Just call me Consumer Reports

Hi. So. I'm getting a cold at the WORST possible time. I discovered this when I got up this morning with mild drainage and in that delightful state where you basically need to duct tape a kleenex under your nose (TMI? sorry). So, on the way to work, I stopped at the store to stock up on Zicam and tissues and OJ and whatnot in preparation for waging war upon the advancing cold.

But then I got to my office, pulled out a tissue out of one of the two (two!) boxes that I had just purchased...on sale. Which should've been my first clue. I blew my nose and about choked. Why? Because I had purchased Puffs w/ lotion AND THE SCENT OF VICKS. Folks, these things are insane, like walking around with Vicks slathered on your chest all day. They're totally weird. They even make me feel sicker because I'm walking around in a cloud of menthol. And I'm stuck with two boxes.

Anyway, I do not recommend them. A nose in need deserves Puffs, indeed, but not Puffs with the scent of Vicks. Trust me.

Heard... (work edition)

...from a guy in Finance who just moved into my old office, which is right in the middle of the Marketing department
Finance guy: I'm kinda nervous. I feel like the new neighbor on Wisteria Lane. Will they like me? Maybe I should bake some muffins.

Sorry, Ronnie, I'm still not voting for you

Ron Paul and I have the same birthday! I learned that by taking this nifty little quiz on glassbooth.org. That, however, is about the only thing we have in common.

The quiz is actually kind of interesting. It asks an assortment of questions, including what issues are most important to you and your specific views on those topics, and then tells you how each candidate compares, with details like their voting records, comments, and the like.

Apparently, my ideal candidate is Mike Gravel. Which...really? Is he even still running? I find it amusing.

It does, however, reinforce my belief that I'm voting (or planning to vote) for the right person (not Gravel). And the good people of the great state of South Carolina made the right choice today as well.

I don't have an interesting title for this...

...because my creative energy is pretty much sapped. I pulled an (almost) 11 hour day today for the third day in a row. It's...infuriating, really. I can handle it during the two times a year when I have three Big Projects going simultaneously--I expect it and even kind of thrive on it--but when I'm still hanging around at 8:15 p.m. doing the things I was supposed to be doing during the day but couldn't because I was dealing with nonsense caused by other people, I get kinda cranky. (Especially when said people walk by all "Why are you still here?!" But I digress.)

I'm considering making like George Costanza and sleeping under my desk. It's spacious enough.

How to interact with coworkers

Step 1: Discover problem.
Step 2: Participate in meeting with peers of similar standing within company.
Step 3: Decide that problem is not, in fact, a problem, but rather an Opportunity to Excel.
Step 4: Collectively decide on a reasonable solution to said Opportunity.
Step 5: Adjourn meeting.
[Step 5b: Members of affected department implement solution. All is well.]
Step 6: Immediately begin lobbying behind closed doors with peers who were in previous meeting in an attempt to change to a solution that you were too much of a weenie to pursue in previous meeting. Do not raise issue with the person whose project is the subject of said Opportunity to Excel.
Step 7: With help of peers, successfully achieve personal goal, requiring coordinator of the project to REDO IT despite significant delays to schedule, substantial costs, and the fact that the Opportunity to Excel WASN'T A BIG DEAL IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Step 8: In later conversation, tell coordinator of said project that you were responsible for the redo, as if they will UNDERSTAND and not be PISSED.

In which SOMEONE wears her dinner

I have returned from the southland, following the very excellent nuptials of Nick and Shelley, as mentioned last week. It was the most wonderful wedding I've been to all year (which is saying something, as this was my fifth in seven months), and it was also an occasion during which I exhibited a higher concentration of slobbiness than I have since I was five. It was at once hilarious and tragic.

So, you see, I have this dress. I fell in love with it two summers ago, bought it on the spot, and never wore it. On several occasions, I've literally had the dress on and then changed right before I ran out the door. It was too dressy for some events and not fancy enough for others. But for this wedding, it was juuust riiight. So I wore it, and, despite being January 5, it wasn't freezing outside, and all was going smashingly. Until dinner.

The sad part was that we didn't make it through even part of the meal unscathed. No. See, we sat down and Ross (my totally fun date. Hi, Ross!) immediately splattered honey dijon onto his tie. First bite of salad. Really smooth. I laughed...kind of a lot. Which, it turns out, was unwise. Three minutes later, when I launched into my main course, I IMMEDIATELY flung gravy ALL OVER my dress. Bodice, waist, multiple spots. Perfect. I cursed loudly, and then laughed and accepted the karmic payback of it all and proceeded with my food. Until a renegade piece of chicken flew off my plate, bounced off my chest, and ROLLED down the rest of the dress and onto the floor, where Ross helpfully kicked it under the table. I'm not sure why the universe thought that projectile chicken was necessary after the gravy bit. I looked like a damn Klee painting for the entire evening. (Though, on the upside, it thoroughly entertained everyone else at my table. I aim to please.)

Alas. So the dress is now at the dry cleaners, getting the buffet removed from the front of it.

That wasn't the funniest part of the evening, however. That would be when two (quite drunk) gentlemen approached an unsuspecting guy at my table, and one said, "[Tom!] Hey, man! You don't remember me, but I pulled you out of a lake once when you were a kid." And he sloshed a full glass of red wine all over the floor (and, nearly, [Tom]'s wife) at the same time. Greatest introduction of self that I have ever witnessed.

So anyway, there it is. Good times, good food, balance restored to the universe.

Whatever Lola wants

I hope that Lola* is okay with long distance driving, because she's being subjected to a lot of it these days. She's been a peach so far, aside from petulantly hiding various items from me. We're leaving AGAIN this afternoon to drive back to Tennessee AGAIN for Nick and Shelley's wedding, returning to DC on Sunday. I am sure there will be stories upon my return.

* the Corolla (my car)

Procrastination!

Hello! I am at work. In the physical sense, but not the literal. That is, I'm WASTING TIME. (Heh. I just typed "waisting.") I have had a cold for the last few days and, consequently, have gotten virtually nothing done at work because my head is foggy. Foggy head!

Anyway, I don't know what I've been doing, really. Send work-related email. Edit three sentences of flyer. Lose twenty minutes of time doing...what???? Also, have inane G-chat conversations with the person in the next office:

B: you cant even get into the events with the really famous people anymore
and they are hella expensive
me: ...i'm sorry?
context, please?
B: south beach food & wine festival
stay with me, grove
me: ah hah
i'm sorry, i try to keep up, but i'm still in the fog today
slightly
B: :)
anyway, it's expensive and the giada events are sold out
me: ah giada
maybe you can lurk at the stage door or tent flap or whatever and pounce upon her when it's over
B: yes! pounce!
me: yes! but you might get arrested
so perhaps just politely tap her on the arm
and say "hello, miss giada? my name is B and i want to marry you and have lots of babies and italian food"
let me know how it goes

Heard...

...at dinner with my grandparents on Sunday night
Bispo: (to Mom) Did you know that Benazir Bhutto was exactly your age?
Mom: No, I didn't.
Gretchen: Makes your life feel kinda small, doesn't it?

No missing socks, unfortunately

So it turns out that my mother HAD gotten me an ice scraper (sorry, Mom!). It was wedged snugly under the passenger seat (where I swear I'd looked), along with Jules' missing sunglasses. This means that I can return the spatula that had been acting as Interim Ice Scraper to my kitchen. Hooray.

And I wasn't even wearing my lucky Power T socks

Tennessee beats the University of Wisconsin in the Outback (formerly Citrus) Bowl. Badgers everywhere are crushed.