every day i try something new…

Every day I really make an effort to try something new, maybe just make a different choice than I normally would, mix it up a little.  Sometimes new things are really good, and sometimes they aren’t.

Sunday, for example, I tried a bite of birthday cake where the white icing had been colored black (and I was correct in my theory that it would turn teeth and tongue black, ick).  Yesterday I treated myself to a decadent nap at home at lunchtime when normally I would’ve just ignored my fatigue and suffered through the afternoon or crammed 6007 errands into that same window of time.  Today I wanted a Pop Tart and a bubble bath at the same time…and, kids, yeah, don’t try that one at home–trust your Aunt KittyKat.  It was actually all pretty good and enjoyable until a piece of the Pop Tart broke off and fell in the tub and then when I was fishing around for it in the bubbles with one hand, another piece fell in; from there the whole situation just descended into a huge mess.

 Seize the day…but not always with a Pop Tart in one hand.

Soccer Joke

A soccer goalkeeper was walking along the street one day when he heard screams from a nearby building. He looked up to see smoke billowing from a fourth-floor window and a woman leaning out holding a baby.”Help ! Help!” screamed the woman, “I need someone to catch my baby!”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered, but none was confident about catching a baby dropped from such a great height. Then the goalkeeper stepped forward. “I’m a professional goalkeeper,” he called to the woman. “I’m renowned for my safe hands. Drop the baby and I will catch it. For me, it will be just like catching a ball.”

The woman agreed:”Ok, then. When I drop my baby, treat it as if you were catching a ball.”

On a count of three, the woman dropped the baby. Everyone held their breath as the goalkeeper lined himself up to catch it. There was a huge sigh of relief, followed by wild cheering as the goalkeeper caught the baby safely in his arms. Then he bounced it twice on the ground and kicked it 50 yards down the street.

My moment with The Rock

Ok. So it wasn’t actually The Rock, but as close to it as I’m going to get.  One of the technicians for a company we do business with is bald and burly and inked, and very The Rock-like.  He’s hottttttttttttt.

The law of hot men visiting my workplace is that they only show up if I look like and/or feel like shit.  Today was sort of both, post-Daisy’s-bday soiree.  No one interesting ever shows up when I’m looking all put together, well moisturized, fresh smelling.  Hotties come out of the woodwork when I’m recovering from neon green sinus infections or when I’m sweating yesterday’s Jager shots out of every pore…lovely.

Let me clarify: I’m not trolling the workplace for dates, ohhhhhhhhhhh no. No no no.  But a little eye candy here and there just makes the day that much more bearable.  I don’t care who you are, what your status is: a little cuteness makes the workday tolerable.

So anyway, I wasn’t expecting The Rock today; he only appears at my office a couple times a year as a fill-in guy for overflow work.  I was expecting our regular technician, a funny good ol’ boy that I’ve been working with for about 7 years or so who is super smart, super efficient, really knows his stuff.  When I rounded the corner and saw The Rock-alike waiting for me, I wanted to run back to my office, scrounge for some lipgloss, a breath mint, a hairbrush, a fresh shirt and possibly some deodorant.  But it was too late, I’d been spotted and greeted and I put him about his task.  And smelly creepy me went back to my duties, invisible to him in my grossness.

I had lunch with an office gal pal and she talked me back up, convinced me that I was hottttt all day every day, and to have some backbone in this matter.  So as The Rock ended his day, he stopped by to have me sign off on his work as is the norm.  And  I engaged him in witty, zingy Kat banter as only I can, all relating to the project at hand, but still sassy.  And he laughed and I laughed and oh, we laughed.  And I tried to pry a little, nudge a little, to keep the conversation going after I’d signed the paperwork, and we were having a grand old time.  I made The Rock blush.  That made me blush.  Oh, we were having the best time, and I was trying to decide how to carry on this conversation a little longer…and my assistant appeared out of nowhere and stepped between me and The Rock, bursting the bubble of fun immediately.  All fun, all mirth and frivolity were sucked into another dimension as if they’d never existed.  Sigh.  And The Rock rolled on outta there and back into the real world.

I suppose the moral of the story is that I should eat TicTacs all day every day, moisturize once per hour, re-gloss every 15 minutes and keep a cocktail dress and heels in my desk drawer just in case…and doing all that should keep every hottie in a 50 mile radius from ever showing up at my office.

The birthday shindig

But wait…she doesn’t have a code name! This bday diva doesn’t have a code name!  Daisy. We’ll call her Daisy.

We honored our Daisy’s bday by throwing down far too many beverages at Scully’s, and it was damn fun.  When women get together away from home, away from work, the conversations that we have are insane: piercings and pole dancing and general oversharing.  I laughed and grinned so much my face hurt.

The most interesting part of the evening will not be published here, but will instead be tucked away for blackmail purposes, filed away…those of you who seem to think my blog is an intimate tell-all would be surprised to realize how little I actually tell in my little corner of cyberspace, how many secrets will never dance across your computer screen.  It’s in the vault, on lockdown, until it’s needed.

Happy birthday, Miss Daisy…you are so very awesomely cool, glad to count you as one of my posse.

The disclaimer…

If we were married, involved for a really lengthy time or perhaps were friends that had a semi-dreadful falling out, I really think you shouldn’t read my blog.  It’s only going to irk you each and every time you read it.  Really.  And then you’ll feel all compelled to call me up and tell me how much you dislike me…which I already know, thanks.