Preach on, sister.

“Instead of pining over days far gone or talking about how we might resurrect them, we could put our energy into supporting the good work on the ground going on right now — the Young Women's Empowerment Project in Chicago, the Student Action with Farmworkers in Durham, Exhale after-abortion counseling in Oakland, Domestic Workers United in New York, and more. We could revise our expectations — not a few giant fireworks but so many little sparks; not worldwide protests but effective public-awareness campaigns and advocacy and service provision; not a unified body but a courageous and creative culture.”

[12:41]
G: Who names fonts?
G: These are some stinkin' weird names/
G: Why can't they be all, "This font is called Steve"
C: You should Twitter that.

[12:42]
G: I would except that I still have few followers
G: And I'd rather bug you

[12:43]
G: Also, sometimes it's exactly like being in an episode of the Office.
G: Except not funny, even in an awkward way.
G: Except for the eyebrow arches I make to the...camera that isn't there.
C: I don't think the people in The Office actually think it's funny.

[12:44]
G: Jim does.
C: Actually, that'd be hilarious: pretend like there's a mockumentary crew following you around all the time.
G: lol
C: We should meet up in [conference room] sometime and do an interview.
G: Yay, a new coping mechanism!

One of my qualities that gets on my nerves is my tendency to want to be The Boss, especially when it comes to social gatherings.

Ever since high school, I've been the one that organized parties, impromptu or planned, figured out the menu, and other logistics: Are we watching a movie? Didn't we watch Rocky Horror last time? J'aime hates ice cream, so let's do cookies instead. How many teenagers can fit into a Suburban? Is stealing campaign signs technically illegal? How many rolls of toilet paper will we need?

This carried over into college - my apartment was often the gathering place for several-hours-long games of Trivial Pursuit, and inebriated viewings of Disney movies, and drunken shenanigans in general. (Staying in is a lot cheaper than going out, and then your bed and your toilet are so much closer!)

It's something I enjoy, because I am a pleaser and want everyone to have a good time and eat well. Also, I just really like to run the show.

So it's been difficult for me, as a member of the Activity Committee here at work, to see our committee chair post fliers for the upcoming social covered in cheesy clipart and enough exclamation points to choke a horse, (Assuming any being could choke on punctuation. And yeah, that's maybe a bit of an exaggeration. But you get the point.), and to continue to act like a martyr and that planning a party is The Hardest Thing Ever. She actually made the comment that she is "not counting on having a good time" at the party.

Dude.

You do remember that management will be providing kegs of delicious Shiner, right?
And that there are a dozen other people on the committee who will be there helping?
And that this will not be the First Work Social Ever In The History Of Such Things?

So to see her run around and get overstressed over this event that is still three weeks away is really starting to grate on me. Part of me wants to be all, Just shutup and let me handle this and do as I tell you, and the other half is all, Gin just shut your hole and let someone else be in charge FOR ONCE. And also, no one likes a tipsy hostess.

What do I need to add to my Netflix queue?

I am sort of cinematically uninspired right now.
I get my envelopes in the mail - Yay! Christmas! - open them up, and can't remember why I added that in the first place.

So sell it: what are your favorite movies - guilty pleasures, period dramas, weepers?
Points off for gratuitous explosions, or Steven Seagal or Van Damme in a starring role.

Marriage Is...

Coming to the realization that you can spend an inordinate amount of time talking about poop and related processes and subjects with someone and still want to have sex with them.

Go read Petunia Face today.
Dear Susannah is able to conjure feelings and images in a way that I have always admired, since most of my thoughts are expressed in different intonations of "Dude. DUUUUDE."

[12:20]
G: Dude.

C: Dude.

G: Gloria Steinem is 75 today.

G: SEVENTY.

G: FIVE.

C: Who?

G: Oh no.

[12:21]
G: Oh no you didn't.

G: Ok, seriously.

[12:24]
G: Writer and feminist activist/icon.

[12:33]
C: Oh, left-wing freak.

C: Don't hurt me please.

[12:48]

G: I'm going to fly over there on my feminist witch broom and beat you with it.

Tweet.

I'm digging Twitter - it's somehow easier than the pressure of writing a blog post (OH GOD THE PRESSURE!).

Follow me and I'll follow you and we'll Twitterstalk each other.

Ugh. Back to 24 (twenty! four!) emails flagged for follow up, that all need my Most Urgent And Immediate Attention Now Now Now Now.

It is unsatisfying to tell an email to Fuck Off.

No juicy post - just a request

One of my cats is missing. Sad face.
I know you'd think that since we have FOUR EFFING CATS that losing one would be no big deal, but dude. They're our children.
So if you've a mind to, please send a good thought or a prayer our way that she will end up back home safely very soon.

I've been a busy bee, and will continue to be so for the next few days.
I'll be back to my regularly scheduled posting perhaps by the end of the week, or maybe early next.

Until then, party on Garth.

Dear Santa,
Please bring me an elephant for Christmas.
Preferably this one.

Love,
Gin

....aaaand, my manicure has officially started into Crack Whore territory. And of course I didn't notice until I'm sitting at my desk at the start of a work day.

Five days I guess isn't that bad, but still - that's two bucks a day!

In case you were wondering...

Southern Culture was amazing on Friday night.

Mary Huff is my girl.



AND SHE TOTALLY LOOKED RIGHT AT ME.

Totally jealous of this chick.

Note: There is a lot of synthetic hair in this picture.

J: "Post this one - it's my favorite, because Rick makes stupid faces."

This is my favorite pic of the night, because it looks like the dude is all, "Behold, Rick Miller's package."

Note: I cannot answer for the contents of Rick's pants.

Another Note: That blond chick smoked dope for the entire show - we came home smelling like we'd been on the lawn at a Dave Matthews concert.

Should you find yourself in Knoxville on May 1, and are interested in hearing some good music, and perhaps have some fried chicken thrown at you by go-go dancing groupies, head to the Square Room to get you some Southern Culture.

The Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant film Charade arrived in my mailbox, via Netflix, mid-December. I intended to watch it over my Christmas break.

It's now March 10, and the return envelope, containing the unwatched DVD, has been sitting on my desk, awaiting its trip in the mail, since last week.

It has been kind of a long few months.

So for my manicure on Friday, I got actual colored nail polish (a nice deep sort of winey red color - light shades look stupid on me because I'm so white) instead of my usual buff. I NEVER get actual polish, because it has a tendency to chip, and then the look goes from Grown-Up to Crack Whore real fast - the last time I got color was for Jamie's wedding, which was July 2007. I felt like something a little different, so I cut them really short (to prevent chipping) and went dark. I must say, it looks nice.

Now, at work at my desk and typing and writing and dialing and doing all kind of hand-y things, I keep noticing my fingernails, to the point of distraction. Whose hands are those at the end of my arms, and why are they doing my job?

It could also be the allergy meds. But it's not that unusual for me to be distracted by New And Shiny.

Red Letter Day

Today I finally got the day off that I've been promising myself for well over a month.
My day so far has included:

• Sleeping in


• A hair appointment


• A manicure


• Another amazing massage


• A facial

And yet to come:

• Leftovers from last night (I love you, Boneless Thursdays and $1.25 drafts)
  
• A nap


• Southern Culture at The Continental Club


• A bitchin' post-show 2 a.m. snack at Tacos A Go-Go

It's a balmy, breezy, perfect 75 degrees outside.
Steady traffic flow ensured that I was actually 15 minutes early to my appointments.
Our taxes are done, with a pretty nifty return on the way.
My legs are shaved.
My eyebrows look awesome.
The only phone call I've received has been from my best friend.

Have I discovered the perfect day?
Thinking I've come pretty damn close.
I wish you were all here with me to share the awesome.

Happy Friday, my chickens!

As I've mentioned before, I am kind of obsessed with Sitemeter. Who are you people, and how do you find me??? I check it out a couple times a week to see what searches have led The Crazies to me, and Lo! Here's a doozy (possibly NSFW). I will also mention that this keyword search led two different people in two different locations on two separate occasions. I feel like maybe they are meant for each other, and I should set them up or something.

Gin: Helping Kooks Find Each Other Since 2009

I was supposed to be off last Friday with J.
Even though I have oodles of comp time to burn, I had a lot I wanted to accomplish last week, so I opted to work 10+ hours Mon-Thu to get it all done. And then, of course, the sky fell down on Thursday, and my “just a couple hours” on Friday turned into “staying until 6:30 when normal, sane people are reeling from their happy hour buzz.”

Then my “just a couple of hours” Sunday afternoon turned into “I’ll still be home in time to cook dinner”, turned into, “I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

Meanwhile, J’s company is doing what they can to cut back, such that no one is allowed over 40 hrs/week, and they are forcing people to take vacation. He’s been home a lot more lately, and has (thankfully) picked up more household chores because of it.

J had class last night, so when he called me at work to ask if I’d still be able to make the long-promised Swedish meatballs for dinner or if we needed to make other plans, I assured him I could…and then suddenly it was 7 and I was still at work. I rushed home, and “it should only take about half an hour to throw together” turned into “coming out of the oven at 9 o’clock.

This prompted a discussion – I won’t say fight, because it really wasn’t – about my working so much lately. I said I thought J wasn’t being very supportive, and that I felt he didn’t think my work was as valuable because I don’t get paid overtime (except in extremely rare cases) for the long hours I work. I feel like he acts as though my working a lot has been an annoying inconvenience to him, because I’m not home to cook him dinner or to keep up with the cleaning as much, (not to mention the toll it’s taken on the sexy times [sorry, C]). He countered that he felt like he has been supportive, and that he doesn’t mind picking up the household stuff, but it’s that work has completely eaten my brain – even when I am home, my mind is elsewhere and I’m always on the computer answering work email.

And I had two revelations:

1. He’s right.
2. I am my father.

Sigh.

Hallelujah!

Oh happy day!

(Oh happy day!)

Oh happy day!

(Oh happy day!)

'Cause all of my

('Cause all of my)

Student loans are paid!



It is seriously all I can do to keep from singing and dancing down the hall right now.


OH HAPPY DAY!!!!!!!!

Subtext

It's funny how "Thanks for the reminder!" can so clearly convey "Eat shit and die!".

(I was the author and not the recipient of the email, BTW.)