I am exhausted. We both are. My eyes are burning, my head hurts, and I’m more than ready to be outta these clothes and shoes. It’s nearly 10:30pm; I’m camped in the garage at Caesar’s Palace. Unfortunately this whole place is lit up like an emergency room; don’t know how stealthy I can be under banks of fluorescents, but on the positive side I’m right by the elevators. Fingers crossed. The car next to me has giant cookies in its door pocket…they look like peanut butter…might be work breaking in…
The lead girl from the Pussycat Dolls is here tonight. She’s supposed to walk the carpet at 11:30pm – does that give you an idea of when I might get to bed? – and then perform at the nightclub. We got to go see the band Train in the same place and I thought it was an awful venue. Just because you have a stage doesn’t mean you should hold a concert. It’s standing room only and if you’re short (hello, down here!) you can’t see hardly anything. I had trouble with the strobe lights (migraine instantly), and had to go out and all the way around to the lady’s room because the one inside the club is right next to the stage and good freakin’ luck getting through the crowd. That’s where my poor Honey has to go (to the stage, not the bathroom). He’s beat too. He was up until 3am this morning captioning all the stuff from yesterday, then he went to work with me to bbq, which was excellent. Straight from work we went to the baby photo shoot (finally found all the backdrops – folded nicely in a fan box at the front of the garage). There’s been no rest for the wicked or anyone else. I suppose it’s better to be worked to death than not work at all.
I’m limping more today. Ask me to do anything besides walk around slowly, like get in or out of a car, sit in a chair or get up, etc and there will be a lot of wincing and groaning. I’m probably doing P20x right now and that’s the best I can do. Tomorrow we go again.
If anyone can help, check out this link for Nashville…
Friday 3 events
It’s become apparent that my usual plan of sneaking in the car during red carpet events will soon have to come to an end. No, the minions in yellow haven’t found me again, not yet anyway. It’s just bloody hot in this garage though I’m in the shade. Pretty soon temp’s are gonna climb into the 90’s and 100’s and then me and the equipment will melt. I may have to go in soon today anyway. I’ve seen two minions in yellow already (why always on bicycles?) and there are enough people walking around I’ll probably get noticed soon. This is the first of three events today – good thing I didn’t have anything going, huh.
So I managed to get up early this morning and work out before all the madness started – ya’ll should’ve seen the mad dash we just did: waiting for Mom to get outta the doctor’s office while check-in time ticked ever closer, dashing home to get gear (cuz someone didn’t listen to me earlier when I said we should get it now) and finding a flooded toilet (why do they do that at complete random?) and dashing out again. I got him here within 5 minutes of check in, so we’re good. This garage is damn near full though; I got lucky when a guy left.
Speaking of my work outs…I’m way more outta shape than I thought. Granted I’m doing P90x, which is some seriously hard core stuff, but I can only do like 5-8 reps, I’m drenched in sweat, breathing hard, and my face turns all red. Right now I’m doing 30 minutes of the usually hour-long workouts. It’s a start. I don’t wanna get all gung-ho and hurt myself. You should hear my bones popping! I’m putting Rice Crispies to shame. Still I persevere. My legs and butt are protesting loudly, I’m limping cuz the muscles are so tight, but on the plus side, I’ve been charging thru the day and I woke Honey by demanding sex as my reward for not being a lazy slacker. Guys dig it when you initiate. ;)
Screw this, I’m going in. It’s hot.
Later…
We’re onto event 3. I’m running outta gas. It’s now 7:30pm and I’m enjoying a rather nice view of the south end of the Strip and the planes leaving the airport. I’ve opted not to join the madness inside – apparently New Kids on the Block still have a large following. This is the first time I’ve ever had to park on the 3rd floor of this garage (same venue, but other garage this time. I’ve never seen minions in this one). I’m parked next to a lovely classic Cadillac with white wall tires. Hoping Honey won’t have to stay for the whole thing. First Friday is tonight, we still need to find the damn backdrops for tomorrow’s shoot, and go to the grocery store cuz Honey’s going to work with me tomorrow and grilling out back to celebrate the final departure of that useless worm, the temp. It’s a trade-off though; we get the new guy while the manager is off. The new guy, Bill, is an electrician – which makes me feel a bit better about me and all my expensive education hanging out at the lamp store. At least I’m not alone. :)
There won’t be any work out tomorrow cuz I just can’t find a time to fit it in. I work all day, then dash with Honey to a baby photo shoot, then a red carpet at 11pm. I’m not sure I’m woman enough to get up early for it. Security might find me snoring softly in the front seat come tomorrow night if I do…now that I’m thinking about it though that might be good, the getting up early part, cuz then I don’t screw the rotation and I get Sunday off of working out and to sleep in cuz the shop opens late. Hmmm…something to consider. Right now I’m considering a nap.
So I managed to get up early this morning and work out before all the madness started – ya’ll should’ve seen the mad dash we just did: waiting for Mom to get outta the doctor’s office while check-in time ticked ever closer, dashing home to get gear (cuz someone didn’t listen to me earlier when I said we should get it now) and finding a flooded toilet (why do they do that at complete random?) and dashing out again. I got him here within 5 minutes of check in, so we’re good. This garage is damn near full though; I got lucky when a guy left.
Speaking of my work outs…I’m way more outta shape than I thought. Granted I’m doing P90x, which is some seriously hard core stuff, but I can only do like 5-8 reps, I’m drenched in sweat, breathing hard, and my face turns all red. Right now I’m doing 30 minutes of the usually hour-long workouts. It’s a start. I don’t wanna get all gung-ho and hurt myself. You should hear my bones popping! I’m putting Rice Crispies to shame. Still I persevere. My legs and butt are protesting loudly, I’m limping cuz the muscles are so tight, but on the plus side, I’ve been charging thru the day and I woke Honey by demanding sex as my reward for not being a lazy slacker. Guys dig it when you initiate. ;)
Screw this, I’m going in. It’s hot.
Later…
We’re onto event 3. I’m running outta gas. It’s now 7:30pm and I’m enjoying a rather nice view of the south end of the Strip and the planes leaving the airport. I’ve opted not to join the madness inside – apparently New Kids on the Block still have a large following. This is the first time I’ve ever had to park on the 3rd floor of this garage (same venue, but other garage this time. I’ve never seen minions in this one). I’m parked next to a lovely classic Cadillac with white wall tires. Hoping Honey won’t have to stay for the whole thing. First Friday is tonight, we still need to find the damn backdrops for tomorrow’s shoot, and go to the grocery store cuz Honey’s going to work with me tomorrow and grilling out back to celebrate the final departure of that useless worm, the temp. It’s a trade-off though; we get the new guy while the manager is off. The new guy, Bill, is an electrician – which makes me feel a bit better about me and all my expensive education hanging out at the lamp store. At least I’m not alone. :)
There won’t be any work out tomorrow cuz I just can’t find a time to fit it in. I work all day, then dash with Honey to a baby photo shoot, then a red carpet at 11pm. I’m not sure I’m woman enough to get up early for it. Security might find me snoring softly in the front seat come tomorrow night if I do…now that I’m thinking about it though that might be good, the getting up early part, cuz then I don’t screw the rotation and I get Sunday off of working out and to sleep in cuz the shop opens late. Hmmm…something to consider. Right now I’m considering a nap.
For Real :)
After I wrote the ‘5 days’ post I sat there feeling helpless/disgusted/pissed off for another 5 minutes. Then I got up (off my dead ass), got the P90x DVD’s outta the closet and did 30 minutes of “xtreme yoga”. And they weren’t kidding either. Anyone who laughs at, pokes fun at, generally makes jokes about or says yoga is for pussies – ain’t never done yoga. I’ve done two days in a row now (go me!) and feel like I’ve been beaten all over with a stick (probably by some Japanese Zen master who knows what he’s doing). I feel like hell but feel better about me, if you follow.
So the ‘Get Moving’ campaign is officially started. There’s going to be some juggling – for example Saturday is gonna be a complete loss, with work followed by two photo shoots ending sometime around midnight (that’s now my Saturday nights folks). The schedule is supposed to be 3 days on, one off, 2 on, one off. I’m starting with the two days first because right now I can’t really move. I took today off and tomorrow morning I go at it again. So anyone who was waiting for me to lead by example – I’m doing it. Now it’s your turn.
I’m off to a hot bath, which I may regret.
So the ‘Get Moving’ campaign is officially started. There’s going to be some juggling – for example Saturday is gonna be a complete loss, with work followed by two photo shoots ending sometime around midnight (that’s now my Saturday nights folks). The schedule is supposed to be 3 days on, one off, 2 on, one off. I’m starting with the two days first because right now I can’t really move. I took today off and tomorrow morning I go at it again. So anyone who was waiting for me to lead by example – I’m doing it. Now it’s your turn.
I’m off to a hot bath, which I may regret.
5 days
I should be happy. Happy should be my natural state, despite all the dramas, crisis, and other madness that happens, but right now I'm not. I've realized that 5 days have passed since I resolved to get moving and take charge (if not control) of my life. Why is it that once I decide things, big life-changing things, we suddenly get really busy? I'm staying up too late, getting up just in time to be dashing madly from one place to another, trying not to forget anything important...and not having time to do what I need to do. It's frustrating...more so because I'm exhausted. I guess the solution is learning to live on less: less sleep, less food, less stuff to do. That last one sounds lucacris even to me.
*sigh*
*sigh*
Post Red Carpet Notes
Just as an FYI, no one walked the red carpet Saturday night. The place was mobbed after the fight, a fight broke out, security lost control, the crowd stormed the club. Word was at least three people got tazed. So P. Diddy and Eva Longoria bypassed the red carpet altogether - which meant three hours of standing around for nothing for my poor Honey. :( Off to bed for me.
Fight Night
This is last Saturday's post. Life happened between now and then. Here it is finally...
It’s been one of those weird days. Bad things have happened to good people. Not bad things have happened to bad (or at least severely annoying) people, for which I’m truly disappointed. I started out going thru the motions – earlier when I was thinking about this post I was going to say “desperately trying to wake up” but I wasn’t really. I rather prefer going thru the motions on autopilot as opposed to the harshness of desperately trying to wake up. That makes it sounds like I need all my faculties for something important, which considering my current job and the mental capacity of the temp, I don’t. Nothing bad against my job – it’s a job I’m happy to have and happier still it’s not a stressful one, but nobody appreciates needless drama. Besides, at the time I was prepping for a very trying day, one that started at 8am and wouldn’t end until 1am. Things have changed a little since then. The baby photo shoot got postponed a week – anyone who’s ever moved knows weird shit happens…we’ve managed to misplace most of the backdrops and the ones we can find smell heavily like gasoline. (WTF??). We, in our professionalism, didn’t think that would be appropriate for a 3 month old.
So instead of the mad dash, I got to go home, eat dinner (sitting at a table no less), chat with my hubby about the crazy nonsense the temp kid jibbered about, have a little private time, and read two chapters of my current book before heading out into post-fight mayhem. And yes, I’m pretty sure ‘jibbered’ is a word, even though my spell check is freaking out. It’s usually reserved for ghouls if my vocabulary serves me (it might be off today, you never know). Carrying on. I learned my lesson from the garage trolls last night. I’m wearing real clothes, parked in the middle of a row with other cars, away from the lights (so it’s bloody dark in here and I’m doing this by feel), and with the windows barely cracked open in the hopes of not attracting attention. I even dimmed the monitor. Fingers crossed.
So the temp kid poses this hypothetical scenario: what would you do if you knew the world was gonna end today?
I said I’d get the hell outta the shop and go home. He says obviously, that’s a given. I’m not sure if he’s smart enough to insult me, but he’s been dropping little digs like this all day and it’s brought my hackles up another inch. So I say, “ Well how long do we have? Two hours or twelve?” He says ok, midnight tonight the world is gonna end. Then he drops this fabulous one-liner: would you go steal stuff from the mall? My co-worker and I are slightly stumped and ask why (since logically you’d only have it for 6 hours anyway, what’s the point?). He’s talking about robbing a bank, getting all this money and stuff. Said he’d have his Bentley for a minute. – I’m beginning to notice a materialistic pattern here. I say I’d get in the car and just drive. He makes this condescending face at me, and says “what’s the point of that?” I ask “what’s the point of having money if in five minutes we all go up in flames?” Then he says the aliens are coming to abduct us all.
- picture me with an are-you-freaking-retarded look on my face.
Then he starts talking about that movie Will Smith did called I am Legend and saying things like ‘what if I’m the last man on Earth’ (when in point of fact, Will wasn’t the last man on Earth in the film) and ‘I could rob a bank’. (Again with this senseless greed…). I stumped him when I asked who he’d pay with all his money if he were the only one here.
God, we sound like twelve-year-olds bickering, don’t we? Gag.
Anyway, I was telling Honey about it later and before I said what I’d do, he says “ I’d get in the car and just drive”. Remember that line from Shrek about “our minds are already becoming one”? Yeah, we’re there.
So this is the bad part, and I’ll condense. Do you know someone who was more than likely intentionally given genital herpes? I do. And I don’t know how to comfort someone in that position. That’s serious life-altering shit. That’s a crappy conversation that will probably ruin most chances at getting laid. What can I possibly say that might make that remotely better? If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears. By the way, I’m told that in the US, 40% of sexually active people have herpes. Just FYI.
It’s been one of those weird days. Bad things have happened to good people. Not bad things have happened to bad (or at least severely annoying) people, for which I’m truly disappointed. I started out going thru the motions – earlier when I was thinking about this post I was going to say “desperately trying to wake up” but I wasn’t really. I rather prefer going thru the motions on autopilot as opposed to the harshness of desperately trying to wake up. That makes it sounds like I need all my faculties for something important, which considering my current job and the mental capacity of the temp, I don’t. Nothing bad against my job – it’s a job I’m happy to have and happier still it’s not a stressful one, but nobody appreciates needless drama. Besides, at the time I was prepping for a very trying day, one that started at 8am and wouldn’t end until 1am. Things have changed a little since then. The baby photo shoot got postponed a week – anyone who’s ever moved knows weird shit happens…we’ve managed to misplace most of the backdrops and the ones we can find smell heavily like gasoline. (WTF??). We, in our professionalism, didn’t think that would be appropriate for a 3 month old.
So instead of the mad dash, I got to go home, eat dinner (sitting at a table no less), chat with my hubby about the crazy nonsense the temp kid jibbered about, have a little private time, and read two chapters of my current book before heading out into post-fight mayhem. And yes, I’m pretty sure ‘jibbered’ is a word, even though my spell check is freaking out. It’s usually reserved for ghouls if my vocabulary serves me (it might be off today, you never know). Carrying on. I learned my lesson from the garage trolls last night. I’m wearing real clothes, parked in the middle of a row with other cars, away from the lights (so it’s bloody dark in here and I’m doing this by feel), and with the windows barely cracked open in the hopes of not attracting attention. I even dimmed the monitor. Fingers crossed.
So the temp kid poses this hypothetical scenario: what would you do if you knew the world was gonna end today?
I said I’d get the hell outta the shop and go home. He says obviously, that’s a given. I’m not sure if he’s smart enough to insult me, but he’s been dropping little digs like this all day and it’s brought my hackles up another inch. So I say, “ Well how long do we have? Two hours or twelve?” He says ok, midnight tonight the world is gonna end. Then he drops this fabulous one-liner: would you go steal stuff from the mall? My co-worker and I are slightly stumped and ask why (since logically you’d only have it for 6 hours anyway, what’s the point?). He’s talking about robbing a bank, getting all this money and stuff. Said he’d have his Bentley for a minute. – I’m beginning to notice a materialistic pattern here. I say I’d get in the car and just drive. He makes this condescending face at me, and says “what’s the point of that?” I ask “what’s the point of having money if in five minutes we all go up in flames?” Then he says the aliens are coming to abduct us all.
- picture me with an are-you-freaking-retarded look on my face.
Then he starts talking about that movie Will Smith did called I am Legend and saying things like ‘what if I’m the last man on Earth’ (when in point of fact, Will wasn’t the last man on Earth in the film) and ‘I could rob a bank’. (Again with this senseless greed…). I stumped him when I asked who he’d pay with all his money if he were the only one here.
God, we sound like twelve-year-olds bickering, don’t we? Gag.
Anyway, I was telling Honey about it later and before I said what I’d do, he says “ I’d get in the car and just drive”. Remember that line from Shrek about “our minds are already becoming one”? Yeah, we’re there.
So this is the bad part, and I’ll condense. Do you know someone who was more than likely intentionally given genital herpes? I do. And I don’t know how to comfort someone in that position. That’s serious life-altering shit. That’s a crappy conversation that will probably ruin most chances at getting laid. What can I possibly say that might make that remotely better? If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears. By the way, I’m told that in the US, 40% of sexually active people have herpes. Just FYI.
Booted from my Roost
I was about to start this post when security decided to kick me out of the parking garage. Not only is under the Palazzo shock-creted hell, it has minions wearing yellow. Thank God I’m not wearing my pajamas and slippers tonight; I’m extremely underdressed nonetheless. So now I’m camped on a bench on the retail level in front of two legless mannequins, one of whom is holding the leash of a rather grumpy looking, entirely pink bulldog. They have no faces, but they’re staring at me anyway. They’re dressed better than I am too.
I did a self-acceptance move this weekend (my weekend now being Thursday/Friday, pay attention) – I went to the thrift store and bought pants that actually fit the current size of my ass. A number of people would consider that consent, or at the bare minimum, giving in. But let’s be frank: I don’t want to spend every weekend uncomfortable or join the Sausage People. I’m a grown woman and can admit my dress size gracefully. I’d rather hate myself for succumbing to size 20 and look decent for my size than pretend to still be a 16 and look desperately squeezed and constipated. It’s a trade off I can live with.
There’s elevator music. Why are pink ties so popular all of a sudden? I’m looking at a whole storefront of colors no reasonable straight man would wear. Those legs on 4” heels that just strutted by weren’t bad either. Damn. Not only do I dream about legs like that, now I have to dream about strutting with them in stilettos. I think 4”s is becoming the new norm. I read an article recently claiming that economic hardships bring about the creation of taller high heels for women. We wore flats up until the Great Depression, which spurned the 2-3” babies I wore to prom; now we’re in the “Great Recession” or whatever they’re calling it these days, and 4-5” are pretty common. You know how tall I would be in 4” heels? Nearly 6 foot. And probably limping like a lame duck. Very sexy. Besides, I think it looks funny for a tall man to be dwarfed by his Amazonian lady friend, who eventually will be waddling like a penguin because her $400 heels are killing her.
Very sexy indeed.
Well, I’m ready to go. I’m yawning, plan to get up early tomorrow and get moving, plus I’m facing a ridiculously long day: work, baby photo shoot back to back with red carpet shoot. I might see my bed sometime around 12:30am Sunday. I picked a helluva week to get my life together.
The mini dress is back with a vengeance. What do you think the symbolism is behind a huge tattoo of a blue buffalo head on a woman’s arm? If you come up with anything good, lemme know. I’m stumped.
Thought for a second I was gonna get WiFi in here, but alas, the stingy bastards have security on everything and what I can link to doesn’t have enough juice to let me online. There’s a lot of shrieking coming from somewhere…? I guess I post after we get home. It’s been 20 minutes; this thing should be over by now. Wonder what’s taking so long. I’ll bet the handful of change in my purse that if I lay down on this lovely bench to catch a cat nap, the goons in yellow will be immediately alerted. Better not chance getting thrown out of the hotel and the garage on the same night.
I did a self-acceptance move this weekend (my weekend now being Thursday/Friday, pay attention) – I went to the thrift store and bought pants that actually fit the current size of my ass. A number of people would consider that consent, or at the bare minimum, giving in. But let’s be frank: I don’t want to spend every weekend uncomfortable or join the Sausage People. I’m a grown woman and can admit my dress size gracefully. I’d rather hate myself for succumbing to size 20 and look decent for my size than pretend to still be a 16 and look desperately squeezed and constipated. It’s a trade off I can live with.
There’s elevator music. Why are pink ties so popular all of a sudden? I’m looking at a whole storefront of colors no reasonable straight man would wear. Those legs on 4” heels that just strutted by weren’t bad either. Damn. Not only do I dream about legs like that, now I have to dream about strutting with them in stilettos. I think 4”s is becoming the new norm. I read an article recently claiming that economic hardships bring about the creation of taller high heels for women. We wore flats up until the Great Depression, which spurned the 2-3” babies I wore to prom; now we’re in the “Great Recession” or whatever they’re calling it these days, and 4-5” are pretty common. You know how tall I would be in 4” heels? Nearly 6 foot. And probably limping like a lame duck. Very sexy. Besides, I think it looks funny for a tall man to be dwarfed by his Amazonian lady friend, who eventually will be waddling like a penguin because her $400 heels are killing her.
Very sexy indeed.
Well, I’m ready to go. I’m yawning, plan to get up early tomorrow and get moving, plus I’m facing a ridiculously long day: work, baby photo shoot back to back with red carpet shoot. I might see my bed sometime around 12:30am Sunday. I picked a helluva week to get my life together.
The mini dress is back with a vengeance. What do you think the symbolism is behind a huge tattoo of a blue buffalo head on a woman’s arm? If you come up with anything good, lemme know. I’m stumped.
Thought for a second I was gonna get WiFi in here, but alas, the stingy bastards have security on everything and what I can link to doesn’t have enough juice to let me online. There’s a lot of shrieking coming from somewhere…? I guess I post after we get home. It’s been 20 minutes; this thing should be over by now. Wonder what’s taking so long. I’ll bet the handful of change in my purse that if I lay down on this lovely bench to catch a cat nap, the goons in yellow will be immediately alerted. Better not chance getting thrown out of the hotel and the garage on the same night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)