Laundry vs Booze

Tomorrow is my first day of being furloughed. I have high hopes for the additional weekend day. My tentative plan: wake up at the same time I would if I were actually going to work. Work out for at least 45 minutes. Make a healthy breakfast. Do the 16 loads of laundry I have been avoiding but now must take care of because I'm out of underwear and I can't afford to go buy more since I'm furloughed. Play Frisbee golf. Go to Happy Hour (after all, it is still Friday).

What will most likely happen: wake up at 11 hungover because even though last night was Thursday, it's like Friday since I don't have to work the next day so I should drink as much as possible, crawl to the kitchen to inhale a banana. Take a nap on the couch. Throw up said banana. Take another nap. Watch reruns of America's Next Top Model. Make a real breakfast (with cream cheese and lots of carbs) around 2pm. Watch more America's Next Top Model. Go frolfing. Meet friend(s) at happy hour (what?! It's Friday!) to start the cycle over again.

Anyone want to lay down some bets? Over/Under?

I'm trying so hard to be an adult, but sometimes it's just so boring and predictable. That, and I really like booze. And cheese. And unicorns.

Friends who are kocked up, Disneyland and Furlough

Well hello there! It's been so long! First I must apologize for leaving that horrific post of my disgusting food up for so long. It made ME not want to visit my blog. My stomach still turns just thinking about it.

So, I must be honest... the goings on recently have not been very exciting. I have quit all of my extracurricular activities (although, as the boyfriend, JD, pointed out this morning while I was in the shower poking at my foopah -- that lower belly fat that simply doesn't go away -- commenting on how I miss drinking beer and "being active" since I quit everything... he claims I never quit... I simply retired. Semantics, my friend, semantics). And although I may not be doing too many active things other than working out my thumb via rapid-clicker-fire on the couch... many of my friends have bee gettin' busy... in the dirty sense. I know this because HOLYSHITTHEYAREALLKNOCKEDUP. All of them. Knocked up. Like little Mormon kids.

Some have already had their first kid and are on to their second, some are just going in for the first helping, some are married, some are living in sin preparing to raise a bunch of heathens... I don't judge... I don't care... just stop making me buy you presents and then forcing me to watch you open every. single. one. I'll buy you a present to take home and open. If I have to watch you open it in front of me, I'm going to run up screaming, snatch it back, and run away. Far, far away.

I promise you this: When I get knocked up and have a shower were I invite everyone I've ever met so I can get all kinds of free shit (half of which I won't know what to do with because oh my god, I put that WHERE? and WHHHHYYYYYY?) I will NOT sit there and open every single present, admire it, get up to thank the gift giver, admire again, and comment on the cuteness, or practical-ness, or thoughtfulness of the gift. And don't waste your money on a card. Write who it's from on the freaking bag in sharpie and put that money toward the gift. Or toward yourself. I don't care. But I don't like to read. It's going to be a civilized party, like a wedding, where you get to open and comment on your gifts in the privacy of your own home, which allows you to be completely honest and return things at will. And everyone gets drunk. You're welcome.

Now, I usually don't mind buying gifts for people who are crossing off one of those items on life's to-do list. However, we're in a recession. And I just got furloughed. That's right. The government makes the official announcement that we are no longer in a recession, and I get freaking furloughed. 20% across the board. Friday's off, and one day less pay a week. All I have to say is: ouch. My problem with getting paid less, or going on a budget, is that I always tend to go out and totally blow my wad in one foul swoop the day after I start anything official.

In unrelated news, I'm going to Disneyland this weekend.

Inside the Beltway

Washington D.C. is an amazing town. It's where laws are debated, passed, and vetoed. It was designed to be the most intimidating city on the planet (and actually IS the most intimidating city on the planet). It holds almost as much history as Jamestown, Virginia (the first English settlement in America, for you non-American-history peeps), and it has some of the best museums in America honoring people and cultures from all over the world.
Even though I was there for work, and was stuck in conference rooms for the majority of the time I was there, I still managed to get out and have a blast (sacrificing sleep in the process). Seriously. Here's my timeline (and I'm not sure how I survived):

• Friday
• Arrive at 6pm
• Dinner at 7pm
• Drinks until 4am (totally excessive) Saturday
• Saturday
• Up at 10am
• Meeting from 12pm-9pm
• After dinner drinks til 10pm
• Excessive drinking until 2am Sunday
• Sunday
• Up at 6am
• Meeting from 7am-5pm
• Drinks at 6pm
• Dinner at 7pm
• Passed the **F** out at 11pm
• Monday
• Up at 6:30am
• Meeting from 8am to 12:30pm
• Lunch meeting from 12:30 to 2:30pm
• Depart for airport (to arrive back in CA at 11pm. HOWEVER...)
• Missed connection in Denver, stay night in Denver with old high school friend.
• In bed at 1am (3am East Coast Time) 
• Tuesday
• Up at 10am to catch 12:30 flight
• Home by 3pm

I. Might. Die.

However, the places I did all the excessive consumption is what makes DC amazing.

Old Ebbitts, the 4th busiest restaurant in the country, one of the oldest, open til 3am, with a late night menu starting at 11pm, the best bartender on the planet (Brian, the Scot who loves Reggae music) and not one, but THREE amazing bars to choose from. Also a standard stomping ground for Congress and the President (many of them).

Ceiba, only the best mojitos, shrimp and taco nachos and fish tacos in the city, and within walking distance from Old Ebbitt Grill and the White House.

The Robins Nest at the Willard Hotel, this is only the place where the term "lobbyist" was originated. There's enough history here to knock Mrs. Deveroux, by High School History Teacher over (and she wasn't a petite woman).

These are just a few.  There are more, but I will have to reserve them for another post. For now, I bid adieu to the place that has given me so many wonderful memories, so many sleepless nights, and rarely changes from year to year.

Working from home, or getting paid to watch the Game Show Network? Also, blowjobs and metaphysical crap

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The Crazy Bench

There's a bench across the street from my office where all the homeless people camp out to sing, preach, beg and play instruments. However, they all seriously suck at playing their instrument of choice. I mean, you're homeless, there's no place for you to go, no house for you to clean, no one to pick up from school or camp or practice, (and let's face it, I'm pretty sure your to-do list isn't very long... 1.Eat 2.Beg 3.Sleep 4.Repeat)<---I'm fucking Dr. Suess over here... (I mean, not actually fucking Dr. Suess because he's dead, I'm pretty sure, and it would be gross to fuck a dead guy, I just mean that I'm awesome at rhyming) the least you could do is learn how to play your ONE instrument decently. Is it too much to ask?!

Anywhoo... I work on the second floor, and when I look out my window and across the street, this is what I see. Today at work, I went crazy. Crazy like goofy, hyper, annoying and needy. So I decided instead of risking my career, I'd go join the crazy people on the bench for a bit. However, I got out there, and no one was there.

I know, totally not a flattering picture, but I have a point here...

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
"What the FUCK is up with her hand?!" I decided the crazies were channeling my hand and took it over.

In the end, the bench worked. After 5 minutes I moved from the sun to the shade, then 15 minutes later I stood up, leaving the crazies behind, and headed back up to the office. So maybe it's not the homeless' fault that they are crazy. Maybe they catch it from the bench (I left my crazy there, so someone's bound to pick it up, right?), maybe it's the bench's fault.

Aw, who are we kidding, homeless people suck.

Calling in Burnt

Air humping, motor-boating, excessive boozing and really good time. Last weekend was an amazing one. In fact, it was so amazing, that I called in burnt to work on Monday. You see, some of the benefits of living in California are that you can get away with b.s. like calling in burnt. And the best part? I actually DO look like a lobster. I also like to eat lobster. But I would prefer not to eat myself. Wait... that just got SUPER dirty.

So Monday morning, there I was, laying a pool of my own drool, blinding slapping at the snooze button on my alarm clock feeling like death (and probably looking like it too). As I lay there contemplating what could possibly be worse than feeling the way I felt (hungover, burnt to a crisp, on 4 hours of sleep, etc), I realized that... I HAVE SICK DAYS! And... instead of calling in with some kind of illness and having to fake feeling like shit for the next week, I decided to tell the truth(ish). So I texted my boss (I love technology... like, more than a friend) and told her that I was all burnt and couldn't even put pants on and would really like to NOT come into the office. She promptly responded with the "no problem" text I was praying for. WHAT?! You mean I just called into the office telling them I'm an irresponsible asshole who can't even remember to slap on some SPF for my lily white ass and it's okay?! Sold.

So, I spent the rest of the day on my couch, soaked in aloe and lotion, watching the game show network and reliving the parts of the weekend that I remembered.

Upon reflection, I think it's absolutely necessary to share with you some very important lessons learned in just 36 short hours:

1. Don't waste your money on going out to sushi for dinner when you're already wasted and just walk directly out of the restaurant (after eating all the fish you can handle) and into Taco Bell for "dessert"
2. ALWAYS put sunscreen on your head and hairline so you don't end up with random scabbing grossness in your part and looking like a damn leper. (Have you ever looked at pictures of lepers? Because I just did for the first time and now I feel all creep'd out and also like an asshole)
3. While sitting at the beach ALL DAY long, remember to reapply sunscreen more than once. Because no matter how much you've had to drink and how invincible you think you may be to the devil-sun, you're not. 
4. There's a reason guys like to lay on girl's boobs... those things are damn comfortable! (I have some well-endowed girlfriends and put in some good "pillow" time... trust me on this)
5. The word "pussy" is amazing (I think we all knew that). But when it's said with a southern accent, it's EPIC, and impossible to overuse.
6. I'm pretty positive there were other lessons learned, but I drank too much and can't remember them. My bad.

Here's to being sober for a few days, but also to a FANTASTIC weekend.