears after a period of time that previously ranged from anywhere from two minutes to one year. And that's probably the most amazing thing to me. Five and a half years and although he can regularly piss me off, he can't seem to bore me.
- Hmmm, that's it... End of the list. Just wanted it to look longer by inserting a fourth bullet. Did it work, were you fooled?

So these are the only things that I've managed to do for a long period of time. Is that sad? Could it even border on the pathetic?

Why is it I can't have a job that will keep me interested and happy for longer than three-nine months? Am I doomed to be unhappy until retirement? And will I then be unhappy during retirement because I'll get bored with gardening (oh wait, I already did that last year), crocheting (wait, I'm already bored with that too! I could only make a long string instead of a blanket, so REALLY got bored with that one) and cross stitching (didn't really get bored with that one, but got very bored with Sweetie Pie's comments about me looking like I'm 80 years old)

When I look back at my childhood, it amazes me the amount of things that I got bored with. If I'd stuck with all of the activities I was enrolled in at some point in my childhood, I would fare so much better than J. Lo. in the hyphenations. I would be Catwoman, Black Belt Karate World Champion/Gold-Winning Olympian in gymnastics, swimming, synchronized swimming, softball & horse back riding/World-Famous Pianist/World-Famous Ballet Dancer. And I'd hand people a business card the size of a small town and they would read it and fall over. "How did you do it," they would ask. "Simple, I stuck through everything I ever did and refused to quit until I got it down."

Of course, only problem is that I wasn't really good at any of that stuff. The ballet teacher told my mother I was out of the recital because I was so bad. My mom begged her to leave me with my pride intact. So I was allowed to perform about three feet back from the other little girls, snugly placed against the back curtain of the stage, where I promptly proceeded to do all of the same moves as everyone else, just a few seconds early or late. By the time I was signed up for softball, I'd started realizing that activities were probably not the best use of my time and that I was pretty darn bad at softball too. When the opportunity to sign up for a second season of softball came up the following year, I told my mom that I wasn't very good and didn't want to go back. Thinking I had self-esteem problems, she called the coach and begged her to convince me to come back. The poor coach called me up to ask why the runner up to MVP hadn't signed up yet. Unfortunately, I went on to believe that lie for years (13 to be exact) until I signed up for a company team and when I excitedly told my mom I would get to once again use my killer softball skills, she blanched and told me I really wasn't any good. And yes, I'd already told everyone at work about my being runner up MVP. Wouldn't you have?

Well, I'm realizing that this is an especially long blog entry, so I think I'm going to stop right here and spend the rest of the day finding some random item to buy on eBay. I mean, I'm not ready for THAT relationship to be over damn it!

Love,

Catwoman

Monday, July 26, 2004

Are You Sure It's Monday Again?????

I have to say, I think I'd be bored if I retired right now. I mean, I'm too young to even have a hobby that I could turn into a full-time interest. OK, maybe not too young, but definitely too immature and unfocused. I think if I retired now, I'd end up ballooning to 300 lbs and watch TV all day long, alternating with sessions of Gin and Solitaire on Yahoo.

After all, that's what I did when I got laid off three years ago. Well, I did all of those things except balloon to 300 lbs. I mean come on, it was JUST three months... But I'm pretty certain the extra 20 lbs I'm carrying now are from my unemployed period.

Anyway, my point is, that I don't wish to be retired because I would self-destruct in boredom and laziness. I need the rigidity and required attendance of a job to keep me going. However, I really wouldn't be opposed to only having to do this say... three times a week? Four would be fine too. Because really, two days for a weekend is just a rip off.

It's just simply not enough time. And every Monday I wake up feeling hurt like if the love of my life had left me.

Which speaking of... Sweetie Pie did leave me this weekend. Or at least tried to. I woke up on Saturday morning for the first time in five years of knowing him to find myself in bed alone. Confused with dry drool sexily crusted around my mouth, I noticed that Sweetie Pie's car keys were missing. My stomach dropped, because to make things worse, we weren't home, we had gone to Austin for the weekend for a bridal shower. Could I really be stranded in Austin? Just as I was getting sleepily paranoid, I noticed his wallet was still there, which meant he wouldn't even make it to Mexico. I called him on his cell phone and he claimed that he'd "forgotten" his "toothbrush" (notice the quotation marks for added drama) and was trying to buy a new one, but forgot his wallet, but I think his plan was foiled and he was trying to throw me off the scent.

A couple of years ago, my boy cat went missing and I desperately looked for him everywhere. Ends up he'd managed to move up in the world, to a large house in a gated community where he was hand fed peeled grapes. Unfortunately for him, the new family took him to the vet and he was found to have a microchip with my contact information on it, so back to the ghetto he went (which he was REALLY pissed about). Maybe I should put a microchip in Sweetie Pie too, so that should he happen to meet a super model who can explain cold fusion, he'll still be found to belong to me. That would just be the best revenge! BWA-HA-HA!

I've discovered a new passion: mystery shopping. Me, incognito! How great is that!!! Maybe if this works out, the CIA will want to talk to me about a more permanent position. I've got my first assignment on Friday. I'm thinking of wearing a wig and very large sunglasses so that I'm more secretive looking. I take very seriously the responsibility of tattling of bad waiters and cold food. It'll be a blast! Maybe I could make mystery shopping my retirement job...

Of course, to retire I first need to succeed at my part-time job: winning the lottery. And let's just say that if it wasn't a governmental job, I'd probably be fired by any other company, because I am REALLY crappy at the whole winning the lottery game. Heck, I don't even remember to show up to play, I mean work, 90% of the time.

OK, back to the real job so that I can cash my paycheck on Friday with no guilt.

Love,

Catwoman

Friday, July 23, 2004

Whoo-hoo!!!! FRIDAY!!!!!

Man, where has this week gone? I feel like my whole life is flashing before my eyes. What started out as a horrendously slow week gathered crazy steam by Tuesday afternoon and didn't slow down until now. I've got serious Friday fever right now! Can't concentrate and I'm soooo ready to remove the clown suit (a.k.a. my dressy skirt) that I had to wear on casual Friday for a client meeting that got cancelled as soon as I walked in.

This week's been rough. I survived third degree burns. Yeah, that's not an exageration. After showing up looking like a leper on Tuesday, I was able to buff away two or three layers of dead skin (sorry for the nasty visual lovely readers!) and reveal shiny fire-hydrant red new skin underneath. Oh did I ever look sexy! Pleased that I would be able to go to work looking human (thanks to piles of foundation) on Wednesday, I woke up on Thursday only to find that I was once again shedding skin. I have NEVER peeled twice in my life.

So I was once again able to go to work AND a client event with a missing chunk of skin on my forehead. Boy, did I ever make a great impression on all those I met. I'm surprised a dermatologist didn't walk up to me and offer up his business card to help me with my skin disease. I'm serious, it really did look that bad.

I spent all morning shaking from stress because of a million different things I had to do at work yesterday, only to find out that the supposed "client crisis" for an account that wasn't even mine was really not. Is there a better feeling than the one of crazy amounts of stress leaving your body? I don't think so... It is a pseudo-orgasmic experience.

Last night I learned something completely new about sweetie pie. It's amazing that after knowing each other for 5 1/2 years and being married for almost two that he can still manage to surprise me. For a long time now, actually, since the day we met, I have made him spaghetti with meat sauce. My meat sauce is famous around the world, it is a very complex and time-consuming operation that includes the following ingredients: - 1 lb. of ground beef (extra lean, unless we're broke and then it's just the cheap one that scarily reads only "ground beef") and - 1 jar of Ragu meat-flavored sauce.

I know, you're scrambling to write this secret recipe down as we speak. I will pause here to give you time. Ok, you're ready now? I should add that sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly sassy, I also add a few dried herbs. As in, I take the jar of herbs from my Sam's Club spice rack that reads "Italian seasonings" and tap it a few times over the sauce.

Anyway, back to my original story. I developed this secret recipe for sweetie pie. And now, for five years, he has happily eaten it. Although recently, I've managed to remove myself enough from my self-absorbed world to realize that sweetie pie was eating the spaghetti, but left behind most of the meat sauce. So last night, exasperated I asked "why is it you don't eat the meat sauce? It's such a waste of perfectly ground up strange beef parts." He responded "I don't like meat sauce." I promptly fell off the couch. "WHAT," I gasped. "I don't like meat sauce," he again responded. I was stunned. Apparently my better half, the person I'm supposed to know better than himself likes his spaghetti very plainly covered with just regular old Ragu or Prego sauce. The meat flavored one is lovely, but so is the garden vegetable variety. Apparently for the past five years, I have stupidly ruined perfectly good Ragu sauce as he sadly ate the spaghetti around it. I now understand why he asked me to place the sauce ON TOP of the spaghetti, rather than mix it in with the pasta as I originally did.

Who knew! Makes me wonder who he is at all!

I wonder if we'll end up on Dr. Phil where Sweetie Pie will sadly tell the audience about how I was too busy following Last Comic Standing to ever find out what his interests were.

But hey, Jay Mohr is on my cheating allowed list. So what does he expect! I'm sure if Anna Kournikova's swimsuit special was on, all of sudden, my discussions of how my boy cat seems to be becoming more vocal would all of a sudden seem less interesting to him.

Wait... Are you telling me he doesn't like those two hour long cat conversations either? Who the hell did I marry anyway!!!!

Love,

Catwoman

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

My Life as a Leper

This is so embarrassing! I look like a freak show (more than usual anyway). I am currently at work with a missing patch of skin the size of a small country on my forehead, with the rest of the skin dangerously peeling back from my skull like some burn victim from a horror movie. My hope is that I can hide in my cubicle all day undisturbed. I only have a conference call today, so at least I don't have to scare any clients away.

Day two of my new diet, although Day one ended kind of badly with me inhaling 3/4 of a can of Salt & Vinegar Pringles at 8 p.m. as I was trying to grocery shop at Kroger. I'd promised myself I'd only eat two...

But today's a new day. The idea of having to wear a bikini in Austin next weekend terrifies me. I'm mildly relieved by the idea that there will be life jackets to wear again, since boats and jet skis will be around. Never have I been more of a safety buff in my entire life! Life jackets should be mandatory all the time, whether laying by a pool or entering a jacuzzi. I think it's for the good of the people. I must write my Congressman about this idea after I'm done this entry.

Yesterday Sweetiepie started his new French class. Hopefully he can learn enough French that we can actually have conversations together. I've found myself to be not very patient with people learning. Although, in my defense, sweetiepie has no patience for my explanations either, so between the two of us, he doesn't stand a chance of ever being fluent.

I have an event in Kansas City at 11 that has disaster written all over. It's 1 1/2 hours before and we have no media confirmed to attend... This is the first one of three events, so we kind of need it to go well... Gulp! Keep your fingers crossed!

Love,

Catwoman

Monday, July 19, 2004

Just Another Manic Monday...

Why is it so hard to get back in the grind week after week... It's like I can think of a gazillion things I'd rather do than go to work for five straight days. Once I'm there, it's ok (most of the time) although sometimes I still have the paranoid feeling that V & J are out to get me. It's just that they are so tight together, and they're from a whole different realm of analness that I can't begin to understand and so I can never measure up to their expectations.

And the fact V is more junior than me makes me want to slap her around when she takes the liberty of telling me how to do my job, whether it's straight up or through other people...

Sigh...

At least had a good time in Galveston for the weekend. Got annoyed at sweetie pie and didn't talk to him for about 2 hours, but that's nothing new! :) I might have been PMS'ing at the time, but he snapped at me like if I was his child when I was talking to D & N. It pissed me off. But a couple of hours later I decided that I'd rather have a happy weekend and mini-vacation, rather than spend the whole trip miserable.

I got to ride the jetski, which is always fun! And I ate all sorts of bad foods... MMMMMMMM! Whataburger, then fried oysters with fries then Cinnabuns then Sonic then homemade burgers with Doritos and corn then Whataburger again for lunch. YUM YUM! I think my ass gained an extra inch or two, but it was worth it!!!! At least we did a lot of walking, so that probably cancelled some of the naughtiness!

I went off the patch on Friday with is VERY exciting and VERY scary! We're going to start trying in Sept. I've just made my appointment with my brand new OBGYN for August 30th... Gulp! I don't know if I should wait another year when sweetie pie and I are better off financially, since he just started making a decent amount of money again. I have all the faith in the world in him and know that he will sell enough for us to be well off, but we're going to need so much money for this baby! Besides the usual stuff like the maternity leave money and insurance and day care, we need hardwood floors in the whole house (that baby will NOT crawl on our nasty carpet! TOO SCARY!) and then a new truck for sweetie pie since his only has two doors. Yup, babies are definitely not cheap! At least, not with us!!!! :)

Well, I guess I should get some work done. And if not, then I should at least get myself something to eat! I'm starving!

Love,

Catwoman