It's In The Cards

I went and had my 2010 psychic reading yesterday afternoon. It was a somewhat uncomfortable set-up, in a store called The Elite Goddess. The psychic dude, Ernesto, plays outta there a couple Saturdays a month. I thought it would be in a little back room, but it was just in a little back corner of the store, cordoned off by fabric screens. You could hear the entire conversation throughout the store, which wasn't as freaky as it could have been, because there was no one else in the store, outside of the shopkeep. But I heard the person before me, and it made me aware of my every spoken word, so I didn't do more than nod my head during my session. So not thrilled with locale. No startling revelations, either.

I'm not sure what I hope to hear at these things. I guess something along the lines of "Life will be FAB-U-LOUS! once you do X-Y-Z. Nah. That didn't happen. He did tell me to stop being so bitchy towards people. In a more polite manner, of course, but that was the essence. Ernesto also advised that I have feelings of being taken advantage of a lot, and that's probably pretty accurate, and he pinpointed work. Is that really such a revelation, though? Well, it was $40 to hear that if I want to get a new job, apply over the next two months and Great New Things shall be mine, so what have I done with the rest of the weekend? Facebook-stalked people of no importance and read a lot of stupid on-line shit that doesn't do one thing to move my life forward. You know, the usual.

January winds to a close and I've done very little with my Non-New-Years-Resolutions. Other than learning that I can't be generous without the expectation of a sincere "thank you," so I've hung up my Giving Hat for a while, and will only contribute towards animal shelters until I can feel less annoyed by people.

Too often, those people who exhibit bad behavior have a special knack of making you feel like the asshole. Kinda like in the movie theater, when the person in front of you is TEXTING (Pet Peeve #2, behind Litterbugging) during the movie and you (by "you" I mean me) loudly tell them to turn their phone off and they turn around and give you (by "you" I mean me) the Bad Eye, like "How dare YOU interrupt my texting!" Yeah, like that.

Well, 2010 is where I don't allow that to happen to me, I will not allow the a-hole behaviorist to make me feel bad for calling them on it. Nope. So maybe this is what Ernesto means about my working on not being such an a-hole. It's a work in progress, apparently.

On an upnote, we finally had our elliptical machine delivered Saturday at 7:15 p.m. The intended delivery date was Friday between 2-6. So yeah, a day and a few hours late. As the evening turned into 5:45 with nary a word from the delivery peeps on Saturday I called and asked the lady where the heck my stuff was. She said it was on it's way, and would arrive within the hour. I inquired as to how I could be last on the list when they were already a day late, and shouldn't I have been FIRST, and now I've wasted Friday & Saturday afternoon, and now evening, waiting for them.

I got the words out, wasn't too terribly bitchy about it, more along the lines of inquisitive, and when the dudes finally showed up and put 'er together he apologized for the delay in delivery. My response was, "I'm sorry that we ordered pizza with part of your tip money while we were waiting around for you." And I wasn't kidding. He got $15 to split with his partner instead of $30. Cause seriously, we spent our cash-on-hand on pizza and Pepsi (which is really ironic, since we were waiting for our EXERCISE EQUIPMENT!), while we hung around the house from 2:00-7:15 waiting for them. He did have the good humor to laugh about it, which endeared him a little bit to me.

So for you Ernesto, I will work on my bitchiness. Twenty-ten is gonna be tough.

Dashing Off

My Lexus is having an electrical failure. Lots of perplexing icons and upper-case letters are lighting up the dashboard. Manual says: See Dealership Immediately, Car May Be Unsafe to Drive. Do I drive it to the dealership??? Here are some more letters to consider: WTF. They need to add THAT to the dash.

A Whole Bunch of Nothin'

I've been having an internal debate with myself for the past few days. See, one of my not-written-down-but-spoken-aloud Twenty-Ten Resolutions has been to "Give" this year. Give from a pure place, to anyone/situation that strikes me as in need of a little bit of unexpected help, and learning from Kenny to give a little more generously than what is comfortable. Now, not crazy-giving-away-the-house stuff, but a month's worth of gas in the car - that type of giving.

And so it began. My first opportunity struck me a bit odd, it was a group email solicitation for financial assistance from someone I've met a couple of times, she doesn't work because of something. The second time was giving to a true stranger who I read was having an ongoing struggle of financial hardships due to unemployment. "But for the grace of God" and all that jazz. Ya know?

So I sent a check to one who asked for help, and made a Paypal online donation to the other. Now, I'm not disclosing all this for anyone at all to say, "Wow, how nice!" or even "Wow, what a sucka!" - but merely to point out the end result.

Not one thank you has been issued.

Is the expectation of a "thank you" when you've opened up your wallet and sent money to someone for doing absolutely nothing not "true" giving? I don't know. Maybe. I see that the check was cashed, (immediately) so it's not as if it wasn't received, or the person has been too sick to respond.

It galls me just a wee bit that someone can email a solicitation for financial help, or even have a "donate" button on their website after they've poured out their hardships for all the world to read, but can't take a moment to email over a "Thanks, it's appreciated." Kinda like my nephews and their birthday and Christmas gifts 'o cash. Seriously, have bad manners just taken over society to this degree?

Kenny asked me how these folks can be so hard-up for money but still have Internet access. Good question, but I have to admit I would be inclined to lump that under "necessity" rather than "luxury" myself, but it does pose a good question. Kinda like the friend I had who was unemployed for more than a year and kept hitting me up for cash, laundry detergent and groceries and then wanted to chat about the latest episode of Sex & The City, which was on a PAY cable channel. Yeah, kinda like that. We're no longer friends, by the way. I see a lot of truths here: "Never mix friendship and money" - yeah, and "A sucka and her money are soon parted."

But I tried. I tried to be true and good and giving, my Oprah-quoted "Random Act of Kindness." Maybe I'm not cut out for it. Because yes, it does piss me off that you can't use your pay-for-Internet service to send me an e-thanks.

Pants On The Ground

Saturday dawned clear-headed and rested. All that sleep has paid off, apparently! To quote Tony The Tiger, I feel "GRRRREEAT!" I had a face-off at the gym again with the Pilates Reformer. Dag, that machine is an asskicker. Two workouts down, it still owns my ass. I just wonder how spectacularly lithe and nimble I would be today had I kept it up when I started my relationship with it two years ago. My goal is to stick it out throughout 2010, with 3 workouts a week on that damn thing. There, I've said it. It'll be my bee-yotch by the end of 2010.

I have hot plans for tonight, I'm off to get purtied up for it. My friend and I are heading out on the town. Oh yeah. Stand back. Things could go crazy. We're planning on checking out Cougar Town, a.k.a. The Holiday Inn nightclub. I kinda feel like getting my dance on. That is, if I can move my legs (thanks again, Pilates Reformer!).

It's What's For Dinner

Kenny's been in sunny California since Wednesday and what have I done with my unexpected bachelorette status? Sleep. I'm wild when left to my own devices. Friday night was the craziest so far, I actually picked something up for dinner and indulged myself in a gyro with a tall glass of milk. Whole.

I had forgotten how nice it could be not to come home from work with the biggest thought being "What's for dinner!!?" We have little groceries in the house, and I was fine with making something out of nothing. One night it was scrambled eggs on an English muffin, last night it was toast and shrimp cocktail. Hey, it's what was around that required almost zero effort. And I liked it and was happy.

So that's been the week. I hope Kenny's living a little wilder on the hog in Cali. Whew, I'm tired. Back to bed for me.

Hold Your Applause

Here it is, Weekend Two of 2010 and I've got nothing much to show for it. The shame. I should have a published novel, organized closets, trim thighs, and a large bankroll from following my Master Budget by now. Instead? Instead I have a cluttered dining room, no clean socks for work tomorrow, and dirty dishes in the sink (again). Sigh.

Some highlights of the week include:
Meggan made me homemade pizzelles. A big metal tin of 'em and man-o-man were/are they good. Thanks, Meggan - I really wasn't good enough in 2009 to deserve homemade-baked-goodary, but I'll take it nonetheless.

I had the flu. The chills-and-sweats kinda flu. And my manager called off the entire week so I couldn't afford myself the luxury of rolling around in bed with my aches and pains, instead I had to drag into work and write and present an hour-long presentation on Thursday.

During said presentation, I managed to fall clear outta my shoes. It was a move that could never be replicated, no matter how much practice went into it. And yes, you did read that right - I fell outta my shoes. They were the slip-on kind, mules I believe is the fancy name. And I moved one way, a shoe didn't go with me, and the next thing you know they were both off and I was standing up there in my stockinged feet. Luckily I'm used to self-embarrassment and was able to recover from that and carry on, but like all great athletic moments, I'm sure it won't soon be forgotten by anyone.

And then, later that day? I fell out of my shoe again, on the way down a stairwell, and my co-worker threw an arm out like a protective mother to save me from a wicked spill.

So that's how 2010 wants to play it. Bring it, Mo'fo. There. I sounded all "street" and scary, didn't I??

Friday night we went to the movies. And now since we have to pay those outlandish fees for movies ($9 a ticket, for JimneyCrickets Sake!), I convinced the Mister to thumb his nose at his old bread-n-butter and and get a twofer. So we saw Up In The Air with George Clooney and then scooted next door for Meryl Streep in It's Complicated. Both were good, Up In the Air was the better of the two. But the most impressive part of the story (other than my Ninja-ways, where I'm able to stealth around into movie theaters while keeping both shoes on) was that I was able to go out right after work on a Friday night and stay awake til well past midnight. Bool-ya.

Saturday I returned the As Seen On TV "Bump It" back to Walgreens. Stupidest. TV Gizmo. Ever. I was so disgusted by it, I considered throwing it in the trash with a big flourish, but then realized I'd like my $10 instead and returned it. Under "reason for return" I wrote "Stupidest. Item. Ever." I wrote it with such authority they will never realize that "stupidest" isn't even a word. Ha! Score another one for me! Who's keeping score?? Wait, it is a word? Whatever.

The weekend has pretty much been an exercise in, well, non-exercise. I did, however, manage to accomplish one thing on my Twenty-Ten Resolutions List, which isn't really an actual list at all but more like things I have just been thinking about doing. Mister A. (that's my Lover, I'm working on finding a sexy and mysterious bloggermoniker (bloniker?? for him) patiently figured out how to fix my effing iPhone for me and got it registered for downloading Apps. It was a whole jump-down-turn-around-pick-a-bale-of-cotton exercise that frankly I had no patience for and it just made my blood pressure rise every time I attempted it. Some nonsense about syncing my PC with the phone, and cords were needed and it annoyed me but now it works so I can do Important Things like download ringtones and apps and stuff. Important Stuff. So shew, one thing accomplished. Take that, Twenty-Ten.

My goal for the upcoming week? Practice my Ninja moves, like keeping my shoes on at work. Stealthy.

This Post Shoulda Stayed in Vegas...

Happy New Year, 2010! I really like the year, the number is a good one. It's twenty-ten. Sounds like CB talk. Twenty-ten, Good Buddy. Roger dat. See? Nice. We partied it up in Vegas.

"Partied" being used in the loosest sense of the word. We didn't have a three-some, find a baby or a tiger in our room, or swim in any fountains. However, I did get a massage by an Asian man named Gilbert, who used his small little Asian fingers to dance across my back. And he rubbed out my lower back pretty nicely, and rubbed hot stones on spots.

The massage experience actually was a little iffy for me this go-round. It started off awkward, which is never a good start. We were staying at Paris, so it's not a slouchy spa at all, but the first thing that put me off was the tatty little robe I was handed. It was thin and skrimpy feeling, and I did not feel anywhere near close to being enveloped in a puffy pillow of comfort, as I like. But I adapted.

They didn't have changing rooms. This was a first for me. Usually there's a couple of curtained areas to keep my ladyparts out of view. Not here. So I had to haul my tatty robe to the handicapped toilet and change there, because well, I'm MODEST. Didn't you know that?

So there was that. Then, I sat in the waiting room to fill out my little health card and frankly they ask too many questions. Allergies, surgeries, gerbils stuck up your ass...they want to know it all. Listen Bub, you're rubbing my BACK. You don't need to know what I have or have not had surgically altered, unless it's my shoulder blades, I guess. And it's not, so MYOB.

They led me over to my massager and I was startled to meet Gilbert. I was told I'd get rubbed out by a chick. Not that I really care, I guess, but I said, "Oh, I was supposed to have a girl massager!" and this put them into a flutter of activity to find a replacement. It was a busy Saturday morning, and I finally said it was fine with Gilbert, it's not like I haven't undressed for a guy before and it was fine. Gilbert chortled at that and led me back to the room.

Gilbert left me to get undressed and I looked at the table in confusion. There was no sheet to slide my ass under, just a skrimpy little towel about the size of a bathmat. Really? So Gilbert knocked on the door as I was taking a little while to figure out the best mode of coverage with that thing, and I finally got it positioned across my ass and even then it kinda hung out on the edges a bit. He came in and I told him I was a little uncomfortable to be all out there with a bathmat for coverage, and I told him that looking at my naked ass for fifty minutes wasn't going to be doing him any favors. He got a sheet and gave me better coverage.

So it was a shaky start, but we finally found our groove, which was me trying not to moan in ecstasy while he rubbed things that were tense. On my back, Dirty Minds. And I got a head rub, which I love. It was a happy ending. If it had only ended there.

I figured since I had full use of the spa I might as well take a schitvz. Wandering in to the steam room, the first thing I saw was a naked older woman. I sat down on the other side of the room in my robe and she proceeded to instruct me with her European accent to, "jeesst teek off all your clothes, let your body be freeeee! Eeet feels sooo gooood!" in a sing-song voice. So what could I do?

I took off my robe and kinda sat there. And she had to comment, "Now, eeesn't that better? Free your body!" So I was freed alrightie. Until another gal came in the room, and then I threw a towel over my ladyparts because frankly they just felt better confined. They're used to that. She eventually left, I left, and I'd like to say that was that. But it wasn't. But I'll leave it at that. It's enough, really. The remainder of the story includes a wayward spa jet and a toilet seat cover, and really, you'll be happier not hearing any of it.

On to other things. New Years Eve, we celebrated in the street where we waited for the countdown and fireworks. I took some random street pictures and saw this one and wondered what the heck was all over my camera. It's Vegas, it wasn't raining, but it sure looked like splotchy raindrops against the night sky. It's not, and it's only on a couple of the nighttime photos, and I am convinced they are spirtual orbs floating around. It's my ghostly Vegas experience. Click the photo to make it bigger and see for yourself. Kenny was skeptical until we went to an orb website and even he concluded that these look like ghost orbs. I hope it's a sign of a good year! Roger dat, twenty-ten.