Giddy Girlie

Overheard in the hotel lobby*:

[3 middle-aged, American business men, dressed in suits and ties walk in]

Business Man #1: we've gotta get some pussy
Business Man #2: (notices me, awkwardly looks away) Um. Shh.
Business Man #3: Yeah, let's do a lap around the bar and see who's ready to pounce.
Business Man #1: I hear that. Here pussy pussy pussy pussy.
Business Man #3: heh heh. Rowr**.

*this week, I am in Montreal, Canada for those playing Where In The World Is Mia & Her Dingo?
**he didn't make the tongue-trilling noise, he actually said "rowr".

Posted by giddygirlie at 9:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Gone are the halcyon days of summer, back when a spider could spin his web in, say, the opening to the clothes dryer and be fat and happy. Now the spiders have gone to chasing their food (sorry, ant, you're breakfast) and I feel kind of sad about that. Not really for the spiders, but the fact that it's 7:30pm and dark outside. I don't smell barbeques or dog poo from the nightly walk. I had to wear a sweatshirt. That makes me clinically depressed.

To underscore this sad fact of season-change, is that when I came home from Hotlanta on Friday, I left weather in the mid-70's with humidity that left your t-shirt clinging to your back (eew) and came home to what? RAIN. Yes, rain. Now, some of you peoples see rain all the time. It's no big thing. But here? It rains like 3 times a year. And when it does, our houses slide off the cliffs into the ocean. And Friday's rain was crazy. Non-stop, torrential kind of rain. It filled up - and overflowed - the ice chest that has been sitting on our patio since (*mumble mumble*). That's when it hit me that Fall is here. Like it or not. It's going to be brisk. You're going to need a sweater and to turn on the porch light when you get something out of your car past 5pm. The air conditioner hasn't come on once since I've been home and my pajamas have long legs on them. It's definitely fall all right.

This has only compounded my jet lag, which has left me falling asleep on the couch at 10pm and waking up at 4am. Gross. How much more depressing can it get? At least the TiVo is catching everything that I miss. Hooray for 4am re-runs of the Office!

Posted by giddygirlie at 6:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In my former life, I used to travel for business with a crew of super cool fools. Essentially, we'd do our bid'ness and get the eff out. We'd explore every city, find the late night spots. Whether it was a make-your-own Cemetery Tour or find-your-own Jazz Club Night or live band Karaoke. Those were the days. Now I travel with people who's idea of "get the eff out" is "get the eff home" and fly out 20 minutes after our event ends. And usually arrive the same day. But my part of the job requires that I be there the day before and the day after -- to make sure that everyone/everything else got out safely. So I have more time in each city, which has the potential to be super cool. But rarely is. Instead, I hole up in my room, order room service, and try to find a familiar TV station. I have watched more TV this week than in the last year. Sad.

More than missing out on all the "cool places" I am more bummed about the room service menu. I have been too exhausted to trek out and look for a restaurant, and eating in the hotel lobby restaurant alone is less fun than having it delivered to you. At least in my room, I can wear pajamas. But the major drawback is the menu itself. Every city, every hotel, it's the same thing. $11 cup of soup or $25 cheeseburger? Hmm, neither. The only thing that sounds semi-okay and quick/easy/within budget is a chicken caesar salad - something that I never eat at home. It's okay. I mean, it's sustinance, but it don't thrill me, peoples. And by night 10 (out of 15 consecutive days if you're playing along at home), I cannot even THINK about lettuce and parmesean without wanting to fall on my spork.

Fortunately, I will be home tomorrow night. Back to the best Indian food around, excellently lard-filled Mexican food. Bagels for weekend brunch. Popsicles for breakfast. My stomach is growling.

Posted by giddygirlie at 6:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I am on the road essentially the entire month of September. Which is cool, I guess. If you like sleeping alone.

The other night, I had to order room service and I ordered a club sandwich. For $17. No toast and bacon is worth seventeen dollars. I am ashamed.

Tonight's nosh only set me back $10, and was advertised as the "hey, you're sleeping alone. Who cares if you fart in your sleep?" It immediately drew my attention. So I dialed zero and ordered up a heaping plateful of hummus & pita bread and gourmet olives. Gastro-intestinal distress delivered in 20 minutes or less. Ah, this is the life. *bbbrrrrt* oh, excuse me.

Bad TV is also on the schedule, complete with commercials for the Tater Mitt. If they can bill it to the room, I know what I'm getting.

Posted by giddygirlie at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

After my exciting day at Disneyland, I was in no mood to hop a plane to St. Louis, but alas I did. However, the plane wasn't hopping along as scheduled. After sitting on the tarmac for THREE HOURS* we finally returned to the gate to refuel and I got off the plane. I re-booked a flight for Monday, which was fine by me, because it meant that I got to go home and spend more time with my famblies (my exact wish!). We decided to spend a relaxing night at home, watching The Office Season 3, and... holy shitsticks! That show is so awesome.

So tonight, I am in St. Louis. So far, I have driven hours all over town to set up for tomorrow's event, driven around the Arch, taken cell phone pictures aplenty (camera battery is dead! noooo!), eaten STL bbq, had birthday cookies, and been to Target. I am pretty sure that I have exhausted all that STL has to offer me, but I still have one more night here. *sigh* But I am a trooper... just counting down to Thursday. I'm taking the day off and plan to sleep in (oh, sweet sleep!) and... no, that's all. After I sleep for about 21 hours, it's wide open. I'm crazy, man!

*it only takes like 4 hours to get there!

Posted by giddygirlie at 7:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

What's better than a day at Disneyland with a sock monster?

A day at Disneyland with these two!!

It was such an awesome day! Miss Bliss hadn't been to the park in something like 16 years (!!!) so it was great to get to go with her and get to experience everything for an almost first-time. And Kate is a Disney expert, so she and I had a great time playing tour guide. I also think we hit some all-time record. We got to the park early (9am) and had already been on something like 6 rides by noon. We played at the parks for like 13 hours and were able to do something like 17 rides and 2 shows. Amazing.

I also chose 2am the night before (when I should have been sleeping, like the normal people) to cut bangs. I'm still not sure what possessed me. I was pretty happy with them until we got DRENCHED on Splash Mountain and they curled up and I didn't have any way to fix them. *sigh* So I focused most of my pictures on the Lovely Ladies and Sock Monster*. In fact, I took more than 350 pictures, and about 200 of them made it to Flickr. (I know! dork!)

*I had SO many people ask me where to get a sock monster and all kinds of compliments. Before you ask, please see Erin's etsy shop for available sock monsters.

Posted by giddygirlie at 7:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Yesterday, I went and got my passport processed so that I don't get sent to Gitmo trying to get out of Canada. Seriously, in Canada you never know. Last time I ended up at the seediest strip club that had NO rules, telling the border-crossing guard that we were on our way to the "ballet" and barely managed to sneak back in by sitting pretty and pretending to be model citizens... who just happen to be crossing the border at 4am, smelling like whores and gin (I also just realized that I never told that story here. Oh man, the debauchery!).

And you'd think "passport processing, ho-hum" and you'd TOTALLY BE RIGHT. Except... the guy who handled my paperwork? Well, he was certifiable. Not only did he look like Santa Claus and Gary Busey had a kid, then forced him to become a postal worker, but he was mentally fragile. For example, see this passport application form? On the last page, at the bottom, there is the one and only section that the agent needs to worry about. Check a box, fill in a date, give it your John Hancock and you're home free. Stamp! Stamp! Done! Oh, but not with Busey Claus. He turned over every document several times. He looked and looked and looked again at the water mark on my birth certificate. Then proceeded to run his fingers over the seal. Both with eyes open and closed - to ensure authenticity. Then, repeated the whole process. I hand carried my documents, which means this: the agent has to put all of the documents into an envelope and write on the outside "handcarried by [insert your name here]" then tape the back and stamp it. Hard, right?

I wish that I was exaggerating or even flat-out lying when I tell you that this whole process, having been done in the hands of a competent person would take 3-5 minutes. Instead, I was in that stuffy room with Busey Claus for FIFTY SEVEN MINUTES. People outside, waiting, were giving me the stink eye, tapping their feet, throwing their hands in the air. I gave them the helpless, palms-up shrug. What could I do? I came in 100% prepared, with only a date and signature needed. And fifty-seven minutes later, I left with a screaming headache.

On the upside, my passport photo looks like I am drunk and also very tan. So unless I escape to Mexico to become a sunbathing borracho, the feds will never find me.

Posted by giddygirlie at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

A funny thing happened while I was reading "Diary of Indignities". Ryan said to me "you're not laughing out loud as much as I had expected" and at first it was dissettling. I should have been seized with hilarity... but then I realized why. My ear-to-ear grin wasn't just from reading the absurdities of fried turds or being relentlessly arm-molested by a retard. I was smiling because it felt like coming home. In some other galaxy or perhaps Seinfeld bizzarro universe, you and I were part of the same gang, my friend. I was that girl. The one on the periphery of the group, the brazen get-away driver, the alibi-creator, the conscious one who would drive you home at 5am. Even when you lived 8 hours away. The one who paid for your stitches and lied to the cops for you. In so many ways, I was right there with you. Dick House? I know that place! Some family bought it and is raising their kid there! Hope they know how radioactive it is. The squatter house? We had a corporate development with no security. Minnesota Wristwatch? I actually saw a guy do the "rodeo" stunt at a frat party.

It made me smile and fondly reminisce. Probably the best part of these indignant stories is that it gave a little... how to phrase it? Validation? to all all of the craziness of my past. The mental scars of a jack-off party and peeing on a trampoline. For once, it felt like finally someone else knew, understood. It freaks me out sometimes being Ms. Corporate America and my co-workers having NO IDEA. And knowing that not only could they not understand, but that their minds would melt with the knowing. Like all "regular" people who didn't spend their formative years hanging around inside freshly dug graves.

So THANK YOU, Patrick Hughes. By sharing your indignities, you made me feel a little better. And not because I'm any better off than you. But because at least I don't have an anal fissure.

xoxo

Mia

Posted by giddygirlie at 8:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The NY Times article came out today with their article about Ikea Hackers, titled "Romancing the Flat Pack" which is sort of a history of the DIY trend. The story follows DIY through places like Etsy and Instructables more than Ikea Hacking in particular, but it's still kind of interesting. And, unfortunately, I am not quoted. Ah, well. Maybe next time I'll get my name in bold print: "I didn't mean to kill him, but seriously... he was yakking on his cell phone and merging into my lane without a signal. I just gave him a little nudge. How could I have known that he'd tumble like that across the sidewalk? And anyway, who cares about cyclists in stretch pants?!"

My picture made it in. Click the link to see the slideshow of all the other nerds Ikea Hackers.

Posted by giddygirlie at 8:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The good thing about swimming in the pool after work is that you have the whole pool to yourself to get relief from the heat wave and also can check it off as exercise on your daily Road To A New You journal that you keep only in your head. Incidentally, if anyone knows the calorie conversion for sitting on the bottom of the pool for as long as you can, please let me know. I'm pretty sure that I floated my way to a free cheeseburger or something.

The bad thing is that when you're aqua dancing and making fart noises at your husband, the kids walking their dogs by the gate will laugh at you. And those same kids probably peed in the pool earlier in the day. Plus, your hair gets so dried out and funky that you can't even JOKE about using a brush until you've Pantene'd your head into oblivion. And, of course, you don't want to do that right away. Instead, you want to put on pajama pants and ignore your wet ponytail dripping down your back. You want to start embroidering something, or melting plastic (!) in the oven (!!) or lay prone on the couch and watch King of the Hill re-runs.

But, as it turns out, your eyes are on fire and Visine only laughed when you asked for help. So you whip out your textbook and intend to get right to business on this Homework thing that you've got going. Which results only in a bleary blogpost. And damp pillow cushions.

Posted by giddygirlie at 5:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

"You're going to have to pay for this. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure Sentence!

You have to pay for dinner because...
a) I didn't bring my wallet
b) I am a comic book artist
c) I am poor
d) see b & c but also mostly a."

The moral of this story is: paying for dinner can be considered an "adventure"

Posted by giddygirlie at 11:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)