Sunday, December 17, 2017

Sammy's 6th Annual Holiday Message

 
Stupid Walgreens. They don't do the stupid frames for photos anymore. So I had to either rely on my (non-existent) Photoshop skills or bite the bullet and not be so cheap and use one of those online photo card services. But they do not provide a proof and I forgot to take one of the finished cards to work to scan it there, so instead you have the before and after version of Sammy's holiday greeting picture this year - above is the original pic and below is a pic of Sammy with the final product (slightly edited to protect the identity of the innocent (ha!)). Sorry, got a rotten cold, tripping balls on Mucinez, should wait 'til I am back at work tomorrow, but this post has to go out on December 17, because it always does. And I know some of you might be thinking big whup, it is a cat in a box, stop the presses, but no, Sammy rarely gets in boxes, rarely does anything other cats do, so this was indeed a moment meant to be captured for posterity.
 
 
 

 

Monday, November 27, 2017

Positively not negative

This is not a positive post, per se, despite my previous proclamation, but it is a post about not doing something negative, which is a positive thing, right?
 
Dr. Dave contacted me on a free (i.e., low quality) dating website when I lived in Denver. He was divorced (yeah, right), lived in southern California, and was going to be in town on business and liked fat chicks. In the two months or so before his visit, he was very eager - daily emails, lots of phone calls (most with happy endings), even a one-sided video chat (I did not have a very modern computer at the time). I knew there was no future in it, but after his visit he cut me off completely, which hurt, because of the amount of energy he had put into courting me (wasted, because he had me at "I like fat chicks"). I did a little catfishing (and this was before there was a word for it) but never revealed it was me - “Cheryl” just stopped replying to his emails until he lost interest (probably because he had met “Gina” who too eventually stopped contacting him!). Anyway…
 
Alan I met on Craig’s List (don’t bother with the lectures, I (rarely) go on there anymore) shortly after I moved to Las Vegas. He too lived in southern California (same town as Dr. Dave, actually!) and was married (at least he had the balls not to lie about that) and also liked fat chicks (only blonde ones though - he liked his brunettes thin).  We hung out a lot and it is he, in fact, who is responsible for my having sex in a Strip hotel for the very first time! But when the relationship, such as it was, started to go south, the catfishing was pretty intense. “Ashley”, a petite, brown-haired pharmaceutical sales rep, told him a week before they were due to meet that she had gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend. “Sarah” stood him up, at a restaurant he had previously taken me to. Her one-word reply to the email he sent afterwards, asking if he had gotten the time and place right, was “Yes.” And then she cancelled that email account. But “Emily” oh, I think he fell hard for her. Coincidentally, she had such similar tastes as he did (seriously, would that not be a red flag to you? A complete stranger just happens to like the same obscure genre of music you’re into? And who happens to be trying to cut meat out of her diet when you happen to be a vegetarian?). Anyway…
 
I read somewhere that if you have just two fairly substantial pieces of information about someone it is possible in this day and age to find them. Surprisingly, they had both given me their real first names (well, first Alan went by David. That one really upset Emily because she told him growing up she had had a huge crush on David Cassidy. He sounded positively distraught in his subsequent email when he told her his real name was Alan (told you she got to him)). Dr. Dave, I knew his medical specialty and town and the initial of his last name (can’t remember how I knew that or why I did not know his full last name). A few clicks and – whoomp, there it is! – his full name and place of work. Alan, it was a little harder, but a perusal of a certain East Coast university’s student newspaper’s website, which just happened to list alums who served on the paper, only two of whom happened to be named Alan (ruled out the first one when I saw his Facebook page), resulted in me tracking down his full name and company address. Anyway…
 
So over the past few years they’ve gotten holiday cards with no return address on the envelope and a note, handwritten but not signed. The cards have had postmarks of Florida and southern California (not their home towns, however), thanks to friends who live there and who don’t mind enabling me and my shenanigans, and Las Vegas. Not Colorado, however, because I think that might be a big clue as to the sender’s identity. I am OK with Las Vegas because Dr. Dave was before I moved here and Alan had several conquests here. Part of me thinks they know it is me, but then I remember Alan was clueless when Emily mentioned she was a fan of some singer he happened to like too). Anyway…

So, in my quest to not add to the negativity that is in the world, I have decided to not send them cards this year. Baby steps, right? Or whatever I need to tell myself?!!!

Sunday, October 29, 2017

#VegasStrong? Yep - but I am not

 
This one hurt. On so many levels. I guess mainly because of location. MapQuest tells me it is 2.6 miles away; closer as the crow flies, I am sure. Sundays I usually go to bed about 10:15 pm; that particular night, four weeks ago today, owing to an ennui that had been with me all weekend, I was in bed by 9. I wonder if I would have heard the shots; possibly, particularly if the wind was in the right direction. I definitely would have heard the sirens. I lived in Colorado when Columbine happened and that was hard; and 9/11, well, I do not think anyone was unscathed by that one. But this one has marked me in ways that will last a long time. A 25-year friendship has probably ended because of it (although, to be fair, it was on its last legs anyway, this was just the final straw). And this blog is going to be effected too (more on those issues later).
 
No, I was not hurt and neither was anyone I know, but Vegas being such a small town and this being such a massive event, there were a few indirect connections – a co-worker’s friend was shot in the foot; a staff member in the chest. But this one hurt me on an emotional level because you really find out who your friends are at a time like this. On both my American and English Facebook pages I checked in safe, so some knew I was not harmed. But there are still some people out there with whom I am not connected with on Facebook and who know I live in Las Vegas who have not reached out. Yes, the odds of me being out are astronomical and of me being at a country music concert are even higher, but still.
 
Then there is A. We’ve been friends since fifth grade. We communicate just via email these days but in the last year or so I have noticed a cooling-off in our friendship, solely on her end. I even asked a few months ago if there was anything going on; she said there wasn’t, but even so I thought we still cared for each other’s wellbeing. So when I had not heard from her after about a week, a time which coincided with my being in the anger stage of my grief, I sent a rather terse email reminding her that I lived in Las Vegas. She replied, reminding me that her partner is dying. OK, so here is the deal: she NEVER told me about that. Of course it explains the cooling off and of course it explains why she never reached out. I replied immediately telling her she had never shared with me such news and offering her my sympathy, but I never heard back (doubt she even opened that email). But I am sharing this here in the hopes she reads this blog and just to get it out of my system how unfair she is being – if I had known she was going through such a devastating time I never would have shared my anger with her. I’ll send her a holiday card with a note in it and I hope she’ll open it but I do fear it may be the end of us.
 
But at work it is worse. Apparently at 6:30 am a coworker texted our boss telling him we were all safe and accounted for. Weird thing is, I didn't know anything had happened until 7.30 am. Huh. Then when I did get in to work I had to sit there and listen to all the “Oh, I reached out to so-and-so on Facebook” and “So-and-so texted me” and “I called so-and-so.” Not a single one of them reached out to me. Fuck them.
 
So, yes, this blog: It might not seem this way but I do not like that so many posts are whiney and negative, but sometimes that is all I have to write about. But that stops now. I am no longer going to post something just so I have something to post. As I watched the cell phone footage of that psycho spew evil and hatred from 32 floors up, I decided I can no longer add to the negativity in this world. I think I will continue the recurring posts like Sammy's annual holiday message, and the Year in Review, and the Feast of the Virgin, if needed (!), but otherwise, unless it is positive or fun or funny or light, I am not putting it out there.
 
So in light of that, let me end on the only positive thing that came out of this massacre: how fucking awesome the people of Las Vegas are. I have never been more proud of a place I have lived. The lines to give blood, the money raised, the supplies donated. #VegasStrong? You bet.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Repeat after me: You have a job… You are not in prison…

Warning: the whine-o-meter is trending high in this post
 
I can’t tell you how much I have in fact repeated those two sentences lately.
 
For even though my once almost perfect job has turned into a shit show these last couple months (new boss), it is OK because… I have a job. A dear friend of mine cannot say that right now. She too was let go from the same place I worked at before my 18 months of unemployment hell (she’ll fare better, she is attractive).
 
And another dear friend is in prison. This one is the standard kind, with bars and cells and lights out and visiting hours and three hots and a cot, not the kind I have built for myself with my crippling lack of self–esteem (but you try having self-esteem when you have more chins than the Chinese phone book and an ass the size of Texas).
 
So what if I work with a bunch of back-stabbers, at least I have a job. 
 
So what if I only ever go to work or the grocery store, at least I am not in prison.
 
So what if my car needs $2,000 worth of work done on it, including the AC and so I have a house fan on my passenger seat plugged into the cigarette lighter using a special adapter I had to buy from Amazon using a gift card a friend gave me for my birthday which I really wanted to use on something pretty for me or (more likely) Sammy? So what if my rent is probably going to go up astronomically and I am going to have to move, taking Sammy away from his (beloved or hated) pigeons? So what if my new boss wants to abolish 60% of my job (the bit I like 100%)? So what if I sometimes have to work evenings and weekends (cutting into valuable drinking time)?  
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Just California


 
I love the ocean and I love movies, so it should come as no surprise that for as long as I can remember I have always wanted to go to Los Angeles. Well, thanks to a rare stroke of luck, I got to do exactly that just recently!
 
There was a free raffle at work for Southwest Airlines tickets. Once I checked that they flew to Denver and Santa Ana (only places I want to go to, except London), I entered. And I won. Weird thing is, I knew I'd win. Don't know why, didn't hear voices like I did when I predicted the winner of the ninth season of American Idol (Lee DeWyze), didn't have a dream about it like I did for that horse I bet onI just knew. And, no, I do not want any of you Yanks telling me that it was the result of positive thinking - I think positively all the time about being five-foot-eight, weighing 110 pounds and being married to Anderson Cooper and none of those things EVER come true.

Financially it would have made more sense to go to Denver but timing was not on my side as several people I wanted to visit there were also out of town the same weekend. So California it was. My dearest friend L. lives in Orange County, so I flew into Santa Ana. It was a whirlwind weekend - we took in some Laguna spots (there are a lot of places in the area with Laguna in their name); drank cocktails; checked out beachside and hillside homes and wondered how in the hell people can afford to live there; ate yummy fish (why does fish taste better by the seaside? It can't just be a vicinity issue); pissed off some Germans when we got the last ocean view table at a bar; walked on the beach; and drove to Los Angeles and spent some time there.

Tinseltown. La La Land. City of Angels. The Big Orange.

To say visiting Hollywood was a dream come true is no exaggeration. Longtime readers know I am not a fan of bucket lists but even I have to admit, visiting Hollywood would be very near the top if I kept one.
 
I can't believe I finally made it there. Being such a movie buff, I have long been a fan of Hollywood and all that it entails. And I was such a clichéd, cheesy tourist - I bought some Oscar statue souvenirs, took pictures of the Hollywood sign, sought out certain stars' stars on the Walk of Fame (didn't get to see Frank Sinatra's star because it was a bit of a hike but that was no biggie because I was once in the same room as him (well, hockey arena)). And at Grauman's Chinese Theater (where the concrete stuff is) I even got a little teary. We drove past Rodeo Drive, but I couldn't bring myself to check out any of the shops there because I have panic attacks when I see the prices in the OUTLET stores of high-end retailers, so I think seeing Rodeo Drive prices might have sent me over the edge.

I also had an idea that could make someone a millionaire: I was looking for a group souvenir to take back to my co-workers, sort of like those chocolate-covered macadamia nuts EVERYONE brings back from Hawaii. I couldn't find anything. Someone should come up with Oscar statue-shaped lollipops or gummies or gold foil-wrapped chocolates, something like that, because I know I can't be the only person who wanted to show off back at the office. Obviously, you'd have to tweak the design a little so you don't run into copyright issues, but still...

I didn't do everything I'd have liked; the weather was not cooperative so I did not get to see a beach sunset; I never saw anyone famous  - not that I know of anyway - some places were so crowded there could have been an A-lister slumming it; and I wasn't discovered - seriously, how did that not happen? I have the fat-chick-with-an-English-accent market cornered.

And I did realize that my dream of one day living in California might never come true because the drivers are maniacs. My three previous trips there - San Fran (30th birthday), somewhere in the Silicon Valley, and Anaheim (both business trips) did not involve much traveling by car and so this was the first time I was exposed to how effing crazy Cali drivers are. So, yes, only way I could ever live there is if I could afford to be chauffeur-driven everywhere.

And for those of you keeping stats - yes, this was the first time I have left the state of Nevada since moving here 10 years ago (and no, the two minutes I spent on the Arizona side of the Hoover Dam does not count). And this was the first time I'd flown in over 10 years - a fact I shared with everyone I came into contact with at the airport, from the Lyft driver to the cocktail server to the flight attendant who brought me a seat belt extender (surprised I didn't have to buy a second seat actually, size of dat ass).
 
 
 
 
 

Sunday, July 23, 2017

Balcony Blues


I do not watch Anderson Cooper 360°. I have no idea what channel it is on or what time it is broadcast. I had to look up its correct title too, that is how removed I am from it. Huge surprise, right? Because of how deeply in love with him I am. (And, no, he is not gay - he just hasn't met the right fat English chick yet.) But I cannot watch his show because it is too painful. If I can't be with him, I don't want to watch him - I avoid the emotional trauma.
 
Every morning, I sprinkle birdseed on my balcony, attracting lots of pigeons and other birds. (And I think word has gotten around because when I open the blinds in the morning, there they are, waiting for breakie.) Sammy, of course, is glued to the scenes that follow. He sits there, sometimes chattering, sometimes crouched in a pouncing position and occasionally he even launches himself at the window, which scares the crap out of me, it is so fast and so sudden and makes such a loud noise, windows rattling and birds scattering.
 
I am probably going to have to move in December (bear with me, these disparate subjects will come together shortly). Obviously, my financial situation and fear of driving means that cost and location are my top priorities but after that a view for Sammy is the most important thing. But should it be? What I mean is, is watching those birds frustrating to him? Does it depress him that he can't get through the glass and be outside chasing them?
 
It has been proven that animals experience emotions similar to humans, but do they know they can avoid emotional pain like humans can? If I move to a place that does not have prime bird-watching space will he be depressed because the daily avian feeding frenzy is no more or will he be happier because that which caused him emotional trauma has been removed and as an animal he is incapable of avoiding it himself? In other words, are those pigeons his Anderson Cooper?
 
 
Are you Anderson Cooper, pigeon?
 

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Yes, but...

OK, can't avoid it any longer, got to post, almost the end of May (my favorite month, by the way).
 
Yes, I have nothing to post about, but... at least I do not have anything negative to post about, right? I mean, no ill-timed potential jury duty, no long-term chronic unemployment, no crimes again my car, for example. And though it is boring for you, my loyal reader(s), I'll take it.

But... I have a feeling this might be the last non-eventful post for awhile, at least as far as my working life is concerned... New boss starts middle of June. At his last position, he eliminated a particular practice of his department. We have that same practice at my workplace. And it just happens to be, oh, I don't know, about 60 FUCKING PERCENT OF MY JOB. Yes, could be, in just a few short weeks, 60 FUCKING PERCENT OF MY JOB might be eliminated. Meh, what can I say? I had a good run, two years is a really long time to be happy in one job, right? I mean, it's more than I deserved after being out of work for 18 months, right? Oh joy.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Happy Anniversay, Las Vegas


 
To mark the 10th anniversary of my moving to Las Vegas (March 30th if you want to get technical about it), I decided to produce a list of random facts and figures about my time here. I thought it would be much longer. Why, I don’t know. Wishful thinking, I guess. But here are a few:
 
Longest time I have ever lived in one American city
Colorado still holds the record for longest stay in one state but I split that time between two cities (well, one city, Denver, and one portal to hell, Boulder).
 
Longest time in one apartment
 
Longest time in one job
 
Longest time without a job
 
Longest time without doing the dance with no pants
 
Most I have ever weighed
It’s those buffets and the fact that Vegas is so un-walkable. But even if there was somewhere to walk, for about five months out of the year, it is too hot to be outside anyway.
 
One box of Q-Tips still going strong!
I, um, acquired that box of Q-Tips pictured above a few days after arriving in Las Vegas (v. tempted to count how many I’ve used, by the way). Is it weird that I remember this? I also remember that my laundry basket was a first week purchase. As was the step stool I use because I am so short. And my favorite night shirt is a black t-shirt that too was purchased during that fateful shipping trip (it is too ratty and faded for regular wear).  And I still have two tumblers from a set of four I bought in Target, and a spatula too (this was before I discovered the treasure trove that is the Dollar Store (haven’t purchased any small household item anywhere else since then)).
 
Started this blog
 
Became a faux aunt four times over
And have still to meet any of them!
 
Rescued, and was rescued by, Sammy
And that is perhaps my greatest Las Vegas accomplishment.
 
I know a lot of these achievements are more to do with my (allegedly) maturing but I do wonder which are down to Vegas alone. I know for a fact the weight gain is (those damn buffets). And despite the length of time I have been here, should an opportunity arise for me to leave, I would in a heartbeat, with very few regrets. Leaving Denver was hard; Vegas, it would relatively painless. 

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Fury Duty


So, yeah, as mentioned in the previous post, I had a little jury duty adventure back in mid-December. Yes, I know that is two months ago, but you’re getting the deets now because, one, it was a rather traumatic experience that took me awhile to process emotionally, and two, well, I have nothing else to write about and it is already the middle of February and I have to fulfill my “at least one post a month” deal, so there!

My earliest memory of jury duty was back when my dad was called up. He got out of it by telling the powers-that-be that whilst he would be honored to fulfill his civic duty, he was deaf and that meant they would have to provide a sign language interpreter for him. He was, not surprisingly, excused. Like most people, he did not want to serve. I, on the other hand, find the whole idea rather exciting and would relish the experience.

My first chance came about 15 years ago, when I was in Colorado and before I was a citizen. I contemplated just showing up anyway, but stickler that I am, I followed the instructions and a faxed copy of my pink Green Card quickly put the kibosh on that plan.

I was finally called up again last December (ironically, shortly after I voted for the very first time (I know some people who do not register to vote simply because they do not want to be called up for jury duty)). So, not sure how it works elsewhere, but here in Vegas, you are instructed to call in after 6 pm the night before you are scheduled to appear to see if you are still needed. Ok, so yeah, I said previously that I look forward to doing it but I guess that is easy for me because I do not think I would ever be chosen because of - oh, Dad, the irony is thick – my hearing issues. Unless those court rooms are fully miked up, I am sure I would be excused. So, yes, I went there (and of course there was some driving and parking trauma too, because there is always driving and parking trauma!) but I was fully expecting to be excused.

The first of us were excused immediately. A second group was taken away somewhere never to be seen again. And those of us who remained? Well, we were given a 15-page questionnaire to fill out concerning a case that was slated to start in the new year and was scheduled to last at least six days.   Just exactly when in the new year was it scheduled to start? Why, on January 3rd. So, on January 2nd, after 6 pm, I would have to call in to see if I would be needed. Thing is, I kind of already had plans for exactly 6 pm on January 2nd - I planned to be leaving the Strip hotel room I’d just checked in to, go to the Strip and start drinking because, oh you know, it just happened to be MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. A milestone birthday. One with a zero on the end of it. A birthday I planned for once to celebrate in style, with a night on the Strip, lots of drinking, treating myself to a good meal somewhere without plastic cutlery, maybe even catching a show.

Talk about worst case scenario. I could not fucking believe it. See, things like this, this is why I believe that, if there is a God, dude sure has a sick sense of humor. I never do anything for my birthday, I never treat myself. So for once, when I scrimped and saved throughout the year and found a good deal at the oldest hotel on the Strip and booked the time off work and arranged for a neighbor to check in on Sammy, this was all in jeopardy because three years ago some asshole tried to cross the street in an unmarked crosswalk and some other asshole ran them down (more on that later).

We were told that if we already had booked travel plans for the time of the trial to send in a copy of our itinerary for review by the judge. I did that immediately upon return to the office, but was worried that that excuse would not fly because, technically, I was not traveling (you can literally see the hotel I’d booked from the front of my apartment building) and it was on the day before the case was supposed to start, not during it. I also hoped that some of my answers on the questionnaire would get me excused, including one about the location of the defendant’s work place, an apartment building. I wrote that on a recent apartment hunt, I had looked at this place but was put off by the rude and condescending staff (funny thing was, when I researched the place online the next day I found out it has been closed for a year! Ha! Liar, liar, pants on fire).

After a week of utter misery during which I made many pacts with any deity who cared to help me out, I finally caved and called to check and was told that the case had been settled out of court and I was excused!!! Poor guy who answered that phone must have thought me a complete idiot because after he told me that I asked him to repeat himself about five times, I was so elated.

And of course, because that is the way my life goes, the irony is that I actually would have loved to have served on this particular case because it involved a particular pet peeve of mine. Deal was, some asshole pedestrian was jaywalking and got hit by some asshole driver. Yes, Driving Asshole should have been more careful and not hit Walking Asshole, but Walking Asshole should not have been jaywalking. This really pisses me off, pedestrians think they can just cross the street willy-nilly. Use the crosswalk, assholes! So if I’d ended up on that jury I would have found for Walking Asshole, but would have awarded him or her only enough money to cover medical expenses and 50% of lawyers’ costs. Because you should not have been jaywalking in the first place, Walking Asshole, but you were. And Driving Asshole, you should have been paying attention to Walking Asshole, so you’re not getting away with it completely. So, yeah, Walking Asshole, here’s your medical expenses covered and some of your lawyers’ fees, but not all because you probably only pursued this case in the hopes of getting rich. But you won’t on my watch, jaywalker! I actually wrote something to that effect on my questionnaire, so there was no way I was going to get picked for this case, right? But I guess we will never know!

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Year In Review - 2016 Edition


What a crazy year 2016 was for the world, what with all those celebrity deaths and that travesty of an election. For me? Not so much. But that is OK. I will take quiet and boring over crazy and uncontrolled any day.
 
Not that 2016 was without its moments:
 
For once, I did a lot of touristy things, like seeing a Beatles’ tribute band, going on the High Roller, playing at Top Golf, and eating at a Gordon Ramsey restaurant.
 
 
 
 


Had another awesome, alcohol-soaked free night out on the Strip, again with the same co-worker from last year’s bacchanal.
 
Finally got the CPAP equipment (not that I can see any effects it is having, apart from the occasional dream that I am in a wind tunnel with Darth Vader).
 
Was away from Sammy for the longest time ever – two-and-a-half days. Not that he cared.
 
Gained six pounds.
 
Saw one movie in the theater.
 
Kept my faux-virginity intact (four-and-a-half years now!).
 
Voted for the first time.
 
Nearly served jury duty for the first time. Boy, is that ever a story - it was very recent and caused a lot of emotional trauma that I am not quite ready to process just yet but when and if I am, you will read about it here.
 
Put 1,662 miles on my car. No seriously, I did:
 
 

 
 
 
On Sammy’s life, these are genuine pictures of my car’s mileage, taken on January 1, 2016 and December 31, 2016 respectively. Most people I know drive that much in a month. Told you I hated driving.
 
Happy new year!