OH MISERY, THY NAME IS SOBRIETY...
After a brief hiatus from the wonderful world of blogging, I have returned.
I would like to thank my already loyal fans who have been calling and emailing me to enquire about my web whereabouts and why there was not another cheesy update last week. As a proud citizen of this country, I took it upon myself to adhere to the government's kind request to stay home from work last Tuesday as the country stood in solidarity with our Muslim brothers and sisters in celebration of Eid-ul-Fitr. For a brief (and may I emphasize brief) moment, I even considered paying a visit to that famous mosque in Port of Spain. You know the one, it's run by the Imam who just happened to try to take over the country about 16 years ago and now still roams the land free of charges. I really considered it. [Remember, the Revolution runs through my veins so it makes perfect sense that I am drawn to such important figures.] However, the sane part of my DNA opted for a much safer option - lunch on the couch with my mother and the Young & the Restless.
After my stellar performance over a week ago at a club that will remain unnamed, I have taken it upon myself to start taking this Tuesday's Child thing even more seriously. Having placed a moratorium on ingestion of the spirits (and other potent substances), I can already see my gracefulness gearing into full throttle. Last Saturday, after enduring the cruel and unusual punishment of the world's worst movie ever made, I stepped into another unnamed restaurant, also known as The Evil Multinational's Cafeteria (because every company event is hosted there). For three hours, I sat at the bar with friends and drank ginger ale.
Im pausing for a while, giving my readers some time to digest the magnitude of my revelation....
.... and I continue....
Saturday being a full 7 days since my vows of abstinence began, it would be safe to say that dementia was happily settling in. Was it me, or did the bartender really look at my quite familar face in absolute shock at my order of ginger ale? Or was he waiting for the "and" followed by a request for a double of something? Did his jaw really drop so low that a few mosquitos had some time to fly in and lay eggs? No, it must have been my imagination. I looked over at Johnny (Mr Walker if you nasty) and I can almost guarantee that I saw a tear trickling down his smooth exterior. All the bottles of the bar joined in a sad song and Im sure I heard strains of "Baby Come Back" leaking out of a Goose's mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone who in my glory days, would have been a goldmine for the night - a solitary old man at the bar. I looked over at him, just to humour myself and said hi. Of course, he responded, a bit shyly at first, but ten minutes later, I was his new BFF. Then came the line that would have made every conquest bone in my body stand at attention, "would you like a drink?". Did he just offer me a drink? Can I really say no to a free beverage? I kindly declined, informing him that I was quite content with my own. I continued to gulp my ginger ale while I sent messages to the gods in charge of good and reformed people. See, Im changing my ways, now will you let me get with Thierry?
Oh misery, thy name is sobriety.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Welcome!
In an effort to maintain my writing and connections to my friends, I have come up with the Tuesday Chronicles. Here's the mindboggling part that requires rocket science - Im going to send it on a Tuesday.
This week's post hopefully marks the beginning of a brand new era in my life (eras in my life being the kind where I build up to a really drunken night then vow to change my naughty ways with more sincerity than Mother Theresa). Of course my posts should have a theme of some sort, but what do I look like? A news columnist? Although sometimes my life is newsworthy, Im just going to write whatever comes to mind on a Tuesday morning. Cheers to job duty avoidance!
I've moved to a new building this week. Im still with the evil multinational, just in the other office where the air conditioning level is set to "freeze dem". This is why they (who ever they are) always say, "never say never" because once again, I have crowned myself "Queen of the Tundra" (because the years of penance in Indiana were not enough). The even more exciting part is that now, instead of my magnificent view of a construction site, flanked by the beautiful mountains of the slightly desertified Northern Range, I now have a view of Gray Street. Lovely, now I can do an even better job of watching Hoppy's Mercedes drive by.
My new office mates are not half-bad. Perhaps the air is different over here but the politeness level is much higher than before. In fact, I am of the very strong opinion that now my office entertainment level has reached a new five star rating.
Who needs a morning show when I can eat my breakfast and look at two grown men argue and see (not only hear) one of them say to the other "You're doing it again, have some bloody respect." I wonder if they were discussing their covert homosexual S&M relationship? Maybe he smacked him too hard last night.
For the moment, I can even tolerate my boss who I am convinced firmly believes that he is the Rico Suave for all generations. Oops, someone forgot to tell him that Kool & the Gang's haircuts were so 1985. He smiles at me in a way that I would really find offensive, if I didnt find it completely hilarious. Ever seen a cross-eyed look of lust? Think my boss.
Across from me sits...oh damn, I cant mention his name....but he's an Indian man, about 45 years of age, average height, with a slight speech impediment. He's one of the grown men who form part of my impromptu morning show entertainment. He also has the loudest ringtone known to man. No offense to my Indian friends, but I really expected it to me one of the latest Bollywood hits. Instead, it is one of the not so latest reggae hits. You know, the one with the chorus, "she wanted a pretty boy fellah, a baldhead pretty boy fellah". He has been told to turn down his phone. Instead, when his phone goes off, he runs louder than a herd of elephants back to his cubicle to answer his phone, usually bumping into his cubicle wall in the process. Did I mention that he also runs a bit awkardly? Here's a light bulb buddy - take your phone with you.
At the moment, I'm privy to an intricate post-dragon boat race analysis of why the evil multinational's team boat capsized in the early rounds. They are so serious about this that I'm sure the email signature collection for the UN delegation is imminent. Kofi Annan must care because this issue is important to the survival of the human race and dragon boat teams everywhere.
Yes indeed, the office entertainment is so much better than a contract for multigas monitors.
Of course, today I feel much better about my action packed weekend that culminated in, among other things, an intoxicated me telling someone I barely know that the Revolution is coming. I didnt just tell him, I did a 15 minute analysis of the why, when and how - oh and continued to reiterate that I was ready. Let me create some context here - what Revolution? I'm sorry, when did I become the living reincarnation of Che Guevarra? And does that mean that I am now able to charm members of the opposite sex with the sheer power of my charisma and obsession with the revolution? Sometimes, I would prefer if the gods would give me a little bit of advance notice before they awake my inner revolutionary - I would also like them to give me the power to remember. That way, I could walk into 51 on a Friday for free, have my adoring converts pay for all my drinks and at the end of the night say something witty like "hasta la vodka siempre".
In essence, my Tuesday has started off much better than my hangover infested Monday, which in essence marks the beginning of a new era in my life. One where I promise to be a better person, promise to stop mentioning the name of my ex in every conversation, promise to stop treating alcohol like the cure for dehydration, and most of all, promise to stop revealing my subconscious plans for the Revolution.
Right, "they" also say that a promise is a comfort to a fool.
Until next week - toodles!
smashingfoxyminx (miss minx if you nasty)
In an effort to maintain my writing and connections to my friends, I have come up with the Tuesday Chronicles. Here's the mindboggling part that requires rocket science - Im going to send it on a Tuesday.
This week's post hopefully marks the beginning of a brand new era in my life (eras in my life being the kind where I build up to a really drunken night then vow to change my naughty ways with more sincerity than Mother Theresa). Of course my posts should have a theme of some sort, but what do I look like? A news columnist? Although sometimes my life is newsworthy, Im just going to write whatever comes to mind on a Tuesday morning. Cheers to job duty avoidance!
I've moved to a new building this week. Im still with the evil multinational, just in the other office where the air conditioning level is set to "freeze dem". This is why they (who ever they are) always say, "never say never" because once again, I have crowned myself "Queen of the Tundra" (because the years of penance in Indiana were not enough). The even more exciting part is that now, instead of my magnificent view of a construction site, flanked by the beautiful mountains of the slightly desertified Northern Range, I now have a view of Gray Street. Lovely, now I can do an even better job of watching Hoppy's Mercedes drive by.
My new office mates are not half-bad. Perhaps the air is different over here but the politeness level is much higher than before. In fact, I am of the very strong opinion that now my office entertainment level has reached a new five star rating.
Who needs a morning show when I can eat my breakfast and look at two grown men argue and see (not only hear) one of them say to the other "You're doing it again, have some bloody respect." I wonder if they were discussing their covert homosexual S&M relationship? Maybe he smacked him too hard last night.
For the moment, I can even tolerate my boss who I am convinced firmly believes that he is the Rico Suave for all generations. Oops, someone forgot to tell him that Kool & the Gang's haircuts were so 1985. He smiles at me in a way that I would really find offensive, if I didnt find it completely hilarious. Ever seen a cross-eyed look of lust? Think my boss.
Across from me sits...oh damn, I cant mention his name....but he's an Indian man, about 45 years of age, average height, with a slight speech impediment. He's one of the grown men who form part of my impromptu morning show entertainment. He also has the loudest ringtone known to man. No offense to my Indian friends, but I really expected it to me one of the latest Bollywood hits. Instead, it is one of the not so latest reggae hits. You know, the one with the chorus, "she wanted a pretty boy fellah, a baldhead pretty boy fellah". He has been told to turn down his phone. Instead, when his phone goes off, he runs louder than a herd of elephants back to his cubicle to answer his phone, usually bumping into his cubicle wall in the process. Did I mention that he also runs a bit awkardly? Here's a light bulb buddy - take your phone with you.
At the moment, I'm privy to an intricate post-dragon boat race analysis of why the evil multinational's team boat capsized in the early rounds. They are so serious about this that I'm sure the email signature collection for the UN delegation is imminent. Kofi Annan must care because this issue is important to the survival of the human race and dragon boat teams everywhere.
Yes indeed, the office entertainment is so much better than a contract for multigas monitors.
Of course, today I feel much better about my action packed weekend that culminated in, among other things, an intoxicated me telling someone I barely know that the Revolution is coming. I didnt just tell him, I did a 15 minute analysis of the why, when and how - oh and continued to reiterate that I was ready. Let me create some context here - what Revolution? I'm sorry, when did I become the living reincarnation of Che Guevarra? And does that mean that I am now able to charm members of the opposite sex with the sheer power of my charisma and obsession with the revolution? Sometimes, I would prefer if the gods would give me a little bit of advance notice before they awake my inner revolutionary - I would also like them to give me the power to remember. That way, I could walk into 51 on a Friday for free, have my adoring converts pay for all my drinks and at the end of the night say something witty like "hasta la vodka siempre".
In essence, my Tuesday has started off much better than my hangover infested Monday, which in essence marks the beginning of a new era in my life. One where I promise to be a better person, promise to stop mentioning the name of my ex in every conversation, promise to stop treating alcohol like the cure for dehydration, and most of all, promise to stop revealing my subconscious plans for the Revolution.
Right, "they" also say that a promise is a comfort to a fool.
Until next week - toodles!
smashingfoxyminx (miss minx if you nasty)
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