Where's My Paycheck?

Sometimes they pay us on the Friday before the payday (1st and 15th). Sometimes they don't. We thought we'd figured it out: if the end of the pay period falls before Wednesday, then we would get the check early.

Tuesday is the 15th. But my bank account is not currently enjoying my direct deposit.

Dammit.

Overheard in His Pajamas

The other night, I shared a bourbon-fueled Indian dinner and orgasms with an Architect. After much fun, we decided to take a break and venture out into the living room. Watch a little tv. Make out on the couch. Dive back into the yummy food we'd brought home.

Tip: Indian food does something AMAZING for one's sex drive. Trust me on that.

While flipping channels I opted for manly-man television. I am, of course, the awesomest chick on the planet. Also, it was his house, so I figured I should put on something he'd probably be interested in watching. Since he was letting me control the remote and all.

GPG: Ooh, Inside the NFL!

Architect: I love football.

GPG: Me too. But I'm more into college than pro.

Architect: Actually I used to hate football.

GPG: Because you're gay?

Architect: Because I was a total punk kid and totally anti-anything popular. Like football.

GPG: You mean you were gay?

Architect: No! But I like it now, so it's okay.

GPG: When did you start to like it again? 5 seconds ago when I said I like it?

To which he just laughed and made faces at me.

I love that I can tease him like that. He also, much to Jack's approval I'm sure, indulges my whiskey-lovin' ways.

Rebounds are so much fun.

Overheard during the BCS Championship Game

Having spent the entire season dating a man who absolutely loves LSU made it kind of difficult to ignore them tonight. I thought about calling him up to catch the game, but that would have been a really bad idea.

So dad and I watched it together instead. Which is almost as fun, except my dad doesn't yell at the tv. I think I prefer it that way.

With 9:04 minutes left in the 3rd quarter, the Tigers were running roughshod all over their opponents. There were 20 points between them and the Buckeyes. We laughed at Ohio State's misfortune:

GPG: 30 unanswered points. They're not coming back from that.

Dad: Ohio State needs a miracle.

GPG: They need more than a miracle. They need each one of the LSU players to get electrocuted by a freak lightning storm. Then maybe they can come back to win.

That made my dad chuckle. With 1:50 left in the entire game, we decided even a freak storm wouldn't be able to help them. The Buckeyes went on to score one last time, but no one cared.

I'm still tempted to call Monsieur and celebrate the title win...if there was ever going to be an opportunity, it would be right now. When I know he's ecstatic. Then maybe it wouldn't feel so hollow.

No one else I know is so deeply emotionally invested in college football. But the celebration wouldn't last. There's really nothing that's going to fill that void.

L'sigh.

December by the Numbers

2008 is finally here. For the first time in a long time, I actually don't feel like the last year flew by in a flash. I know I've complained about time passing faster than I can keep up, but the truth is, so much happened in the last year that I feel like I finally got my money's worth.

A recap of the year may be in order, but for now, lets concentrate on the last month:

8 days in the office
3 Xmas parties
1 iPod shuffle
11 days of vacation
2 weeks spent packing
4 hours spent moving
75 square feet of storage fully packed with all my crap
26 miles moved
5 broken nails
2 stubbed toes
3 cuts on my hands
9 days spent adjusting to the new living situation
0 days spent missing my old living situation
27 days single
1 possible new player in the mix
1 evening of tequila-fueled hilarity
2 entertaining lunches
1 case of mistaken celebrity
80 minutes massaged
3 hours shooting family portraits in the wind
50 dollars for rented lighting setup
0 minutes spent using it for fear of lights falling over
30 dollars for the rented background set up
60 minutes before it fell over due to the vicious wind
80 million laughs over the absurdity of the elements
9 amazing pictures that made it all worth it
2 visits from the Phoenix Suns
1 Clippers game missed due to moving exhaustion
3 family members moved to San Diego
4 hours spent getting to San Diego
2 hours spent returning
50 years of marriage celebrated
1 set of wedding vows renewed
60 minutes spent in church (without bursting into flames!)
23 shots before my flash unit quit
264 shots eventually captured throughout the night
94 printed
3 hours playing board games on New Year's Eve
5 glasses of wine imbibed beforehand
1 glass of champagne as the ball dropped

Good-bye 2007. Hello 2008. Is anyone else having trouble writing out the date?

Happy New Year

I promise a December by the Numbers is coming. And probably some Dear John letters. And the year's resolutions, which include bitching out all the vendors who piss me off (I did that to two of them today. It was quite cathartic.).

And maybe some thickly-veiled stories about a new boy. We'll see. Maybe I'll drop names about running into a Hollywood personality while out with another blogger. And something about slamming beers at the post office.

But for now, we're going dark. Enjoy your time off. I have to go be famous.

Back next week with the regularly scheduled shlock.

Kisses.

Overheard after the Mani-Pedi

Lets cut to the chase. The moral of this story is that you NEVER pick up a man in a nail salon.

My vacation started off nicely enough. I'd slept in, ignored the mounds of crap still to pack, schedule a massage and a date...and then decided to get my toes done.

I walked in and was the only customer. Score. I sat in the spa chair and let the rollers do their job while the girl went to work on my feet. Then he walked in.

We'll call him Nail Salon Guy.

He was dropping names left and right while chatting on his cell phone. And because the place was absolutely empty, he had to come sit down right next to me. Lucky me.

As soon as he ended his call, he complimented my color choice. OPI I'm Not Really a Waitress: bright red and shiny. He said it would make a great lipstick. I responded that the only shade of lipstick that counts is red.

I, of course, assumed he was gay.

Despite the shallow Hollywood vibe, he turned out to be thoroughly entertaining, in an ADD sort of way. So I let him take me to lunch. Because who doesn't need a gay boyfriend?

After a few glasses of Sapporo and sake, he told the waiter that I was someone famous. I let him believe I was Jordin Sparks. Who NSG, supposedly in the music industy, had never heard of. Yeah, right.

He finally agreed that I wasn't this Jordin girl, but I had to be someone "known." And so the conversation went something like this:

NSG: You really are famous aren't you?
GPG: No, not at all.
NSG: Of course you are! You're just laying low, getting your nails done in the middle of the day.
GPG: I'm NOT famous. Do you want to see my license?
NSG: No, famous people have fake IDs all the time. You're definitely someone. The way you walk, the hair, you don't wear make up, and that sporty red car...you're somebody, you just don't want to admit it.

Then he tried kissing me and getting me to go back to his house with him. So I guess he wasn't gay. Which was probably the most disappointing part of the whole story.

But seriously, me as an undercover celebrity? Because I have curly hair and opted not to wear make up? Can you think of anything more absurd?!

It's been over a week and that story is still making me giggle. Some people are just bizarre.

And that is why, boys and girls, you should never go on a date with a guy you meet at the nail salon.

End of an Era

My baby brother is moving his family to San Diego tomorrow. He currently lives around the corner from my parents' house. But tomorrow, the corner will become over 100 miles long.

I am sad.

His fiancee and I get along like gangbusters. Always have. His kid is so fucking adorable, he's the kind of baby you just want to snuggle with. And my baby brother is one of my most best friends.

All this to say that I'm going to miss them all very much. A lot a lot.

It's time to study the train schedule and get myself a pass. And probably find a hotel contact to hook me up with a weekend every month.

But for now, I am too sad for more words.

New Greatness

Have you felt the void lately? Relax, the cure has arrived. Wonderful reads available for immediate consumption at Big Bang Linguisticity!

The internets are complete yet again.

Overheard on Christmas

I don't know if it's a Latin American thing or what, but we've always celebrated Xmas on the Eve rather than the day of. The entire family gets together at my parents' house for a meal that includes mostly Puerto Rican fare, topped with Mexican salsa. It's fusion at its best.

Like most Puerto Ricans, our family is LOUD. Mostly because there's a lot of people in one space, but also, because they're Puerto Ricans. You have to be able to handle this if you're ever invited to a family function. The weak are eaten alive or summarily ignored. Those who have a mouth on them and like to use it are immediately adopted.

The Thanksgiving Incident was referred to numerous times. We like to poke fun at ourselves, and by extension, the rest of the family. And since some of the family hadn't been there, we had to bring them up to speed.

During a particularly rousing game of Mexican bingo, the following took place at increasingly decibel levels:

GPG: You guys, keep it down, or my mother is going to throw you all out!
Mom: *rolls eyes and chuckles*
Aunt J: You were in Hancock Park for crying out loud, what did you expect?
Cousin R: *loudly* We expected them not to be so uptight!
Aunt J: *louder* Eh, you were being low class, of course you got thrown out!
GPG: Mom, are you going to tell these people to shut up and go home already?

This threat kept coming up the rest of the night. It was much fun at someone else's expense.

***

My father believes everyone should drink wine. You don't get to come over to our house and not drink. He takes this as a personal insult:

Dad: *to my younger cousin* You want a drink?
GPG: Dad, he's only 15!
Dad: So?
Cousin: It's okay. I don't drink.
Dad: Well, I'm surprised.

***

The elder generation likes big families. My father has 6 brothers and sisters, my mom has 3. My mom's sister, Aunt L, had 5 kids. Apparently she and her husband expect the same of their own kids:

Uncle: I want 25 grandkids.
Cousin: Keep wishing. Or, go to Africa.

Adoption jokes are funny.

***

Later, we plugged in a Wii someone received for Xmas. It started with baseball among the 8-year-old set:

Cousin R: Now, I don't want to see you on 'roids, okay kids?
His brother (their dad): Hey, if you ain't cheating, you ain't trying!

***

And of course, because my baby brother is routinely mistaken for Middle Eastern (and his fiancee actually is), his nascent brood are the butt of more jokes:

Cousin M: Do we have a terrorist in the house?
Cousin R: Great, now we're going to get thrown out because of YOU!
Baby brother: My wife-to-be is actually part terrorist: she's Turkish and Iranian. Total Arab.
Cousin R: No shit?
Shambot: Hell yeah!
GPG: Please, we refer to his kid as Baby Terrorist!
Baby brother: *proudly holds up his son* Terrorist in training!

Politcally correct we are NOT.

***

The Shambot got her nickname because she's clumsy. Like a bad robot. We shouldn't let her drink:

Shambot: Oh no, look what I did! *shows red wine spill on her son's sleeve* I'm not even drunk, I'm just retarded!
GPG: Better on him than my mother's couch!
Shambot: Better on his sleeve than his head!
GPG: You were planning on giving him a Catholic baptism, right? Baptism by alcohol!
Baby brother: Get him a shirt that says, "My mommy spills wine on me."

Religious jokes are funny too, especially on Christmas!

***

When the night was finally winding down, the discussion turned to the baby's inability to sleep through the night already. My older brother, having lived through that hell with his two kids, made a suggestion:

Big Fish: Trust me, read the book. We gave you the book for a reason, READ THE BOOK!
Shambot: I have. But it's hard when you're in the situation and they're crying. I can't just let him cry.
Big Fish: READ THE BOOK! READ THE BOOK! READTHEBOOKREADTHEBOOKREADTHEBOOK!!!
Shambot: *to BF's wife* Your husband is being annoying.
BF's Wife: BF, shut up.
Shambot: Yeah, shut up.

And then it was midnight and time to go to sleep. So we could get up again in 6 hours because they kids hadn't yet opened up ALL their gifts.

Hope your holidays have been as memorable!

Two Things #4

1. The worst part about packing is the unpacking. I can't find a fucking thing.

2. Cost-co will turn you into a stark raving madman. A murderer. It makes sane people tear their hair out. You may very well lose a limb or an eyeball attempting to just find parking. Stay far, far away. Especially during the holiday season.

Committed to the Cause - Update

Turns out the strikers don't picket when it rains. Can't blame them. It's wet out there. Has been for a few days. Cold too.

They're kind of like my building's handyman that way. He refuses to work in the rain too. Probably afraid he'll melt. Like the Wicked Witch.

But when it's not raining, they're out waving their signs. The lady I wrote about last time isn't alone anymore, either! She's got a gentleman at her side now. And her cane is festively decorated for the season. Who doesn't love tinsel?

I wonder if she picked her writer escort up in some sort of displaced WGA-friendly Match.com. Can you imagine?

Just to show solidarity with the working man, Spanky and I ate lunch at a deli that had the picket signs prominently displayed in their window. We're good that way.

Overheard in the Ring

I was once really into kickboxing. None of that Billy Blanks bullshit, but the real stuff. I like to hit. Heavy bags or people, I'm open. My little brother recently took up Muay Thai because he likes to hit all Southeast Asian-style.

Tonight I joined him and the Shambot at one of the local boxing clubs. It was so much fun, I forgot how much I really loved laying into a bag with crazy combinations. My form is all off, but I don't care. This is probably going to become my renewed obsession. The great thing is that the club is literally around the corner from my new digs. Score.

I was talking to the person behind the counter about costs and whatnot when we got into how my little brother is so into the sport. I never really censor myself, and because I've been referring to him as "my baby brother" for so damn long (26 years, to be exact), it just kind of comes out. Which leads to these kind of exchanges:

GPG: Yeah, it's my baby brother who brought me tonight.

Counter Girl: Your BABY brother???

GPG: Well, yeah. He's younger.

CG: I never would have guessed.

GPG: Yeah, so what if he's an entire foot taller than me and has a kid? He'll always be my baby brother.

CG: *looks at me like I have 3 heads* Uh huh.

GPG: We go out drinking and I always get carded. Not him. But that might be because he looks like a terrorist.

CG: *cracks up*

GPG: You can't deny it.

CG: I guess not.

And then we went back to punching bags. So much fun!!