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Justin and I went out for a romantic dinner the other night, but reservations weren’t made, and the restaurant of choice was booked. (FYI, reservations can always be made here, that is what the internet is all about) So, we decided to check out the other restaurant in the hotel, Trader Vic’s. Which is also known as “Trader Vic’s Mai Tai Lounge.” I thought it sounded interesting, Justin, not so much. But, he was a good sport and we went there anyway.
So…Trader Vic’s is like a tiki lounge from the 50’s with a heavy Gilligan’s Island theme. We were the youngest people there by 30 years. Seriously. I thought it was awesome!! My favorite part were the hemp nets holding up balloon/glass lights. Justin just rolled his eyes a lot little. Our waiter could have been Cheech or Chong, which just added to Trader Vic’s allure for me. Justin just pouted a little bit because the other restaurant was full. He didn’t seem to think that Trader Vic’s was as absolutely fantastic as I did.
Naturally, being a Mai Tai Lounge, I insisted Justin order a Mai Tai, which ended up being a mix of every liquor in the place with a splash of pinapple. It was basically undrinkable. I had coffee. Which was pretty good. It came in a French Press.
Overall, Trader Vic’s was awesome, especially because I felt like I had traveled back in time. I wished that I had worn my 50’s costume….next time Trader Vic’s…next time!
PS- Apparently, Trader Vic’s invented the Mai Tai, or so I have been told by like 50 people since posting this. I would also like to clarify that I did not taste the Mai Tai, only the coffee. And that the coffee was really awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I drank a whole pot of it. That’s right, and then went to bed like 2 hours later. But, back to the Mai Tai, the facial expression after ingestion of the Mai Tai was horrible enough for anyone to want to stay away…
For the last 3 years of living with these cats, it has been established that they do not sit on the tables. Or the counter. Then, there were dogs over here, for like 2 days. ONLY 2 DAYS!! The cat food had to go on the counter (because dogs these dogs are ravenous pigs) and one of the cats now thinks that it is okay to sleep on the counter and sit and bathe on the coffee table. No. This is not okay.
I think she is actually addicted to sitting on uncomfortable items. I caught her sleeping on my bike on the porch the other day when there is a really comfortable armchair (yes, sometimes armchairs belong on porches) like, 3 feet away. I don’t understand this. It has become a real problem. Especially when she sleeps on a black garbage bag on the counter and she blends in and I can’t see her and then she wakes up when I am making something and scares the shit out of me. Not cool, Aravis, not cool. (Maybe she thinks she is a real life princess because she is named after a queen of Narnia and she thinks that the tables and counters are her throne. She’s not a princess. Just saying, Aravis. Get a life.)
I am seriously considering getting one of those plastic carpet things that grandmothers get to protect the carpet (just get hardwoods, those things are awful) and turning it upside down on the table so there will be plastic spikes. This is all to help her addiction. I can’t have her ruining the furniture be an enabler.
She only sits on the couch if Justin is over here, who she has known for approximately 8 months and who is allergic to her. Here is her whoring herself out to Justin.
I have also considered that she hates me. She just completely ignores me when I am talking to her. I’m like, “Hey you! I feed you! Look at me when I am talking to you!!” And she’s all like, “I don’t hear anything, I am looking out the window” except she doesn’t say that because she is a cat and can’t talk. But she is thinking it. I can tell.
Here she is 5 minutes ago while I am telling her to get off the table. I can tell that she really wants to get off, I can see it in her eyes, but she can’t because she’s addicted. Like just before a heroin addict shoots up, they don’t want to, but they have to. It is like the same thing.
I’m here for you Aravis, to love you through your addiction, but not too much, because you are going to get stabbed with plastic spikes soon and I want you off the tables.
P.S. It’s the cat that’s the whore. Not Justin.
Skype conversation with friend that I find entertaining.
Sonal: just ordered a wrap-a-nap
Me: which color
Me: you’re gonna love it
Sonal: ill blame you if i don’t, haha
Me: that’s fine
Me: i blame you for the cold
Sonal: that’s not okay
Me: go cry…baby.
Me: You are crying, see!
Sonal: I have allergies!
Then Sonal ran away and cried. The End.
One of my co-workers seems peeved. I think it is because he just went to a company thing and realized that he isn’t abooth girl. Like me. Even though I wasn’t invited to said company thing, I am way more booth girl material. My evidence is to the Left. I am totally more booth girl appropriate than him and I think that it is sad that he is jealous of my booth girl qualities. Envy makes people green, Stu…or so I’ve been told. I have never actually seen anyone turn green with envy, but the saying had to come from some kind of truth.
Anyway…he should get over it.
It is really cold in my office, so we have decided to make a fire in the trashcan. While our trashcans aren’t metal (plastic) and probably won’t hold the fires for long, we think this is a wonderful idea. (We being me and my friend Lauren.) We are going to roast marshmallows (the little ones out of the Swiss Miss packages–that is all we have) and warm our hands. Shortly after this, though, the fire will probably burn through the trashcan and quickly take over our cubical area. It will rampantly spread to the rest of the office and completely burn the building down. And then we won’t have jobs. Or a company. And people will probably die.
If they (you know, the man) would just turn the A/C down or the heat on, none of this will have to happen. ‘sigh’
On the bright side, if the building does burn down, we won’t have to go to work tomorrow. ‘smiles!’
P.S. This is what happened the last time I got cold.
At work, I take breaks. When I go on said breaks, I take a book with me. I need something stimulating to do out there. Staring at trees may be stimulating for some, but it’s just not cutting it for me.
To get downstairs, I have to ride the elevator. In the elevator, I have noticed something interesting about people.
I’m in the elevator or waiting for it to go down or up, holding my book and people are always like, “That’s a big book” or “I really need to read more” and I’m all like, excuse me? At first I thought they were just trying to make an effort to know me, because I am new at the company, but I have realized that they feel intimidated by the book. As if, me having a book makes them less intellectual because they don’t have one.
I think this is extremely weird. People shouldn’t be intimidated by other people reading.
The level of intimidation seems proportional to the thickness of the book. When I was reading Coraline (about 100 pages), most of the questions I got were, “Good book?” Now that I am reading a book that is over 1,000 pages, I get comments and questions such as, “I could never read a book that thick!” “I used to read” (I don’t even know what this comment means. Did this person forget how? Not to mention, I don’t care) “Wow, you must love books!” Apparently, the length of the books I read are a reflection on how much I love to read. I guess when I read shorter books I don’t love books as much. If I walked around reading the Bible, which is like a million pages long, people would assume I must love to read more than breathing. And they would also assume that I love Jesus. And morals and things like that. Maybe I will start carrying around the Bible to throw people off…Hmmm….
I was out with friends, knitting with using double pointed needles. I think I was working on a sock or something. I had my knitting materials laid all over the place. (I try to keep them contained, but they seem to leap out of my reach every time I look away.)
Emily, who is sitting next to me, has been watching me knit for a while. I secretly watch her out of the corner of my eye as well, just so she knows that I can see her…
So, she’s watching me. People are talking to each other. Conversation all around, enjoyable evening. All of a sudden, Emily picks up one of my double pointed needles and begins cleaning her nails with it!! O. M. G. “Emily!” I screeched. “What are you doing! That is not a tooth pick!”
What does Emily do…O, nothing. She just smiles, looks at her lap and giggles. “Well, they are the perfect size.” Then she sighs and hands the needle back to me.
Who does that?! I am going to have to disinfect this knitting needle with like lysol, bleach and boil it, then let it soak in some hydrogen peroxide for a day. Or two. I don’t know what is under those nails. Emily seems very clean, but you never know. She could have been out digging for grubs in the sewer. Could have! Knitting needles don’t grow on trees, either. Actually, they technically do, because this one is made out of bamboo, so it did come from a tree, but someone had to make it into a double pointed knitting needle. It didn’t just come out of the tree like that. I guess, what I am trying to say is that these things cost money and I can’t just throw it away. Then I will only have three size 2 knitting needles and I can’t do anything with 3. If I bought more, then I would have 7 or 8 of them and that is way too many to keep track of. ‘sigh’
By the time I finish disinfecting this needle, I hope is hasn’t dissolved into bamboo goo. Is there any such thing as bamboo goo?
So, I am sick again. So sick, that I am, in fact, voluntarily making cold calls at work. I just left this note in a buyer’s account, “Couldn’t leave a VM because he doesn’t have VM and he was in a meeting.” Yesterday, I translated a bunch of these notes into pirate speak, just for fun and then officially posted them. The little things that keep me entertained.