I slept in my cloths last night. Woke up a little after 7:30 to Jove rummaging around in my room, stepping on stuff and whacking stuff with his little puppy tail. I got up, peed, took off my boots, and my bra, changed into some shorts and got back in bed. Snuggled in… and only then did it occur to me that: It’s not Saturday. No, in fact, it’s Wednesday and I’m already late for work. That part where I said it’s “a little after 7:30”, yeah, well it’s “a little after” when I’m supposed to be at the office. Heh heh. Oh.

I went to the Avs game last night. I got the company tickets. I took my friend, Jan because I knew that she might be the only person I know who can fully appreciate section 112, row 11. Yowza. There was a fight right in front of us and I actually saw the King’s guy’s mouth guard fly out of his mouth when Smith hit him. Smith. What kind of a name is Smith for a hockey player?

When I got home Beth and Tom were in the middle of Pesto Night with Jess and Jason. I mixed cocktails. Jan and I jumped right in. It was not your typical Tuesday night. I’m not sure it was appropriate for me to be operating a motor vehicle this morning. But I did it. And here I am. Double fisting coffee and water and wondering when the hangover is gonna kick in. (Hangover. It’s one word. I looked it up.)

So now I’ve been at the office for a good hour. I’m down one cup of coffee and most of a glass of water. I have once again tested the limits and range of the corporate web filter (which won’t let me read any blogs but my own @#$%^&*… grrr… cuz I don’t really need to read this one. I already know what’s on it. I wrote it.) I have snuck frequent glances at the picture of my little baby niece, who is not actually blood-related, but close enough, and is (all bias aside), undoubtedly THE cutest thing alive. I’m getting paid right now. Yeah. But I figure: I’m getting paid a good $5,000 a year less than I should be, so I flat out deserve a little paid hangover recovery time… and Avs tickets.

Here’s the best part. I got to work roughly an hour late. My boss isn’t here. No one noticed. I’m gonna go get another cup of coffee and read The Times.

Right, so it’s been about a month since that last little story… Really? Only a month? Hm. Anyway, so I decided to do one of those online meeting people/dating things and I parked myself in front of the computer one night and waded through one progressively more benign question after another, slowly feeling all of my faith in humanity and my personal dignity crumbling… like when you find little lumps of sugar in the bowl and you try to pick them up, applying as little pressure as humanly possible and still… poof… all the crystals slip and fall between your fingers. Yep. That’s my dignity. So I reach the end of the easy part. There’s only one question left: “Now describe yourself and who you’d like to meet.” DESCRIBE MY-….!! What the crap have I been doing for the past three hours!?!?! At this point I’m over it, so I throw something down about being easy-going, no drama, just looking to meet some new people and have a few laughs. **ERROR** “Oh come on! You can do better than that. No less than 200 characters” You gotta be f$%^ing kidding me. Right. “I… am an accordion player for a polka band. … …” I download a little picture of myself and voila. So, then 2 days later I get an email from a prospective “match” claiming that I have, hands down, the most original profile she has ever seen… yada, yada. She’s not really my type, but rather witty and I’m flattered. So, I go to reply to her email and …. “We’re sorry, we can’t put your message through because you’re not a member. Please select from one of the following payment Options and sign up!” ….. p-wha? Paym…*huff* $50. FIFTY DOLLARS. No warning. They just blind-side you. They get you emotionally invested…. Make you thump your head against your monitor looking for the perfect combination of confidence and modesty… and then , THEN, they even let you see who else is on and read their profiles and it’s all one big f$%^&*ing TEASE!! Cuz the moment you think this might actually be a decent way to meet new people… Fifty bucks! Who’s gonna pay fifty bucks to swap emails with complete strangers?!? Whatever wing-nut cooked up this cute little scheme aught to be kicked in the junk.
… Did I pay it?
… … wol.. yeah.