Bored & (sometimes) Witty

I had mentioned in my previous post about Colbie Caillat and while I may have enjoyed one (or four) too many glasses of wine while referencing the above artist, the good news is that I still know what I like, even in my not-so-sober state. The part that puzzled me was her last name. As in I had no idea how to pronounce it. Neither did Big Playah Watkins who introduced me to her so we decided on calling her Colbie Kai-yat until we could further research the proper pronounciation. We were hoping said pronounciation was going to be stumbled upon before attending her concert in two weeks but it wasn’t looking good. Until I did some light stalking on the Space, as my good friend JWood calls it. Which brings me to this lovely bit of information:

So, clearly Big Playah Watkins and I were a bit off in our guess but atleast this knowledge was brought to our attention prior to the concert.

And before we looked like buffoons in public.

I have been on vacation all this week. One might think I was going to some place exotic. I’m didn’t. I’m sitting at home, putting together that blasted football program which I’m taking to print tomorrow come hell or high water.

Seeing as how I was on vacay all week, I had planned to cross a few things off the “I really should do but never have time” list. For instance, tomorrow, I’m getting a passport. I have never left this country and for the most part, I am ok with that. But should the chance present itself, I don’t have 4-8 weeks to wait. We all know I’m not that patient. I also would like to spend some quality time in the Nook. I have not cozied up in the Nook and done some serious damage in a while. I plan on getting all sorts of caught up. The only problem is that it becomes difficult to cozy up in 103 degree weather. Which brings me to the next task on my list. If you are trying to find me during peak sun hours (that’d be 11am-2pm) you can find me lounging in Cindy’s pool, floating on an inflatable matress because I refuse to believe that Texas and Hawaii are the only two places I can get tan.

But since I have been home much of the time (refer to the paragraph in which the football program is defined as “that blasted football program”) I noticed that I have neighbors now. I live on the top of the two-story apartments, and I have an across the way neighbor and we share steps but no windows. I never had any neighbors who face my windows. This was perfect if I had folded laundry and safely piled it on the couch then perhaps got out of the shower only to realize that the shirt I wanted to wear was in the pile on said couch. I simply threw a towel around me haphazardly and walked to the pile for my shirt. But now I have neighbors. So there goes me doing laundry and realizing that the pants I have on need to be in the load I’m doing and just taking them off right there. Boo.

And while we are on the subject of my apartment, can someone please explain to me about the cat that purposely jumps out of the bushes at me every morning? This orange tabby cat, which will be referred to as Scamp because it seems very fitting, also likes to scare the crap outta me by popping his head up in between the stairs while I’m walking up them late at night when it’s dark. I got home tonight from taking Megan the Great to get her MRI and Scamp came outta nowhere and zipped past me, only to wait for me at the stairs as if I were going to share my leftovers. It’s as if he knows that I’m highly allergic to cats and wants to test me. Well you win Scamp! I concede. You are the guard cat and you win.

And just out of curiosity, who gets high in the parking lot of the Kaiser Hospital in Vallejo? Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron? I think so.

I successfully made it through my day. After a somewhat interesting Wednesday night. It was not intended to be such a night but a bottle and a half of wine often turns those dull middle of the week nights into something, at the very least, entertaining. Thus my drunk blog entry was born.

The following was created last night, post wine, but before I fell asleep in front of the computer with my head in my hand waiting for a song to be uploaded. Yep, that really happened. And when I woke up, it was 12:10. I had been out for over an hour. Enjoy the below.

Some people drunk dial……others drunk blog. I think that is what I might be doing right now since I put away a whole bottle of current vintage rose (ok, maybe Big Playah Watkins had a glass too).

In other news, I made dinner tonight. Oven-baked chicken (lightly breaded) and herbed rice with steamed broccoli.

I am an excellent cook.

So I cooked dinner and then we immediately began planning our weddings while we waited for it to bake. Big Playah Watkins is having a destination wedding and I will be wearing a plum dress. Just for the record.

I, on the other hand, did not necessarily (now might be the time to remember that words that are more than 3 syllables are on “the list”) plan my wedding but did plan that I want my proposal to be a surprise.

Obvi if you are thinking of marrying me, you know what kind of ring I would like without needing me for ring shopping. And if you’re not sure, you’re smart enough to ask Big Playah Watkins to go instead of me so as to keep the surprise proposal intact.

So after the whole wedding gig, we ate. And had a discussion on religion. Because you totally should when you’re slightly on the drunk side. And by slightly I mean that whole bottle is setting in. It is now that I’m reminded of the fact that some people call me a dwarf and a runt and why I never believed it before, I might now since I’m feeling like a bit of a light weight.

Anyway, then we listened to some really bitchin’ up and coming music. I proceeded to burn the CD Big Playah Watkins brought over because it was awesome.

Now I need to go watch General Hospital (hooray SoapNet) and finish off Big Playah Watkins’ glass of Pinot Grigio since she had to drive home.

So on that note, enjoy this lovely tune from Colbie Caillat:

PS- We decided long before I was workin this buzz that we needed updated pics of us. Thus the following was born:

Damn we are good lookin’. Especially when I rock the Tony Lucca wife beater. In public. To my appointment to get my eyebrows to look playful. Also, that glass in my hand was not that full for that long.

We had our carpets cleaned at work on Friday and that forced me to move all my boxes that are strategically placed under my desk to higher ground. That being said, when I got in this morning, I had to move them all from the top of my desk back to their rightful place on the floor.

Then it occured to me that one time, about six months ago, I was fiddling with my thumb ring and it flew from my fingertips and landed right.behind.my.desk. You know, the place where you can get your arms about halfway down before you feel it start to get stuck and the last thing you want is to be caught in suit pants with one dress shirt-clad arm stuck between the desk and the wall. So I offered it up to God.

Until today. When I decided I wanted it back.

I tried to see how far my arm could get because apparently I forgot I couldn’t reach it and despite me saying “go-go gadget arms,” I still couldn’t get to it. I tried to scrounge up a coat hanger but no one had one. Not even the guy who rocks the pink dress shirt on occassion. I asked the receptionist and while she didn’t have a wire coat hanger, she did have a yard stick.

I grabbed it from the closet and marched back to my office. I jerry-rigged the yard stick with some tape on one end since I was out of bubble gum and proceeded to move the spaghetti of cords around until I could spot my lost treasure.

And finally, I saw it–heard it, rather–and then my tape fell off and I came up empty-handed.

So I had to flick it out from behind the desk. Not nearly as inventive yet surprisingly effective.

**This “project” was done during the course of an allotted break and was most definitely not done on company time.

I went to an anniversary party this weekend. I wore my favorite black heels and a fun yet very sophisticated black wrap dress I bought at Banana Republic courtesy of the football coach’s wife–thank goodness he let HER pick out the gift. I arrived at said party only to find my cousin in denim shorts. Blast me for over-dressing!

After we got our seats at a table, I began to enjoy a glass of white wine when I noticed that my grandmother had smuggled not one but two bottles of zinfandel from the wine table and brought them to our table. It was at this point, since we had all traveled together, that I thought I should cut myself off and be available for designated driving purposes. So I drank coke the rest of the night. 3 cans. You can wipe that shocked expression off your face because they were the baby cans of soda, which really are like teasers, if you ask me. It’s like the fun size candy bars right Aleah? I mean, there really is nothing fun about a candy bar that small. Now they have taken over the soda industry. There is nothing fun about a single swig of soda in a can. It only means that I have to dive into an ice bucket and fish out additional cans to make up the difference.

Anyway, while I was sitting there enjoying coke no. 3, the slide show began, showcasing the family. I was sitting there, enjoying the soundtrack of country music which my non-wine stealing grandmother called horseshit and gunsoke music when I felt a tickle on my ankle. I looked down to find the world’s largest mosquito I have ever seen. I slapped at it and thought I was safe.

Fast forward to the end of the party, when I’m driving my parents, a set of grandparents and an additional grandmother home and I realize I must have been attacked by a whole swarm of mosquitos and by swarm I mean at least seven during the slideshow. All of which chose to bite me in the right ankle region. 

When I shared how I really got bitten to my car full of not totally sober passengers, my horseshit and gunsmoke-referencing grandmother says, “you know, those mosquitos that carry West Nile always bite below the ankle.”

Great, I’m done for.

So here I sit, a cold compress on my ankle because I’m out of anti-intch spray (a tip I learned from watching Big Daddy) and KK has already called dibs on all my purple pillows. Nice.

Does anyone know what tomorrow is? Tomorrow is not only August 14, but it also the day that my best friend in the whole wide world moves home! Hooray! We have not lived in the same town for six years. That is entirely too long.

Big Playah Watkins as her name reads when properly pimped flies home tomorrow and I.cannot.wait. It’s literally like Christmas. Does anyone even know how much money I’m going to save on my cell phone bill? A LOT.

Gone will be the days when I have to go to Target by myself. In its place will be date nights and cruisin’ the J in the jeep because that’s how we roll and maybe even taking off corsets halfway home because we just can’t take them anymore.

Better yet, I will have someone to cook for. I don’t like to cook because then I wind up eating the same damn thing four nights in a row and twice for lunch and then it’s boring and gross. With Big Playah Watkins home, I can expand my horizons in the kitchen and send her home with leftovers for Big Rand.

I would also be willing to bet that some of this will also be going on (only we won’t be in my parents’ kitchen. I hope.) Cheers to New Years 2004:

It’s gonna be awesome

PS- And just in case anyone was wondering, my pimped out name is Reverend C Slick. You can call me Rev.

I had big plans for tonight. I was finally gonna go to bed early and try to catch up on all the sleep that I had missed out on while I was in Chicago and hanging out with Tina (which rocked the fab, by the way.)

Yet somehow I wound up watching a re-run of Rock of Love and good news, it’s still a train wreck but I can’t look away. I’m slightly alarmed at my lack of will power to divert my eyes.

Anyway, I finally turn out the light around midnight and fifteen minutes later, as I start to get into the first stage of my REM cycle, my phone rings and it’s my brother.

Now, we all know that my brothers usually only call when they have a question like ‘what’s my password to the NCAA Clearinghouse?’ (because clearly, I am the password keeper) or ‘what are we getting Mom and Dad for Christmas?’ So you can understand why I was thinking that I was going to be called in to be the DD.

But to my surprise, I hear my brother’s voice (barely, due to the background noises only a club could provide) and he says:

“I’m in SoCal with Frank and we walk into this club and guess who is playing?”

And then it hits me.

I hear Sweet Foxy Jane in the background and realize my brother is in a club where Tony Lucca is performing. That lucky bastard stumbled upon his show without evening knowing!

I had forgotten that Joe had flown down to LA to go see the Tim McGraw concert with his old college roommate but they must have been doing a pub crawl tonight since the concert was tomorrow. I got all excited that my little brother is at a Tony Lucca show and was awesome enough to call me so I could hear a song.

So Joe holds the phone up for a while so I can hear the songs and comes back on post-Sweet Foxy Jane and says “yea, I had no idea but I know you like him so I thought I would call. Did I wake you up?”

Yes, you did. But that is totally ok with me.

My brother rocks.

I told you I had no shame:

If I were pitching to me, I would totally throw a fastball, high and tight.