HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

So it's Crash's birthday and what's a blogger to do? Some people are hard to find gifts for (like my mum and my dad--hours of frustration, and that is not an exaggeration); and then there are others like Crash who are so easy to shop for that you end up having to edit yourself. For example, I wanted to get him this, this. and this. But it was not meant to be.

Because then I found this super duper awesome coupon that I will gladly share with you to give to your buddies when you are stumped for a super duper awesome birthday gift:




Print. Give. Good times!
Happy Birthday my bloggin buddy!

How to Rekindle an Acquaintance.

If you ever feel the need to, I dunno, get in contact with an ex from eons ago, and it ended badly, and you're not sure what to write, here's a tip--don't write this (or anything similar to this):

Hey [steenks],
How goes?
Have you had any news of [name of friend you have not spoken to in 10 years]? There was a weird bout last year, we were talking on the phone and she got upset with me for criticizing US politics (?) and I've never really heard back from her. Did she go wierd or something? I miss her. If you ever get around to talking with her, let her know... life's good. and if she ever wants to say hey, she knows where to reach me.
Hope all's good with you. Where you calling home these days?

[name of ex that will never be named.]

There are a myriad of things wrong about this email (and not just misspelling the word "weird"). But here's a general rule: when shit goes belly up, and in a bad Titanic kinda way in relationships, you make a deal that implies "Let's just ignore that any of this happened and we will never contact each other and in retrospect, I will hide myself in a closet and drink booze alone while reflecting upon our time together even 10 years later." AND if you plan on breaking that rule, you better bring your A-Game. And sending an email that is about another person, political strife, and what sounds like bitterness towards another is not your A-Game, but more like hard evidence of a lobotomy that happened during the past 10 years of mutual silence.

Next Week is gonna be BAD.

I'm starting intermediate ballet classes next week. 3x a week, for an hour and half.
And I agreed to it when I was drunk.

Bring on the ice baths, bitches.

The Week from Hell: A Baker's Dozen of Conversations.

This past week started off good, especially because it was Memorial Day and all and there was no work to be had and no emails to answer (UNLESS YOU WORK WITH EUROPEANS, RAWR), and no long conference calls to be on the other end of. But miraculously, the week nosedived the minute the clock turned to 9 am on Tuesday morning. And while I'd like to pile all the negativity on my shoulders, it appears that everyone was in agreement: This past week, from Tuesday onwards, sucked. Hard.

Here's a sampling of choice conversations I had during the week with a variety of friends and coworkers:

Tuesday: "This day fucking blows. The server is slow and it takes half a fucking hour to download a fucking file, so I've been sitting at my desk eating cookies. I'm a fucking EMO EATER. Shut up."

Wednesday: "I cannot tell you how stoked I was to get such a long email from you while I am in China. I am desperate for contact with the outside world. Why are you getting so drunk by your computer, do tell."

Thursday: "I haven't slept in 3 days, I've gone to ballet every night this week, and I have peas strapped to my ass. Oh, and I'm working. AT 4 AM. Which just kicks ass."

Friday: "So I went on a date last night. And you know, three hours into a really nice dinner, the guy blurted out that he got together with his ex-wife. So if you don't show up at this bar tonight, I'm going to take it personally."

Saturday: "What am I doing? What am I DOING? I'm watching the fucking Starter Wife on USA, and eating a tub of ice cream and getting fat. That's what you do after you get fired from your job...No, no, after you get divorced, you get a bucket of fried chicken and a really bad haircut. There's a biiiig difference. Shit, I'd rather be a Starter Wife than unemployed."

Sunday: "I burned my eyebrows off when I was trying to light that grill."