Vacation rulz.

Real life sucks. Especially when you come back from a glorious week in the fantastical magical tropical paradise that is Hawaii...to find that your car is dead. Dead dead. Waaay dead. No amounts of (failed) jump start attempts (courtesy of Schmoobins) in the bitterly cold Pacific Northwest springtime weather -- in cruel contrast to the deliciously tropical Hawaiian springtime weather of sunshine and 80 degrees -- could get even a hint of a spark out of my poor (un)Lucky. Bah. Time to hit up the Nutella bottle again for some chocolatey nuttylicious therapy as I figure out how the hell to fix (un)Lucky after blowing a significant chunk of my pennies on various forms of macadamia nut based tasty treats this last week. 

A recap of vacation-related events and pics to follow...if you're luckyif I'm not too lazy. 

ps. Werk tomorrow?  Bah humbug!

Flying blows.

Greetings all. Am blogging from Phoenix International after disgustingly early drive to SeaTac at freaking 2:30 in the morning and relatively normal flight for Leg #1. Nothing surprising to report. Security folks are weird and/or disrespectful. Stewardesses are rude. Many people have bad breath. Star*ucks line is literally twenty people long. Coach seats are official Worst Place To Even Attempt To Fall Asleep In Ever. Blargh. Now, an overpriced airport breakfast and on to a treacherous 6 hour flight...to Kona!  Wooo! At least the light at the end of the nightmarish tunnel is bright, indeed.

Pop Quiz.

What do you get when you spend the previous evening eating spoonfuls of Nutella, then start this morning with three shots of espresso because you've got two painfully long meetings to sit through and then wash it all down with a couple handfuls of Girl Scout cookies? 

Answer: Me unable to stand still long enough to wait for the fax machine to send my two faxes, prompting the nearby accounting manager behind to ask me "Why are you dancing around so much?" so I flip around quickly and, without thinking, respond by lunging at her, doing jazz hands and saying "I'm SO caffeinated!!!" Then you run spastically back downstairs to your desk and scream out loud because an underling came and tapped you on the shoulder to ask a question and your nerves are shot. Oh, and then you randomly decide to end your day by renting a bass clarinet for the next 3 months. Why not, right? ...Before I get even more irrational, like going to Target and buying a new espresso machine (hey why the hell not I think it's a fabulous idea never mind the fact that our measly counter space barely holds my dinky 4 cup coffee maker and toaster but whatever I got paid today and I think an espresso machine is a fabulous idea wait did I say that already yeah I think I did oh well), methinks I should go heat up some leftover Moussaka (mmmm...) from last night so that it can soak up all this sugar and caffeine that is sending my brain waves into overdrive. Wooooooo... Hawaii in less than 48 hours!!!!!!!! AAAAaaaaaaaaAAahaAa!!

I am eating Nutella straight out of the jar because...

...I got a f*ing red-light camera notice in the mail today saying that I didn't come to a complete stop in the right hand lane before making a turn on a red light. Gur. Ok, so I guess I didn't stop completely. My bad. But I always look to the left completely to make sure the coast is clear, damnit!! Blaaar, nobody to blame but myself I guess. Hopefully the Nutella will wash away my bitterness. Or at least coat it in creamy hazelnuttified chocorgasmic deliciousness.

Aging + Metabolism = Blrrrgh.

I feel as though my metabolism has slowed down to a near halt. I can look back to the olden times when I could literally eat probably two burgers and a couple slices of pizza without giving it a second thought. In fact, I think I probably had a six-pack at that point. Then again, I was also twelve years old and spent like two thousand hours a week at gymnastics. Anyway, fast forward fifteen years later and I find myself waiting day after day for this temporary bloatation to go away. Except now I am fearing the process of accepting the fact that this "temporary bloatation" is actually "this is what you get when you never exercise and still insist on having the eating habits of a college undergrad." Gr. Oh, most cruel unfairness of life! This could, however, be also due to the fact that it is PMS week and the bloatation factor is higher than usual. 

Um, I'm not really sure what the point of this post was, except to say that I just finished eating Panda Express and am feeling exceptionally flabby. 

Super Secret Awesome Project is completed!! ...I hope.

Because I do all the fun stuff that Sarah L. does on her blog...



Wow, You're a Border Collie!

Border Collie
The Achiever

You've heard about this "second-place ribbon" thing, but really don’t ever plan on getting one. Not a chance. Highly competitive, you keep one eye on the Best in Show prize and one on the rest of the pack, making sure you're always at least one paw ahead. When you're not licking your professional coat, naked skydiving and triathlons keep you entertained. You idolize the top dog and will do so until you sniff out a way to take over the company and do a little "restructuring."

Trademark Traits:
Long, two-toned mane
Smart and independent
Eager to please
Suspicious of strangers
Great herders
Perfectionists
Tireless workers


Vey. I feel like I've gotten six hours of sleep in the last three days. Time to go catch up on some snoozles...

Updaaaaate.

I am on the home stretch of Super Secret Awesome Project. It is making me go insane. And have flashbacks of my senior year at UOP (that can be a hint for some of you). Blergh. Also: it is torturous knowing there is a brand new episode of trash-tastic "Big Brother" on the Tivo but I cannot watch it until after Schmooblies arrives home in 2 hours time after spending the weekend in Drum Corps Land. Guh. 

Note to self.

Dear Ysabel,

No matter how good an idea it may seem at a time, buying an entire gigantic pie at the grocery store to eat by yourself is NOT a good idea. Trust me: it will sit on your kitchen counter for three days uneaten because 1) Schmoobles is not very big on sweets, and 2) the mood to eat whatever fruit pie you decided on will not hit your belly as aggressively as you thought it would when you were in the bakery section of the grocery store. At the end of the workday when you come home and are ravenous to eat your first non-caffeinated, non-liquid food product of the day, you will immediately lunge for the nearest fried and salted potato or corn product. Therefore: Cheetos, Cheddar Harvest Grain Sun Chips, Tim's Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips -- these will all go from the grocery store shelves, into the kitchen cupboard, into the belly and out the poop shoot in roughly 24 hours time. The fruit pie, however, will remain untouched for three days until you finally decide you want a slice, whereupon you will open the box to find that mold has already started to grow on top of the crust. Damnit. And then you will go to the grocery store again the following weekend, purchase yet another pie and repeat the same blasted process over again. And THEN you will go to the grocery AGAIN the following weekend, be good-heartedly nagged by the Schmoobliebuns that it may not be the best idea to purchase yet another pie considering you've basically already thrown $20 into the garbage can, YET you will stubbornly purchase another pie damnit because I swear I will really want a piece of pie tonight!! So, you bring the pie home. And you eat a total of two slices in the subsequent three days. And then the remaining 75% of the pie will start growing mold and you will have to throw the rest away. Harumph. 

Long story short: When you stop by at the grocery store on your way home after hitting up Star*ucks and Target because you were being driven insane by working on your Super Secret Awesome Project, walk directly past the $10 gigantic fruit pies and, instead, buy a small box of bite-size fruit streudels for $2.99. Lesson learned.

Love,

Yourself (minus 30 blasted dollars)

Updates.

1. Working on this Super Secret Awesome Project is driving me baaaatty. I just want it to be done. But I also want it to be something I can be at least remotely proud of. Then I can tell you all about it in this blog. Can I be any more vague?  Hehehe. Ugh, time for a break.

2. So, I ran into Bossman in the upstairs offices at werk on Friday. I, staying true to my word, did not mention the whole Wendy Lee situation. Except that after the obligatory niceties exchanged, he said, "Oh, and I read your email about Wendy..." and that all but opened up the floodgates. I chose my words wisely - which was easier to do at that point since I had had a few days to cool off, and, as you know, the chance to therapeutically vomit the story out on this blog. I believe I started out by saying, "Well, I guess you can't help but respect somebody who is so aggressive about getting whatever she needs to be happy...it's just a shame she can't seem to recognize when other people are going out of their way to provide that for her..." followed by a none-too-subtle eyeroll (I am the master of this, by the way. Just ask Schmoobles). Long story short, Bossman not only was completely understanding, but - lo and behold! - she also does the same thing to him!  Ha!  Ugh. What a hateful woman. She needs to be put out to pasture. Maybe to the Mediocre Musician Farm. 

3. Bela is staring at me right now and his eyelids are only halfway closed but his eyeballs are rolled back behind his head. The effect is way creepy. 

4. Schmooblies and I will be on our way to Hawaii in just about one week!  Huzzah!!! Sawyer, Jack, Hurley...you all better watch out because the LOST-stalking will begin precisely at touchdown. Well, maybe after I've gotten my first Kona coffee.

5. Bleah. That's all. Back to working on this blasted Super Secret Awesome Project...

***

UPDATE: 4 hours later. I can't this anymore. Unnnnnnngh. I need to take a break. Star*ucks and Target, I think.  Bleh.

So how did you spend your Saturday night?

If it was anything like mine, then you went to a friend's doctoral piano recital (Chopin's Piano Concerto no. 2 in F minor*, especially the second movement...amaaazing), whereupon you went to take your seat at the end of intermission, Star*ucks grande soy caramel machiatto in hand, and then realized too late that the seat that your ass was aiming for was not actually where you thought it was, and you ended up flat on aforementioned ass with your feet up in the air with about thirty other people watching.  Yeah.  Even better: this chain of events caused a bottle of water that was at your feet to start rolling down the aisle, which prompted the guy sitting directly across the aisle from you to leap up from his seat and start running after the water bottle in a beautiful show if chivalry; unfortunately, his eagerness in running after my water bottle then resulted in him tripping over his feet and diving headfirst at the end of the aisle.  Yeesh. So I guess tonight's audience got two shows for the price of one, eh?  Haha.

Addendum: I should add, however, that I realized about thirty seconds after this all happened and the scarlet red flush had somehow drained from my cheeks, that my precious latte had somehow survived the whole ordeal and was still in the firm clutches of my left hand. Hm.

* Written when he was all of nineteen years old, by the way. Sick bastard.

Update.

Dear Wendy Lee,

Congratulations on conning the owners of the company that I work for into thinking that you are a somewhat talented musician and teacher when, in fact, you are not. Also, congratulations on fooling nobody but yourself and the owners of the company that I work for by thinking that you can throw your (substantial) weight around my workplace when, in fact, we all think you are a talentless hack and a mediocre-at-best string teacher. Congratulations, too, are in order I suppose for the fact that, despite nearly one hour of exercising every possible Google search I could pull out of my ass to check if - by some freak of the universe - you actually do have some musical credentials that may even remotely serve to back up that gigantic horrific ego of yours, the one and only thing I could find was the fact that you are sitting in the middle of the second violin section of Podunk One-Step-Above-Community Orchestra. Woot! Jesus, the first page of Googling my name will bring up four different performances I gave in three different states and a whole other country, for crying out loud. And I'm NOTHING in the music world (...yet)! And finally, congratulations on thinking that you were clever enough to complain about me and the work that I do by writing an email to my boss without my knowledge.

Before I go any further, however, it should only be fair to let you know that you should congratulate me as well, because I received a copy of your retarded email. I should also let you know that I thought about being the bigger person and not reacting to said email in a rash way. In fact, I even printed a copy of your poorly-written email and taped it up directly in front of my office desk so that I could stare at it and laugh at your ill-conceived plan to usurp my authority as a department manager for this company. After a full day of staring at that email, however, and sleeping on it for a night, I should inform you that I decided to also write an email to my boss in response to your pathetic diatribe.

You see, Wendy Lee, I am smarter than you. I am better liked than you. I am more talented than you; in fact, as you can see below, I pointed out earlier that my farts are more talented than you. But most pertinently of all, I am -- wait, let me check here for just one second -- yes, just as I thought: I am also a better writer than you. So, if it will please you, please note the following email that I sent to your dear friend, my boss:


Bossman,

I just have to say that I know you've heard probably more than once from Wendy Lee about some frustrations she is having with the timeliness of her music orders. This is very frustrating to me for more than one reason - the main being that I know she experienced problems with [my predecessor] in the past and is a good friend of your family's; therefore, I always (whether she realizes it or not) go out of my way to make sure that her orders - among a sea of others - get special attention. Add onto this the fact that I very rarely get information from her directly as she insists on using [Bossman's assistant] as a go-between. This can result in miscommunication and misinformation regarding any music she needs. You will also understand that my hands are somewhat tied regarding the current situation* with [largest music publishing company in the world] and [second largest music publishing company in the world]. I am trying my hardest to get every special order in as fast as possible through [music distributor], but am certainly limited to what they have in their stock and must wait for them to order from the publishers if needed. I only wish that Wendy would employ a bit of patience or understanding in this matter; or, if she has any issues with how I run your print department, would talk to me directly.

In any case, I will continue to try and get any special orders in for her - and all our customers - as timely as possible. Unless you want to discuss this further, which I am certainly open to do, this is the last I will say on this matter unless any further situation arises.



And so, my dear Wendy Lee, I will congratulate you on your attempt to gather whatever little wit and cunning you might possess to undermine my work to my direct superior. Unfortunately, you were not aware that, not only can I play that game, but I can play it better than you. So now that we are finished here, you can consider yourself free to saw away in a mediocre manner at your poor violin.



* I've never written here about this "current situation," but all that needs to be known is that it is a situation that arose because of something that Bossman, in fact, neglected to do, which in turn had a negative effect on the state of our business accounts with some publishers.

Blrg.

Fact: if your name is Wendy Lee (Yeah, that's right. I used your real name, b*tch.) and you fancy yourself a "musician" even though you are mediocre at best, yet you view yourself as more important than you actually are because you have it in with the owners of the company that I work for as a result of their not knowing the first thing about music and you try to do business with me as though I am an inferior musician or intellect than you despite the fact that I could fart more musicality out of my ass than you could out of your goddamned violin, and you go so far as to try and ineptly backstab me by emailing your snarky, unimportant opinion about how poorly I do my job to my boss, which was cc'ed to his assistant, which she then forwarded to me, then you had better rest assured that I have it in for you and will take advantage of every opportunity I can possibly find to make it painfully clear to you that you are an old, worn out, ungrateful, self-important, untalented musical has-been and I cannot wait to kick your ugly fat ass on my up.

The only way in which Spring Daylight Savings Time becomes a good thing...

...is when you realize that your work computer did not adjust one hour ahead and it is actually one hour closer to the end of the work day than you previously thought! Huzzah!

In other news: my little brother just sent out an email saying that he may not be able to go on our Hawaiian family vacation at the end of the month because of a laaame (but actually good for him) work dealy that he can't really pass up on. I will be sehr sad if he can't come because 1) he suffered a gnarly surfing wound a few weeks ago and I wanted to see the grossness in person, and 2) speaking of, he is supposed to give me surfing lessons. Anyway, I said that I would send out good karmic energy into the universe and, hopefully, make him magically able to go on the trip. This means, of course, that I can't post about poop and farts for a little while. Sorry.

Weekends are too short. The End.

I am taking a break from working on my Super Awesome Secret Project to inform you that the f*ing smell of poo has been following me around all day today.  It was there in the grocery store as I perused the orange juice selections (Such a craving for orange juice lately! What is up with that?). And it was there as I walked up the stairs to my apartment carrying 2 bags of produce, a carton of orange juice, a jug of iced tea, a bottle of V8 (So healthy!), and a gigantic apple pie ("No Sugar Added" it says. Again, healthy(ish)!), and a gigantic bag of Cheetos (Hm. We can't all be perfect, right?). Anyway, I have taken the necessary steps to ensure that I, indeed, have not inextricably shat my pants today.  The universe must just be toying with me after yesterday's post. Whatevs. Speaking of, Schmooblebuns was peeking over my shoulder as I scrolled through my blog yesterday and he asked, "Hey, what's that?" And I - always looking out for his best interest - said, "I wouldn't read that if I were you. I'm serious. You can read the first paragraph. Just skip the last line." My words of warning, alas, were not heeded and he is now sufficiently traumatized. Which I really don't understand anyway, because who wouldn't love a girlfriend who produces things that smell like delicious baked goods (Oh God, I won't even go there) out of her corn hole?  You know what I mean? Plus, as I pointed out to him, banana bread is one trillion times better than the odor he produces whilst on the can (Which, we decided together can be likened to Death + Eggs). 

I can't believe I'm up this early on a Saturda -- ZZZZzzzzZZzzZz...

You know what's not fun?  Having to get up roughly 4 hours before your regular Saturday wake-up time.  Especially when you took some melatonin the night before to help you sleep, except it didn't actually help you sleep and, instead, helped to make your legs incredibly restless while your brain continues to buzz at an uncontrollable rate thinking about the reason you are having to get up so early the next morning.  A reason which I cannot divulge here because it totally has to do with my Super Secret Awesome Project.  MwaHAAHAAhaha!  That is all you're getting.

Ooh, except to say this: yesterday at work (yes, at work....blargh), I had The World's Fastest BM.  And it smelled like banana bread.  The End.

Oog.

Yeah yeah yeah.  I'm going to post for real soon, ok?  It is just that life has been fairly busy - in a good way - lately and I think I am in the midst of living life in the beginning throes of actually picking up teaching and coaching gigs around town a little at a time and it is finally (finally!) starting to encroach on this nonsense that I call my day job.  This can only mean one thing: that in the somewhat not so distant future, I can anticipate the need to finally (FINALLY!!) cut back on my day job hours to make room for my blooming career as an actual bona-fide musician.  

F.I.N.A.L.L.Y.  

But I know this is the first of roughly one million baby steps in the process. 

 Oh, and I'm also working on a super secret awesome project that I don't want to write about here only because I want it to be a super awesome surprise once it's done.  MUAHAHaahhaahAHAhAHa.  Suffice it to say, that it is totally nerdy, and, in a way, involves The Grand Master Plan to stage my triumphant return to the world of musical academia.  

In the meantime: Have I mentioned how much I love Lost and how much last week's episode rocked my universe?  If 't'were possible, I would make with the sweet sweet lovin' to Lost and have twenty thousand of its Lost babies.