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October 11, 2007

Hello! I am back! And I am up to my eyeballs in work again. Which rocks, as normal, in my usual manner of being exceedingly lame.

But, hey! I did go to Vail, though. Which was not lame, but not much of a vacation, either, given the insane amount of travelling involved, and the fact that we were only there for a total of...oh, maybe 30 hours. Still the 30 hours was a little break, and was very gorgeous and wonderful. The other parts, with the multiple layovers, and the part where we had to leave the hotel at 4 a.m. to fly home, and everything else that involved either the "getting there" or "coming back" components of the trip, were not gorgeous and wonderful. Those parts also took about 30 hours, and every one of them sucked mightily. But during the happier times, I got to wear my coat AND boots because it was cold in Vail, and that pleased me, as did the fact that we got to see some snow. Not, like, a lot of snow, but let us not forget that I am from Atlanta. In terms of what I am used to, snow flurries = blizzard, and I joked about leaving the wedding so I could go stock up on vodka, Dura-Flame logs, and wine. Which I said with some authority, because that is actually a comprehensive list of what we did stock up on the last time we had a snow situation in Atlanta. Notice how we forgot "food."

(I am really not joking about that. We ended up making chili out of a jar of spaghetti sauce, which is something I would not recommend that you try.) (Ever.)

But, Vail! So, we went, and the wedding was really sweet and personal, and the whole town is just gorgeous now in the Fall. I took a ton of pictures, and if you are looking to get yourself into a Fall kind of mood, I will put them up on my Flickr account just as soon as I figure out how to use the mysterious uploader (Hey, Uploader! You are an Uploader of mystery, with the only working sporadically! So coy). So that is fun for all.

But, an – oh, wait. Want to hear our awesome travel stories? There are two tales of stupid events that could only happen to us. They are as follows:

First, it turns out that our flight was slightly later than I’d thought, but we still left at 4:30 a.m., because the Atlanta airport on a Friday morning is a clusterfuck not to be believed. So Dukay and I figured we would just stay awake all night, which we did, and we got to the airport and parked in Siberia before blearily walking the wrong way for ten minutes, both of us spitting profanity and hollering, "DUDE HOW IS IT THAT WE HAVE LOST THE WHOLE AIRPORT," until we found ourselves looking at an explanatory sign in the airport parking deck. My camera was in my suitcase, so I will have to recreate the image for you using Microsoft Paint, but this I will do in the interest of science:


Yeah, so. We flipped a coin, found the airport, and went through security, where neither one of us was chosen for a body cavity search, which was really just shiny of TSA given the fact that we were both disheveled to the point of looking like we’d spent the last year living in an isolated cabin somewhere, stockpiling weaponry and furiously typing letters to governmental agencies. And also Dukay was wearing his red pants. Which is just Crazy on legs, right there.

But, all this awake and walking and general confusion meant that by the time we got to our gate, we were starving slap to death. However, it was morning, so all anyone was serving was breakfast. Neither of us is particularly fond of breakfast food; I don’t really eat it, and Dukay can’t even look at an egg without convulsing in disgust, so we were both hoping to discover something a little…lunch-ier. But there wasn’t anything, so we got some coffee and figured, hell, we’ve got a two hour flight and a layover; we’ll just eat something at the next stop.

Only, guess what they have now, in this Brave New World? Time zones. We weren’t really thinking about those, though, and so when we got off the plane in Memphis, we were less than thrilled to be greeted by the smell of rubbery sausage and eggs. Because at that point, it was 9:00 in the morning. Again. And we just had that time.

So then we flew to Denver for another two hours, and again, we got off the plane, and again we were immediately assaulted by the smell of airport-breakfast-fare, because now it was 10:00 in the morning. And we’d just HAD THAT TIME TOO, SEVERAL TIMES IN FACT, and OMG WE ARE STUCK IN THE BREAKFAST WORMHOLE.

The upswing of all this is that we learned something that day, which is that Quiznos workers will take bribes. Especially if you are wearing red pants. Then they just want you to leave as soon as possible, and they will do whatever it takes to get you off the premises. Woo, Quiznos workers! Power to the people, and thanks for the sandwich!

But our never-ending morning just set the stage for our second adventure, because after we’d managed to apprehend some lunchmeats, we had to pick up the rental car for the trip to Vail. Now, the trip from Denver to Vail is about two hours, and Dukay thought it was a straight shot on I-70. Given my abilities to get lost while two blocks away from my office, however (yes), coupled with my tendency to infect and befuddle normal people with my inherently-incorrect instincts, resulting in them being equally lost (example: I recently got our firm’s managing partner so turned around after leaving a funeral that we completely missed the graveside service, despite the fact that the cemetery was within walking distance of both of our houses. This is how great my power) – anyway, I totally got off track there, but point being, we rented one of those Garmin Navigational devices, plopped it on the dash, and headed off to Vail.

We were not, at that point, concerned about the lack of instructions for the operation of the Garmin. We figured it must be self-explanatory, like TiVo, or most refrigerators. You just type in your destination, hit go, and voila, directions happen. So easy, we thought. SURELY WE CAN HANDLE THIS, we thought.

But, no. No, we thought wrong, because we left the parking lot and hopped on I-70 to Vail, and we coasted along without incident for about five minutes before the little Garmin started chirping at us to exit, you GUYS, exit NOW YOU GUYS, HURRY!

And because we are obedient sheep people, we did so, and thus began the most pointless romp around Denver ever experienced by anyone, because we’d drive all over the city, and then the Garmin would tell us to get back on the highway, and we would, only then five minutes later, it would change its tiny mind, and command us to exit, and we would, and then it would lead us through downtown in a sputtering, labyrinthine journey of stops and starts, before screeching at us to get our asses back on the highway to do the whole stupid thing all over again.

And, because neither one of us wanted to argue with technology, it wasn’t until we found ourselves stuck behind a school bus on a residential street for the THIRD time that Dukay finally chimed in with: “Uh.”

After spending the next 20 minutes accosting a gas station attendant, purchasing an enormous map, and pressing every button on the little Garmin’s face, we came to the realization that:

1. So it is a straight shot to Vail. If you stay on I-70, YOU END UP IN VAIL. You can’t HELP it. It is REQUIRED of you. Except:

2. The Garmin had been set to “avoid highways,” so it was trying to get us to Vail without resorting to interstates at all. Which one cannot do when going to Vail (see: “straight shot”, #1, above) and this contradiction had blown Garmin’s mind, much like the computer playing tic-tac-toe at the end of War Games (only with less nuclear war!), and so the machine had decided to just lead us in confused circles all about town, hoping we’d forget our original destination and just decide that KNOW WHAT, SCREW VAIL, DENVER’S FINE; which is why:

3. After one and a half hours of driving, we’d made it a grand total of four miles away from the rental car lot, GO TEAM.

So, you know. That was all very adventurous, in a Lewis-and-Clark Griswold kind of way. And then we drove to Vail on the highway like normal people, and had no further drama until we left the hotel at 4:30 Sunday morning to do the whole business all over again. Only this time we turned off the Garmin. And Dukay did not wear his red pants. And things were somehow much improved.

* * *


Now that I have spent ten years compiling our travel log, I am all tired of typing. Which is unfortunate, seeing as I am just now getting to the actual point of this entry, which was supposed to be Day 6 of CRAP. But forces are clearly aligning against me, because in addition to leading us all off on a tangent, I also thought I had the disc where I saved all the scanned pictures, but the CD I grabbed has actually turned out to be a burned compilation of the greatest hits of Air Supply. Which…I mean, obviously not a bad thing, and o, happy discovery!, but while they can make love out of nothing at all, I can’t make an awkward teenager out of a power ballad. Not without a shitload of alcohol, anyway.

So instead, we are resorting to a sort of odd assortment of pictures I have found on this laptop. They are kind of amusing to me, but I’ve definitely seen worse. Plus, because I am rapidly running out of cleverness, and also because I am unoriginal, and I continue to be entertained every time I look at I Can Has Cheezburger, I have decided to make today LOL CRAP day. For all of you who have no idea what I am talking about with this LOL business (hi, Aunt Rie!), I apologize. Pretend it is something hilarious, only in another language. Like Sanskrit. And…well, actually, that goes for all of you. Let’s act like this is funny to people other than me! And let’s do it together.

So, here we go, in no particular order and covering no particular time period: LOL CRAP, brought to you by travel, some old photos, and Air Supply. Which, now that I think about it, sounds like a recipe for a bomb.

Why, hello, Tiny Dancer!

my milkshake.JPG

My Milkshake: Failing To Bring All The Boys To The Yard.

My milkshake did, however, bring Ziz to the yard, where it appears that she is getting very handsy with my lady business:


Dude, tone down the perv, toddler.

And now, jumping forward to a demonstration of (1) how much I clearly valued my parents’ attempts to broaden our horizons by taking us to foreign lands when we were growing up; and (2) how to match your scrunchy socks with your shroud.

scrunchy socks in paradise.JPG

Bet those tan lines looked pretty.

Know what? This LOL talk is actually kind of hard. This has ended up taking longer than actual entry! Maybe it is easier with dogs.

are not pumkin.JPG

bo hide.JPG


Or, I could do a series!




Or...not. (Hee, though. A little!) But, okay, maybe it is easier if I actually steal one of their pictures from their actual factory and try that. I shall try:


Hee. Now, see, THAT is kind of funny. If you speak Sanskrit.

I am off, but will be back ASAP. See you all soon, and KTHXBYE!

Posted by doxie in Times I Fell Down | permalink | Comments (119)

Working For A Living

October 04, 2007

I know. I KNOW. I was supposed to be back forever ago, and I reconciled with the internet and we made out and everything was just all fucking peachy over there two weeks ago, but since then, I have had the entire world of law rear up and kick me in the ass, and the whole thing kept on getting worse and worse, until finally last night I finished everything I had to do, and drove myself home, at 5 in the morning. Seriously. Please imagine this, because I worked alone, at my desk, until 4:30 in the a.m., which is one of those "dark" times. And which is also just wrong, but additionally scary as all hell, and at one point, I even called security, because I became convinced that I was about to be murdered. Because I kept on hearing these huge banging noises, when I was supposed to be all alone in the building, and that's...not normal, really, but guess what. It was not a murderer! Instead, a crew was there, fixing the elevator, and through a miracle of physics and what-all, it was echoing in my office. It was all a load of fun and terror, and before I learned this helpful bit of information, it is possible that I armed myself with scissors and a stapler, and roamed the office all Mission-Impossible-ing around the corners, scared out of my fucking mind. And totally prepared to prod and collate someone to death. Because you NEVER KNOW. KILLERS FEAR STAPLERS. I believe.

AND. You would think that maybe then I would get to sleep late or something the next day, what with the working until dawn, which is kind of what I thought, anyway, except that would be wrong, because I had clients calling my cell -- not my office, mind you; they were calling my cell phone, which is supposed to be used only for drunk dialing and drug deals -- at seven this morning. SO NO I HAVEN'T SLEPT. For the THIRD DAY IN A ROW. And, seeing as I am catching a 7 a.m. flight to Denver tomorrow morning, which means I need to leave the house in...right, FIVE HOURS, and I am not yet packed, and have I mentioned that the high temperature in Denver this weekend is thirty-eight degrees, there is not a lot of sleeping in my future. Send coffee! And a sherpa! And...cookies! I would kind of like a cookie.

That is neither here nor there, but I'm just tossing it out into the universe. Cookies, you should come to me. And you should have a minimum of nuts. The end.

But, anyway. Breathe! Y'all, I don't even remember what sleep feels like. Probably better than I smell. Sometimes, I wish I'd decided to be something that is not a lawyer. Like a ballerina, or a crack whore. I bet the hours are better.

AND SO, because I can't just sit here and daydream about an alternate life in which I was never given a WESTLAW password, now I have to go pack. And, all this crap leads to a bullshit entry, yeah, but I don't want everyone thinking I ran off to the hills with, I don't know. Heath Ledger and a cream pie. Because if that were to happen, I'd at least post some pictures. For history and stuff. Believe me, if something good were to happen, YOU WOULD HEAR ABOUT IT. I don't even like complaining! I mean, yes, I know I am naturally gifted and all, but still. I would rather say a happy story, with cocktails. All this work makes me a dull, dull boy.

But, there is some kind of break ahead, maybe. I'm going to Denver, where Dukay and I will then drive to Vail for the most-difficult-to-attend wedding in recent memory. And also the coldest, and I spent this entire afternoon driving around a humid Atlanta in a tank top, trying to find somewhere that sells a fucking winter coat. Turns out that you can get a winter coat in two places: Saks, where it will cost you fifteen thousand dollars, plus you have to club a seal in the dressing room, or Burlington Coat Factory, which is one thousand miles away from my house, and which -- despite its claims of factory-ism -- possessed a grand total of ZERO coats in my size. That was fun ALSO.

Sigh. I found a coat, eventually, and so maybe I will not freeze slap to death, but we will see. I will try to take pictures of the carnage and goosebumps, and I'll be back next week with the conclusion of my CRAP spectacular. And maybe somewhere in there, I'll even take a nap. Because frankly, I think that might be better for everyone involved.

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink | Comments (62)