Sweet, sweet success, errr...I mean failure.

Oh the plans and goals I had for myself today...so far I'm 0-4.

I stayed up late last night finishing a few projects and then was properly and completely sucked in to the Gold medal women's beach volleyball final. The announcer explained that China had called a time out due to "equipment issues." The "equipment" with the "issues" was a freaking hat. The 'issue' itself was the Olympian from China was having problems putting her pony tail thru the opening in the back of the hat. I kid you not, the male announcer said "you may not realize just how hard it is to get a ponytail through the back of a hat." Really? That's the difficulty of the match? Does this mean the US team deserves an additional medal for getting dressed alllll by themselves? Please.

I intended to get up early today, hoping to be leaving the house around 7:45 to a) actually be early for work and b) make it easier to leave early today. Instead, I woke up at 7:40. Awesome. I'm not sure why I'm so tired - I didn't go to bed that much later but I guess I was pretty out of it. I think I may have fallen asleep in the shower.

My face felt tight this morning after my shower so I thought to myself 'self, remember to moisturize.' Next thing I know, I've got a hand full of tooth paste and I'm about to rub those hands together for application. Hmmm, not sure that's going to help.

I decided to dress up a bit for work today, mostly because my most favorite purple work top (with polka dots and ruffles! it's cute, I swear) was clean and would give me an excuse to wear my super hot black pencil skirt. As I looked in the mirror once my outfit was complete, I realized my skirt had lint alllllll over it. Ick. I grabbed my lint roller and made a swipe. Equipment failure extreme - the roller pushed all the lint it had collected in swipes previous and deposited them on my skirt. The paper was completely un-sticky (non-sticky? stickiless? whatever). I lifted up the corner of the sans-sticky sheet to go to the next, gave a little pull, and ....... the entire roll unraveled like a 2 year old with Charmin. Aparently lint rollers expire. I was unaware. And now covered in lint.

Metro was running with *h*u*g*e* delays today, so I quickly fired off some emails before crossing the bridge so hopefully I won't get nailed for turning in some docs late. I arrived at Chinatown, my transfer point, and proceeded to go to the wrong platform. I looked around thinking, "hmmm, that train should be going the other waaaaaa- fudge." Walked back over to the correct side and caught my train.

When I finally made it to my stop, late as usual, I decided what I needed more than anything was coffee. Good coffee. I sent a quick email to a couple other people with the "hitting up starbucks - who wants some" message. Within 3.4 seconds, a new world record, Dorothy responded with her order. One Big Big Latte coming up. I decided to treat myself to a venti as well - I have the feeling I could use the extra caffination today.

I headed into work, managed to open the massive door in front while balancing two venti cups against my chin and dropped Dorothy's off. No trips, no falls, no spillage. Thank the LORD.

Within 2 minutes of sitting at my desk, 1/4 of my latte ended up in my little basket of binder clips. yay me. go team. rah freakin' rah.

So now the question is do a) I go and wash all 50 of my little binder clips now dripping with my skinny vanilla latte, b) just put them back sticky and covered in milk - that will teach people to steal my clips, c) throw them away and start from scratch, or d) abort mission - just go home.

Kill Her With Kindness

I'd like to think overall I'm pretty good at not sweating the small stuff. I try to be that calm duck on top of the water while my feet are kicking madly beneath the surface. My job has helped me develop a thick skin I a) needed and b) appreciate daily. But there are a few people who still manage get my goat, one of whom was staying over last night.

I was dreading going home all day. Anxiety levels were unbelievably high and I hadn't even seen her yet. Thankfully I had to work late, then I met up with a friend for dinner hoping to minimize the possible contact time. On my metro ride home it struck me how ridiculous I'm being. Since when do I back down from a fight? Why am I fighting passive aggressive behavior with passive aggressive behavior? This is going nowhere. I started analyzing the situation, asking myself what the root of the issue really is. Is she a fairly miserable person? Yes. Is she amazingly talented at getting under my skin? Yes. Does this mean I don't have to be nice to her? Yes.....well, no.

I remembered something I read written by a woman who worked at a coffee house. Dee was frustrated people didn't treat her with the same respect and attention she was giving them. She remembered tens or even hundreds of individual orders, preferences, kids names, etc, and yet so few could remember just one name, or even bother to look at her name tag and call her by her name. My brief time as a restaurant employee gave me the same frustrations - I'd greet someone with "Hello! How are ya?" and the response invariably would be "Yes, I'd like a...." After a while, I stopped expecting people to answer my question and generally stopped asking all together. Dee's response was different - she decided instead to 'kill them with kindness.' Over time, she started noticing a difference. There would always be those people who would view her as just an extension of the espresso machine but others stopped and saw she was more than an excellent frother. She had a name, she had a daughter, she had a great sense of humor. She was a kind and generous person who deserved kindness in return.

I decided to give it a whirl last night. I didn't rush home after dinner but as I got home, I psyched myself up for battle before going in. She was there and was not in a good mood. I greeted her, she returned it with a heavy sigh but with a hello. I couldn't tell if she was just tired or annoyed that I was home later than I said I would be. I asked her if she was psyched up for her daughter's move this weekend. She was not. Ok then. Well it will be fun to see her new place! She does not like it. Well then...

I took a five minute break from the action to recompose myself. She was not going to make this easy. I went back out and asked if she'd like me to set up our extra bed in the living room for her. She looked at it and said "it doesn't look comfortable." Well, it's just a twin I replied, but it's more comfy than the carpet! "Oh. Well....no. I don't think so. But I might put the mattress on the floor." Sure! I said. I have sheets to fit it! And blankets! I can grab them for you in a minute. "No, I brought my OWN sheets. I don't want yours." Ok, I said, but if you'd rather, I also have an air mattress - it might be better than the green thing -- just let me know, I'm happy to get it out for you. "No, I'm sleeping on that tomorrow. (big sigh) At Marie's. Air mattress (mutter mutter mutter)..." And then she gave me the full body turn away to face the TV.

I wanted to run over to her, give her a hug, and scream in her ear 'I'M BEING NICE TO YOU DAMMIT AND I DON'T HAVE TO! BE NICE TO ME - YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE GROWN UP HERE' but I didn't. She clearly needs more hugs and compliments and sunshine and puppies, etc, but not from me, and not tonight. I don't want to make one of those sweeping statements of "thank God I'm me and not her" so instead I made more of a "thank God I am me. Period. Dot." Who knows why she is the way she is. Freud probably has some ideas, therapy might not be a bad idea, but in the mean time, even if it kills me, I will be nice. Nicer than nice. A friend just sent me an email forward with a bunch of pink fru fru crap but at the end it said "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." I don't know what she's fighting, but from the looks of it, she could use all the help she can get.

Ponder Me This

On a scale of 0-50 pounds, how bad would it be to own this?

Is it wrong to pull my hair out while listening to coworkers wax poetic about the amazing acting prowess of Russel Crow in "Captain Ron"?

What is the statue of limitations on (still) being horrified when I run into I coworker whom I pulled on to the dance floor at last year's Holiday Party to show him my amazing sweeping abilities?

Is stealing and hording free food a bad thing or just good planning?

My boss just said "You and Kate are quite the dynamic duo" - does this mean my alter ego should expect to start receiving a pay check as well?

If someone offered to give you money if you donated your body to science upon death, who gets to spend your two dollars?

If I an employee is due in to work at 9 am, usually shows up around 9:30 am, but this day came in at 8:40 am, does this mean she can leave 50 minutes early? (Please?)

If someone tells you that you are the best grandma alive, but all of their personal grandmothers are currently alive, are you still the best?

Let's imagine your friend dates a boy whose name starts with the letter M, who turned out to be a Moron (an M word!), with Many Major Malfunctions (triple word score!) who you'd kinda like to Murder (yet another M word!) is ok to substitute his name in all conversations with Midiot?

Is it at all shocking to find the entire reason someone dumped you in a comic strip?

Should I be surprised that my life can be defined by a three frame comic strip?

Adventures in Timestamping

Tuesday
9:00ish: Arrives at work
9:30: Starts to send out links to blog
9:45: Re-reads the blog, reliving the previous night's trip
10:00: Finished coffee, thinking about getting some work done
10:01: Abandons idea of getting work done, reads other blogs instead
10:20: Convinced today will be perfect and amazing
10:28: Phone rings. Brooklyn area code
10:29: Man on phone, Byron, recounts his previous convo with me re: why I am a bad person
10:30: Pulse hits about 200 bpm
10:31: Byron starts yelling at me, but not AT me, as he is so kind, but yells at the situation (which IS me)
10:32: Finger starts waving about in the air. oh he did not just say that. and that. and what the...
10:34: Yelling into the phone, I demand respect! And kind words! And ... RESPECT damn it!
10:36: Am told I am no good at my job, never will be, should quit my job pronto and inquire for a local fry chef position at the Golden Arches
10:38: SCREAMING into the phone "There is no reason to disrespect me! You have no right to speak to me this way!"
10:40: Still be screamed at, am told I have cost my boss Bill millions of dollars, ruined my company, and am a total idiot.
10:43: Byron hangs up on me, having accomplished whatever it was he was hoping to accomplish.
10:43:01: I slam receiver down, nearly breaking a nail and possibly the phone.
10:43:02: Bosses Geeves and Soph run out of offices, wanting to know what is up, why was I yelling
10:44:10: Start to feel tears/emotion/total breakdown about to start
10:44:30: Run to kitchen for 'water'
10:46: Return from kitchen to recount to bosses in short sentences with pulse racing at over 300 bpm "I. HATE. THAT. MAN. I. HATE. MY. JOB. HATE. MAN. CAN'T. BREATHE. DON'T. WANT. TO . TALKABOUTITRIGHTNOWBUTDOSOMETHINGASAPBEFOREICOMPLETELYLOSEMYMIND.
10:47: Runs to bathroom, hides in stall, cries.
10:57: still crying.
11:05: Emerges from bathroom, red, splotchy, makeup/hair/composure ruined, completely embarrassed. Bosses are waiting for me.
11:15: Boss Bill calls, wants to know what the h-e-double hockey sticks is wrong with me - why can't I handle myself - why do I let people talk to me this way - why do I let my emotions get the better of me
11:15:10 I'm wondering why I let people talk to me this way
11:15:20: Still wondering why I let people talk to me this way
11:15:21: thinking my parents' basement is looking better and better every day
11:15:22: wants pringles. and skinny cow strawberry ice cream sandwiches. and pickles. and guacamole. and root beer. without the root. and extra beer.
11:20: done listening to boss Bill tell stories about when people have been more mean to him and how he handled it with great aplomb that I clearly lack and by the way what is wrong with you anyway?
11:58: Finds ability to breath fire. Or at least scare people away.
12:10: Boss Raymond cracks joke
12:10:02 Not laughing at joke. Nothing is funny. Not even you.
12:10:30 Boss Raymond wonders aloud what I'm so upset about
12:10:31 Gives Raymond the "what are you an IDIOT?" death stare. Bolts for the door, needs to walk off some aggression and search for at least 2 items of the above comfort list
12:12: starts death march in dress shoes around Chevy Chase
12:25: one mile into walk, sees young thug-dressed boy approaching
12:25:30: thug calls me baby
12:25:31: thug puts hand on my shoulder
12:25:32: thug tries to put his hand down my shirt
12:25:33: hand is swatted away
12:27: Just realized what he was trying to do
12:27:30: contemplates turning around to find said thug and kick him in the balls
12:28: decides not to chase worthless human being and head for guacamole instead
12:45: one mile later, guacamole and root beer is found (thank heavens for Chipotle)
1:10: arrives back at office, audience has assembled for Meltdown2008.
1:12: burrito is devoured in record time. behold the power of avocado.
1:30: first meeting with bosses Geeves and Raymond post HR session, nothing is changing
1:30:30 not surprised
1:31 and not gonna take it
3:30 second meeting with bosses Geeves and Raymond post second HR session and general stomping around
3:31 something might change but it will take time
3:31:30 not falling for that for a second
4:00 deal is brokered which involves nothing changing but boy oh boy wasn't this a fun day
5:50 email from friend "want a drink"
5:50:10 response "or 6"
6:20: grey goose cosmo in hand, things are looking up
7:00: second grey goose cosmo in hand, things are not only looking up but moving on their own, even though they are stationary objects
7:10: starting to wonder if I'm abusing alcohol
7:11: realized the only options for coping was either a drink or violence, and since violence is never the answer, drinking must be ok
7:20: dinner arrives - mussels frittes.
7:30: mussels are inhaled, lots of broth left over. bread is needed
7:50: have successfully eaten my weight in bread, even though the diet was re-starting *today*
8:00: contemplates a third drink, but probably not the best idea.
9:45: at home, in bed, heart beat down, day is over.

Have a Nice Trip

Time and again, I share with people my almost stories - like the time I almost died from a scorpion sting, or when I almost made an amazing, game winning catch in a softball game, or when I almost kicked someone's butt for sitting in my seat on an airplane. The vast majority of my almost stories, however, are more focused on when, at least 3 or 4 times a week, I almost wipe out.

I've developed a bad habit of bringing up in every conversation with Curtis all my recent near misses in the world of 101 Ways Kate Can Wipe Out While Walking On Flat Ground. Once when I was walking through the lobby at work, late, in wet sneakers, I slipped on the floor and slid all the way into an open elevator door, almost taking out not just myself, but also a lawyer from my company, who happened to be carrying an extra hot venti coffee. Almost...

Tonight as I was walking over to borrow a drill from Curtis, I almost wiped out when my heel of my rather high (and hot for the record) heel wedged itself a gap in the brick sidewalk. In my stumbling and sudden halt in the forward motion I had been making, two people who had been following too close behind me almost rammed right into me. Thankfully for all of us, we all avoided the collision, I unwedged my shoe and carried on my way.

As I headed down the slope towards his condo, I remembered the stairs that were to come. They are haphazard stairs formed into the slope of a hill supposedly to look very natural and as though they were always there but what they really are is a giant safety disaster waiting to happen for anyone who is either a) not entirely sober, b) not the most stable of walkers, or most disastrously c) a combination of the two (guilty). None of these stairs are the same size, depth, or space apart. The center of each stair is brick that since it was built has now sunk into the ground and is not only not level but now has lots of little corners and pieces to trip you up constantly. Around this ankle-death trap are giant 2x4s 'framing' the brick, but not level with the brick of course, so if you don't trip on the brick, you will certainly catch a heel or toe on the wood and face-plant right into the brick. In my worst case scenario thinking mind, I immediately start thinking about how embarrassing it would be to wipe out while walking down the stairs with Curtis waiting for me at the bottom, with limbs flailing in the wind behind me.

Three stairs from the bottom, I look up to see him waiting for me, in a t-shirt and sandals, in the rain, and so I now feel compelled to hurry up so he doesn't have to stand out in the rain any longer than necessary. In my rush, I almost wipe out on a step. I catch myself just barely, take a deep breath, and pray he did not just see that, please he did not just see that oh goodness, please no.

When I caught up with him, he remarks how successful and uneventful his run in the rain was without any near misses or wipe outs on his part. I tell him as we walk towards his little gate house thing about how he nearly just saw me wipe out on the stairs (he hadn't noticed), and how I also had a near miss when my heel was stuck in the brick by the metro, but made it unscathed. He laughed and commented for as many stories as he's heard about me almost wiping out, he's never seen me anywhere near even a mild disaster and isn't entirely convinced any of it really happens.

...he just had to say that.

As we walked into the gate house area, I had only about 16 stairs to make it back down to level ground. I had come over after work and thus still had my work clothes on, which today meant my brown trousers, 2 sizes too big, and now too long, even with heels on. These pants are a little wide legged and also have large cuffs at the bottom. My heels (the hot ones previously mentioned) are very adorable pointed toe shoes with a 2.5ish inch heel - a very narrow, sharp, easy-to-trip-on, heel.

I started down the stairs, not holding on the railing, as I had a bag and purse in one hand and I was using the other to explain something that at the time was v v important. 3 steps from the bottom, my left leg goes toward the next stair but my left heel finds my right pant leg cuff instead. I'm making a forward motion; I can't stop. And there's only one thing to do - jump.

I push off with my right leg (a mere 5 feet in front of me is a giant brick wall and 7 feet to my left is a nice short flight of stairs I could fall down while I'm at it) while my left foot is very much stuck in my pants and leap towards my very probable broken ankle. 2 thoughts are running through my mind - 1. this is not going to end well and 2. I can't ruin these pants - they were too expensive! why did I ever spend this much money on pants I will just end up destroying falling down an elevator shaft or in front of a metro car, or maybe tripping on perfectly dry and evenly spaced stairs in front of Curtis!!! With nothing else to do but try for the impossible, I pull off an amazingly spectacular acrobatic feat of pulling my left heel out of my pants, maneuvering both feet under me, and sticking the landing. In heels. Without ruining my pants, breaking a heel, ankle, or anything but a little piece of pride that I've made it three months without falling like a total idiot in front of Curtis.

Curtis rushed down the last few stairs to quickly grab my arm and survey the damage, fully expecting broken, or at least very sprained, ankles, feet, legs, mangled flesh, etc.

"Holy Crap! Are you okay?"

"yup."

"That scared the crap out of me!"

"yup."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"yup. but now you know, I'm really not making up all this falling down crap."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Had a nice trip. See ya next fall.

Feeling Hot Hot Hot

Let's just sum up this week (even though it's only Thursday) to be known as the week of bored frustration. Not frustratingly bored, just bored frustration. I made some colossal mistakes at work, which although somewhat funny now (I somehow confused Santa Monica and San Francisco and thus sent my boss to SFO instead of LAX, which he was thrilled about...it's just California - how far apart can places be? Oh......), another boss has the flu/SARS/plague and has been out, so I've had plenty of time to be completely frustrated about one teensy weensy work issue that was supposed to be solved a month ago and was officially shot down yesterday, and thus Pissy, thy name is Kate.

I took out my frustration on my usual target - the cutting board. I decided to make a nice spicy chili which would a) give me many, many things to chop chop chop, b) give me an excuse to drink some beer and c) have a nice therapy/cooking session, which I haven't been doing much of lately. I found a great recipe for ground turkey and black bean chili and went to town.

When I threw the spices in (chili pepper, cayenne pepper, and cumin oh my!) it looked like an awful lot of heat but oh well, I thought, that's what the beer is for (not that I'm drinking when angry, it's to kill the burn! see! Not abusing alcohol, just loving it for its medicinal qualities!).

I let it sit and simmer for a good 40 minutes, letting all that smoky flavor work its magic, then was starving and was more than ready to crack open some high quality Yuengling. I scooped it up, properly garnished the dish, the set it down. (I am a lukewarm soup eater. I don't like hot liquids of any kind - (that's the devil's temperature!) I prefer all drinks, soups, etc to be a nice moderately hot but more cool temperature before it touches these lips.)

I flipped on to my embarrassing addiction of a tv show, gave my soup a song to cool down, then dug right in. And promptly burned my mouth. Burned it bad enough that it would not have mattered if I had a half dozen habaneros in there, I wasn't tasting a thing. Bummer.

In other news, AI has a new ending song. I haven't really ever watch the show (no really, I haven't) but for some reason, I'm a little addicted this year. Last night, the unveiled the new we're sorry but nobody likes you song - "Celebrate Me Home." Won't even try to lie about it, I completely teared up (maybe it was a delayed reaction to my tongue injury...but probably not since I tear up every time it comes on my iPod) - I LOVE that song. I can't say I'm too thrilled Ruben is trying to improve on the perfection that is Kenny Loggins but wow, nicely done. Daughtry's song was good, the "Had a Bad Day" was ironic and almost a good song, but they really did finally nail the all important aspect of the show - song selection. Well done, AI peeps, well done.

A Giant Triumph

In case you missed it, Sunday was the greatest Super Bowl e v e r.

I, unlike Klue, did not blog in advance about my pick, but I was rooting for the Giants, although to be 100 % truthful it was more of an anti-Patriot choice rather than a pro-Giants choice.

My anti-Patriot sentiment comes from two places - Boston Fans and My Boss the Boston Fan. I'm a little sick of Boston fans. woo hoo you won the World Series. Good for you, now go home. But no, then the football team had to have a 'perfect' season and build up a ridiculous amount of press about Tom Brady, god of football. Puh-leeeeeeese people. He's not all that.

My Boss the Boston Fan, whom we'll call Geeves, is obsessed with all things Boston Sports related, but all his sports love is nothing compared to his ridiculous Man-crush on Tom Brady. It goes beyond admiration for an athlete - it's down right creepy. After last year's season, all I heard for days and days and days was Geeves saying "If I died and could come back as someone, I'd want to be Tom Brady, no question." Over and over. The affection he has towards Brady has gone too far. This along with a perfect Pats season has made the fall sports season annoying at best. Stop. With. The. Brady. Madness.

Last Friday, Geeves was all but running the victory lap around the office in complete faith in the upcoming Pats victory in the Superbowl. I had a flare up of nausea. He was insufferable. He was obnoxious. He was ... a typical Boston Fan.

Fast Forward to Monday -- Geeves is traveling all week, much to his happiness, as he won't have to face the rest of us (who were ALL cheering for the Giants) here in the office. We've been trying to come up with something tasteful to a) celebrate the victory and b) rub it in. just a little. Or a lot.

In a situtation like this, there is only one thing to do - dig deep, channel Ashton, and do a little punking. Here's the result:

Geeve's office before:















Geeve's office after:














Heck yes.