I heart D.C.

Washington, D.C., is my new favorite city. There's just something about the natural beauty of the place combined with its almost breathtaking history and significance. We just missed the annual blooming of the cherry blossom trees, but it almost didn't matter - the place was still gorgeous. And though I was only there for two extremely short and jam-packed days, I've decided I want to live there. For real. Yes, it's just a fantasy now (the cost of living there being what it is), but I feel it's one that may have some roots in reality.

My best friend, recently heartbroken for the second time in a year, has decided to move back to Kansas City, to "heal her soul" among other things. While in D.C., we came up with an evil-genius plan to move somewhere exciting after she's been in Kansas City for a year. I'm (we're) thinking that place could be D.C. Probably, this is just a pipe dream. Probably, the logistics of moving there would be too complicated. Probably, I won't even want to think about being that far away from my family. But "probably" is no guarantee.

I'm a very decisive person, and one who is extremely quick about her decisiveness. I know what I want, and I usually find a way of getting it. I want D.C. And I have a little over a year to figure out how to get my butt (and Ashley's) there.

I missed you, too!

Work has been an absolute bear. And if you know me at all (from this blog or in real life), you know how I feel about bears. They only exist to torment and maim, draining all life from their terrified victims. And those claws. Dude.

I hate excuses, but I'm going to make a big one here: I haven't posted for over a month because of work. I spend all day at the computer, writing, editing, and doing other things that have to do with writing and editing, and when I come home at the end of the day? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Write. Another. Word. Plain and simple.

But now that I'm finally getting some breathing room at work, I decided it's time to come out of retirement. Don't hang up my Blogger jersey just yet.

So enter a list of stuff that's happened while I've been in absentia, because I can't exactly just dive back in here with a real post or anything. Sheesh. Baby steps.

• NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP, BITCHES!!!!!!!!!! I've never been more proud of anything or anyone in my whole life. Those boys deserved that. And Roy, I forgive you. I guess.
• The boyfriend and I booked a vacation to Puerto Vallarta for mid-June. Sort of a last hurrah before he leaves for South Korea. It will certainly be bittersweet, but in the absolute best way. Beach? Sun? Ocean? Mountains? Bottomless margaritas? Check, check, check, check, and check.
• As a natural consequence of booking a beach vacation, I tried on a bikini from last year. And, you know, I knew I was more wobbly now than I was even a year ago. What I didn't realize was that the wobbly bits weren't just in select places. My entire body was a wobbly bit when I looked in that mirror. So I started exercising. Yes, you read that correctly. I've worked out more in the last two weeks than I have in the last year.
• I also said I was going to eat healthier, but a girl can give up only so many vices.
• Bought quite a few items of clothing and at least two pairs of shoes. See above re: vices.
• Got a raise.
• Enjoyed the change in weather by going to lots of happy hours with friends.

Hmmmm. That's all I can think of right now. Enjoy your weekend - I'm leaving tonight for Washington, D.C. Update upon return, I promise!

Losing battle

This first full day of being 24 is kicking my ass. There's the aborted trip to the vending machine for M&Ms (they cost a freaking DOLLAR? And wait, they're all GONE?!?), the really supremely bad hair day, the sweaty palm syndrome that seems to be here for the long haul, and the hour-long excursion to the DMV that went shamefully bad (I need proof of U.S. citizenship? Whaaaaa...?).

So the beginning of year 24 looks like this: I'm an illegal driver with frizzy (yet limp) hair, sweaty palms that can barely grip the wheel, low blood sugar, and zero patience.

I'll make it home from work without getting pulled over, right? RIGHT?

Age 24: 1

Kaitlin: 0

Alphabetica: A

Well, I crawled out of my cave this morning and discovered the temperature to be a balmy 64 degrees. Such a happy reprieve calls for storytime.

I stole this idea from City Wendy, who ripped it off from Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life. But it's a good one, I promise. The idea is to write snatches about your life prompted by single words as determined by the alphabet's progression. Here we go, starting (obviously) with A.

A: Academics

The bar was always set a little higher for me. Maybe because I had proven myself as far back as preschool. Maybe because I was born first and inherently expected to set an example. Or maybe because I was, simply, a girl. It doesn't really matter which it was, what matters is that academics became my priority. Anything less than a B was unacceptable, and even that was dipping a little low.

Though my parents always expected me to do my best, and though I certainly felt great pressure to succeed, I never resented them for it. Probably because I didn't have to try very hard. Had it been any other way, I'm sure my resent would have been palpable.

But instead, I sailed right on through. In elementary school, I was in the highest reading groups and won the school spelling bee. In high school, I was the curve-setter, enrolled in numerous AP classes and graduating in the top 10 percent of my class. I was a Mt. Oread Scholar in college and did well to balance my schoolwork with my, ahem, social obligations. On the whole it was, for lack of a better word, easy. I got high grades without really taxing myself, letting projects and assigned reading idle in my backpack until the night before the due date. All to good results.

But there was one falter in my stroll through the park. It came during my junior year in high school. I was never cocky about my academic prowess (to anyone but my brother, that is), but it nonetheless came as a shock when I couldn't for the life of me grasp the concept of chemistry. It just. Wasn't. Making. Sense. And though I wasn't failing, I wasn't passing with the flying colors I had become so accustomed to. So, with my parents' urging and assistance, I got a tutor.

I don't remember how many times I went over to her house for chemistry lessons. Only that I completely wore down the erasers on my pencils and had to endure the cloying smell of whatever she had cooked for dinner for the hour I was there. She wore baggy sweatshirts and her glasses hung in a chain around her neck when they weren't perched on her nose. But with her help, my grade slowly crawled back up, though I don't think it ever hit the mark I wanted it to. (To be completely frank, math and science have never been buddies of mine. But it was chemistry that bogged me down the most.)

In the dense nostalgia that followed college graduation, I would look back on all my years of academics, only to realize that I was forever fleeing that at which I was best. Though I may adamantly state otherwise, I miss it dearly. School. The crackle of a new textbook, the anticipation of a test score, the harried studying. Everything. I should have been a teacher.

(sigh)

This unrelenting winter has driven me to new motivational lows. "Ennui" just about sums it up. I find myself sitting at my desk, completely devoid of any compulsion to work. I stare at my to-do list and then check my gmail account. I attempt to start my monthly report and then go to shopbop to see what's new. I'm sick of the itchy wool sweaters and the boots tucked into jeans and the long double-lined winter coats. I'm sick of staticky hair and chapped lips and using so much lotion in the morning that I could act as a melon-scented flytrap.

This hideous phase of winter, the phase where we fear there may never be an end to our icy agony, should have been over in February. That's why there's Valentine's Day, right? To perk us up and pull us out of our warm house-cocoons. And imbue us with fuzzy, glowy feelings when that witch Mother Nature isn't putting out.

I've never seen a better case for hibernation in my life. Wake me up when the word "dormant" can't be used to describe anything. And when the temperature hasn't dropped below 75 for at least two consecutive weeks. So, June. See you in June, friends.

P.S. - It's only 4:15 and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person left in the office. Methinks I'm not alone in my feelings. Now I just need to go find the cave they're all hibernating in. I bet there's beer.

Ahem

I'm feeling the need to blog, but I don't have a specific topic (or even theme) in mind. Therefore: a list.

• My friend and her mom are coming in town today, which forced me to do the spring cleaning that my apartment so desperately needed. Beware, dear reader: You might not think you're living in filth when, in actuality, your dust bunnies are more on par with elephants. Check under furniture with caution and something sturdier than a broom.
• The cleaning (followed by more cleaning) left me no time for personal maintenance. My fingernails are still bare! The horror!
• American Idol isn't really worth it anymore. If I hear one more "it was a little pitchy in spots for me, man" or "your vocal skills really are phenomenal" or "I just didn't get it," I may chuck a dust elephant at the screen. And then whine because my TV is cracked and I can't see David Archuleta sing.
• I really like the new shirt I'm wearing today.
• You know what TV show is worth it? Celebrity Apprentice. Yes, you read that correctly. Trace Adkins is my new hero. That crooked half-smile and ubiquitous cowboy hat get me every time. Not to mention The Voice.
• I'm in the midst of reading World War Z. As one reviewer said, the author "commits to detail in a way that makes his nightmare world creepily plausible..." What more could a girl ask for in a zombie thriller?
• I just replaced my antiquated (and severely limited in hindsight) Razr with a BlackBerry Curve on Wednesday. No major complaints after the 36 hours I've had it in my possession. Though if you have large fingers, compromised vision, or an extremely limited grasp of technology, stick with your Razr. Trust.
• My birthday is in less than two weeks, followed by a surprise birthday celebration that weekend. Surprise in that I know it's happening, I just don't know what the plans are.
• And THEN! How I Met Your Mother returns on St. Patrick's Day. What better reason is there to drink green beer?
• I'm going to a wedding in Columbia, Mo., next weekend. The city of my alma mater's arch rival. I'm sure my skin will be crawling for the duration. Oh, and I don't have an outfit picked out yet. It's March - you can't plan ahead for those ides. It could be 31 and snowing or 75 with a tornado warning. Never can tell.

Five o'clock is rapidly approaching. I need to beat a hasty retreat outta here. Tune in again next week.

Now what?

Okay, this is where I start to freak out. Who knew searching for an apartment would be this difficult? I've gotten my hopes up one too many times and it's resulted in the inevitable - utter lack of hope. Right now, I live in relative luxury - my roommate and I have a brand-new apartment (as in, they were still doing paint touch-ups and hanging light fixtures when we moved in), we have assigned parking spaces in a heated underground lot, the management is courteous and helpful, the location is fabulous, and we haven't had any neighbor problems whatsoever. And there's a pool, workout facility, and secure entrances.

My only complaint? I don't want a roommate anymore. I lived by myself last year and enjoyed it more than I ever thought I would. I want that again.

Hence, my search for the perfect (one-bedroom) apartment began. And, just as I tend to rush the seasons, I also tend to rush everything else - I won't need this apartment until August. Better to start early, though, right? That's what I thought.

Turns out the earlier you start, the sooner you'll be disappointed. I looked downtown first and was excited to see the abundance of lofts available, at fairly affordable prices to boot. I earmarked my favorites, looked at the floorplans with wistful eyes again and again, calculated what I would really be able to afford, and began decorating in my hopeful little head.

Ha.

That was before I read the reviews on these places. Dreadful. Horrible management. Walls so thin you can hear neighbors clearing their throats. Bums camping out in the halls. No parking. Break-ins. Pets doing their business in common indoor areas.

My urban dreams flew straight out that 7th-story loft's window.

So I turned to the suburbs. Where I found that anything even remotely decent was too far south, too far north, or too expensive.

"So move to a one-bedroom in your current complex," you say.

Double ha. The price of a one-bedroom here is nearly as high as the mortgage on a two-bedroom house. Not gonna happen.

Now, I ask you, what the hell do I do? I've looked everywhere in the metro area, including undesirable spots. And I'm stuck. And no, I can't afford to buy a house. I'm a single woman in her early (okay, almost mid) twenties. I've got a few years yet before that happens.

At this rate, I might as well move to Seoul with the boyfriend. (For those of you whose hackles were just raised: I'M ONLY KIDDING.)

Seoul-ful

The same weekend I went to St. Louis for Mardi Gras, the boyfriend went to Iowa with a friend of his. Mainly to spend some quality time with this friend he only sees a few times a year, but also to, inadvertently, accompany him to a conference. The topic of the conference was mentioned to me briefly, but it flew in one ear and out the other. I was busy fretting over road conditions and whether I should pack a few extra pairs of socks.

Turns out the topic would change the boyfriend's life. Headmasters and recruiters from schools all over the world were there to hire American teachers and counselors for positions abroad. Way abroad. And, lo and behold, the boyfriend's sparkling personality and karmic ability to win every job he interviews for landed him two job offers. One in Seoul, South Korea, and one in Paraguay.

After two weeks of waffling and vacillating and long talks with all those close to him, the boyfriend finally made up his mind. He's leaving for a city outside of Seoul late this summer. He won't return to the United States permanently for two years.

Unlike the boyfriend, it took me all of three days to decide what I thought he should do. Although I'm fairly sure I haven't mentioned it here, the boyfriend is extremely unhappy with his job situation and would do just about anything to remedy it. Including moving as far away from his hometown as is humanly possible. (Coincidentally, Seoul is at nearly the same latitude as Kansas City, just on the other side of the earth.) So, in my mind, it was obvious: go and be happy or stay and be miserable. So, go.

And! Guess what this means? I get to be in an awesome long-distance relationship! (Please note the heavy dose of sarcasm.) And when I say "long," I mean looooooooooooooooooooong. As in, a 15-hour time difference and 24-hour flight away from eachother. As a rational human being, I know that that distance (both physical and emotional) would drive most sane couples apart. As of right now, we're wholly (and certifiably) insane.

I never, ever thought I would end up in a long-distance relationship (LDR). They always seemed ominous, signifying the inevitable end of what was surely doomed to begin with. I mean, it was only a matter of time before the couple moved on, right? Right. I would never succumb to an LDR. That was just bad sense. There was no reason to subject myself to that brand of torture.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

Will it work in our case? Obviously, I can't possibly know for sure. But then again, no one ever know for sure. About anything. All I do know is that we're going to do everything in our power to talk with as much regularity as we can, see eachother as often as possible, and use email for everything in between. Can a relationship be sustained by almost completely digital means? Maybe. Maybe not.

We'll give it our best shot, though.

Not that it will be easy. No, it's like I told him yesterday: We'll be both attached and single, without the perks of either. There will be tests and breaking points and strong forces of will. Hope and cynicism, battles and surrender. But I have complete faith that it's happening the way it's supposed to; my life, his life, our lives. Que sera, sera, eh?

Valentine's Day is for suckers

You know, the heart-shaped kind on a stick that tastes like cherries. And probably has white "icing" on it that says I LUV U.

What, you thought I was an anti-V Day robot or something? Nah. I'm a sucker like that.

Now go kiss someone.

I'll worry about the "exercise" part later

Lately I've been absolutely inundated with health and nutrition information. The blogs I read, the things I'm required to do (remember that mandatory blood test?), the annual doctor's appointment I have coming up, the industry I work in, the BLOGS I READ. It seems like, finally, the world is cottoning on to the fact that nearly everything we as Americans put in our mouths is intent on destroying our insides and wreaking havoc. Rationally, I understand that I need to eat more green things and less white things, but at what expense? I wouldn't really be me if I ate healthily. Granted, I do like the occasional broccoli tree or strawberry, but on a daily basis? Not so much.

And then I got my blood work back and let me tell ya, that did absolutely nothing to motivate better eating and more exercising. I mean, my cholesterol, glucose, and triglycerides were in normal, if not optimal, ranges and I was eating like crap and not working out! But the information and dire warnings keep flooding in without me looking for them. High fructose corn syrup is the devil! One high-fat, high-sugar meal will ruin you for life! Processed foods will cause cancer, diabetes, heart disease, and every other malady imaginable! Stay away from the inside aisles in supermarkets! Eat more fish! And olive oil! And nuts! DON'T EAT ANYTHING THAT TASTES GOOD TO YOU.

So I gave up chips for Lent.

With any luck, it will force me to eat healthier alternatives instead. For instance, I brought a salad to work today - romaine lettuce, avocadoes, shaved parmesan cheese, and honey dijon dressing. Except I left the dressing at home in my refrigerator. Which means the vending machine here at work is about the get assaulted by me. Again.

(Sigh.)

Miscellany

So, there are big, life-changing events going on in the boyfriend's life which, to be honest, have occupied my mind a li-ttle bit more than updating my blog. As things pan out with his situation, updating may be even more sparse. Or more frequent. We shall see.

MARDI GRAS. Well, in two words: Never. Again. Not to complain too much, but I have had it up to my eyebrows with obnoxious, insensitive, immature boys. I don't think I've ever yelled at quite so many (I'm purposely not using the word "men" because they certainly weren't, despite holding college degrees) in such a short amount of time to shut the hell up, THIS IS NOT A SMOKING ROOM, get OFF of me, quit snoring, and did I mention SHUT THE HELL UP? Grrrrr. I'm certainly done putting up with that. And there were only two guys staying in our room with us. Though it felt like 57.

Mark my word, there will be no Mardi Gras '09 for me. Oh, and the drinking all day? Not my cup of tea (with a liberal amount of vodka, mind you) anymore.

In better (and more encouraging) news, I got the results of my mandatory blood work back. "Mandatory" because in order to maintain the preferred health insurance premium (very low co-pays, nearly free prescriptions, etc.) we had to get a full blood profile done, as well as blood pressure, weight, and waist circumference measurements. And guess what? I just may live longer than 30 years! Depsite my near-complete lack of exercising, my HDL (good) cholesterol is in the way-better-than-average range, and my LDL (bad) cholesterol is really low. Woo hoo! Thanks, Mom, for what I presume are your good genes.

Boring, boring, boring, I know. What you really wanna hear about is that news I mentioned in the first paragraph. I'm not quite ready to blog about it, as the boyfriend reads this (although not, I think, with any regularity) and I'm not willing to "publish" my thoughts on the issue(s) as of yet. When I know what's going to happen and have developed a fully-formed opinion and plan, I'll spill. Just not yet.

Snow, shmoe

Well, it looks like yesterday's Urge was fighting a losing battle. The credit card gods will probably thank me come Monday morning. My wardrobe, however, will not. Ah, well. St. Louis, here I come! You better hope you have enough beads and booze to spare.

Let it snow

Bad news on the Mardi Gras front. If you were to throw a dart at the area in the midwest that's supposed to get six to ten inches of snow by this time tomorrow, St. Louis would be the freaking bull's eye. And if you were to hit it, I'd buy you a beer. But that's beside the point.

Weather.com says the driving conditions tomorrow will be "extremely hazardous if not impossible." Sounds promising, doesn't it? Yeah, not so much. We're in the throes of deciding whether we're still young enough to bounce if we get tossed through a windshield. I'm thinking not.

So, odds are that I won't be imbibing hurricanes and begging for beads this weekend. At least not in the Lou.

In other news, it looks like I may make it through an entire five days of work this week. You see, two weeks ago, I was in Florida Tuesday through Sunday. And then last week was the Attack of the Killer Virus, causing me to take Thursday and Friday off. But this week, even though I still have remnants of the raspy machine gun, I just might make it through Friday! Woo hoo for me! No wait, boo hoo for me.

And now for a secret: I'm not exactly sad about the possibility of missing Mardi Gras. Because, well, I've had an increasingly strong and persistant urge to go shopping. It's been a while. The Urge is actually sitting on my shoulder right now, whispering at me to waste the whole weekend at stores I can't realistically afford. Shopping sounds mighty preferable to standing in the wind of downtown St. Louis, shivering and whining because I just dropped my phone in a half-frozen puddle and I really need to go to the bathroom but I can only find a porta potty and I just want to get something to eat and where's that camel back when I need it and is the line to this bar almost up? And why can't I see a TV? THE KU GAME IS ON.

I'm a raspy machine gun today

Well, it was bound to happen at some point this year. The inevitable (and incurable) Loss of Any Discernible and/or Recognizable Voice. You see, every virus, every bacterial infection, every everything, heads directly for my throat. Lemme put it to you this way: If the germs clogging up my vocal chords right now were little Paris Hiltons and Lindsay Lohans, my throat would be jail. Or rehab. Or a store that sells lots of hideous leggings. Those little buggers just can't stay away.

I find myself clearing my throat approximately every six seconds. It's a lucky thing that both of my cubicle-mates are absent today. Otherwise, I may have been out a couple bucks due to the earplugs I would have purchased out of guilt. My throat-clearing, you understand (which the boyfriend so kindly pointed out), sounds like a machine gun. Staccato and loud. So very soothing in a work environment.

Oh, and this is really fun, too: Instead of saying "Hello" when I answer the phone, I get to whisper, "SorryI'mlosingmyvoicecanyouhearme?"

Ugh. Is it Friday yet?

The ABCs

I'm not one of those people who are anti-meme. Primarily because, ahem, I need every creative (or not-so-creative) boost I can get. But also because I actually enjoy reading other people's answers and contributing my own. The following meme is borrowed from Unnaturally Blonde... because I'm severely lacking in creative juices. And also, I really enjoy procrastinating at work. It's my favorite pastime.

Age - 23, but not for long. The big double-dozen hits on March 13. Six months ago, I would have said I was completely unprepared to be solidly in my mid-twenties. Now, though, I'm more, oh... apathetic. Another birthday that's not 21? Eh.

Band I'm currently listening to: Well, she's not exactly a band in and of herself, but I think she plays the guitar... maybe... Colbie Callait. Love the song "Realize." "Bubbly" is a little overplayed, but I still think it's pretty cute.

Career future: Oof, this is a toughie. My dream job is to be in designer relations at a major magazine... but I'm about as far as possible from that right now. That said, I currently have a pretty cushy job... I get all the days off I ask for, I take liberties with my lunch break, and I've gotten three separate promotions and/or raises since I've been here (which is less than two years). We'll see where the wind takes me... your guess is as good as mine at this point.

Dad's first name: I don't think I'll be giving too much away when I say Chris. Known to some as "Uncle Bubba."

Easiest person to talk to: I probably won't be hurting any feelings or surprising anyone when I say my mom. Although the best friend and the boyfriend probably tie for a close second.

Favorite type of shoe: Heels. DUH. Does any other type exist? What other shoes can simultaneously make your legs look longer, your butt look perkier, and your posture look straighter? Exactly.

Grapes or grapefruit? Definitely green grapes. I like grapefruit juice, though... it's just that the actual fruit gives me pause. And I've learned not to stand around my brother when he's eating it (or even be within 15 feet of him). The spoon wedged in that thing makes for no end of flying, sour grapefruit juice. Extra points if it lands directly in your eye.

Hometown: Nope, nope, and nope. Eastern Kansas is all you'll get.

Instrumental talent: I played the piano for about five minutes and the clarinet for... hmmm... thirty seconds? I think that counts as "talent." After all, to this day I can still play the Jurassic Park theme song on the piano.

Juice of choice: Apple, by far.

Koala bear or panda bear: Not gonna lie, I just had to think seriously hard about the difference between those two. But now that I have it, definitely panda. Those babies (cubs? pups?) are seriously cute.

Longest car ride ever: Well, technically it was a bus ride, but close enough. I went to a summer camp in Sarasota, Fla. in middle school. We started in Kansas. Never again, thank you.

Middle name: Hmmm... nope, don't think so. I plead the fifth.

Number of jobs I've had: Including temporary summer jobs, I think I've had eight. Yikes.

OCD traits: Hold on, I need to go make sure my car is locked for the 57th time today... just kidding. I have several, but the most prominent include thoroughly rinsing the dishes before they go in the dishwasher, wiping down my bathroom sink before bed every night, and getting ready in the morning the exact same way every single day. If anything goes awry, I get slightly (okay, really) distraught and it makes me at least 10 minutes late.

Phobia(s): BEARS. Heights if my safety isn't guaranteed. Being in public without mascara on. Seriously.

Quote: Favorite quote or something quotable I've said? Well, I'll just be all humble and say I haven't ever said anything of note, other than "Where's the beer?"

Reasons to smile: Sunny skies. Fridays. Surprises from the boyfriend. Hearing my best friend laugh. Watching Golden Girls reruns (the reference is revealed!). My dog. A really good manicure. A rave review at work.

Song you sang last: I haven't sung something in its entirety in recent memory, but I hummed along with "Both Of Us'll Feel the Blast" by Waterdeep this morning.

Time you wake up on weekdays: 6:25 a.m. Ugh.

Unknown fact about me: I chew gum for at least three hours at a time.

Vegetable I hate: How about vegetable I don't hate? That would be much easier. Broccoli.

Worst habit: As the boyfriend would adamantly attest, picking the skin around my thumbs. Okay, sometimes other digits fall victim as well.

X-rays I've had: Dental and chest.

Yummiest food my belly likes: CHEESE!

Zodiac sign: Pisces. Definitely a fish.

Okay, that took up enough work time to satisfy me. Now I'm going to go be productive. And responsible. Wish me luck.

Seafood? Check. Beads? Soon.

Aaaaand... I'm back. And you know what's kind of strange? Despite the fact that only two days ago I was in Florida, I'm incredibly happy to be back in Kansas City. Maybe it's the fact that the weather was less than ideal (rainy, windy, and hovering around 65 degrees), maybe it's the fact that I was living out of a suitcase for six days, or maybe it's the fact that my vacation diet consisted of seafood, followed by seafood, followed by a heaping pile of seafood. Whatever the case, home has never felt quite so good to come back to.

Though the weather in Kansas City actually did nip my nose (to the extreme) when I stepped out of the airport, I liked it. I mean, it's January, for crying out loud. It's supposed to be so flipping cold that you can't breathe without feeling like your lungs are made of ice crystals.

Obviously, I'm an enigma. Florida has seemingly rid me of my early-onset spring fever. Snow? Bring it on! Ice? More, please! Give me a few more days of this 12 degree weather, though. I'm sure it won't be long before I've developed the fever again.

But, however good it is to be back in winter where I belong, Florida was absolutely fantastic. A few highlights:

• Picking out three increasingly delicious restaurants in a row. If you're interested (or going to Florida in the near future), they were: Billy's Tap Room, Ormond Beach Steakhouse, and Bergamo's. I ate seafood each and every day except for the last one, when we finally gorged on Wendy's. To my palate, each bite of seafood was a delicacy.
• Trying raw oysters for the first time. A girl's gotta have some sense of adventure, right? Though, let me tell you, never again.
• Sitting in the Mai Tai, an open-air bar just down the beach from our first hotel, listening to live music and drinking a Yeungling. Mmmmm... that's the life.
• Wearing open-toed shoes and short sleeves, even if it wasn't exactly warm.
• Drinking only moderately and never being hungover for more than a few hours. So... responsible!
• Not spending all the cash I brought with me.
• Looking at the ocean through the hotel window.
• Going to Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure, which we thought wouldn't happen. First, when it appeared to be too expensive. And second, when the morning we were to go was drizzly and bone-chilling. We went anyway and had a really good time. If you do nothing else in Florida, go on the Spiderman ride at Islands of Adventure. It's worth the line, I promise.

My only regret? We never actually stepped foot in the ocean. Or even touched the water with a tentative toe. I blame the cloudy skies and brutal winds. And the fact that a bartender told us, in detail, how cold the water actually was this time of year.

All told, a great trip. So when's the next one?

Ah. Don't forget, my friends... Mardi Gras is in two weeks. Let the countdown begin.

Ignorance is bliss

My work phone rang late in the afternoon on Thursday and, seeing that it was one of my bosses, I picked up rather quickly.

"Hi, [Boss #2]."

"Hi, K. Could you do me a favor tomorrow morning at nine? Do you have anything planned?"

"Hold on, let me check my calendar... nope, I'm free tomorrow morning. What do you need?"

"Well, a production company is coming to [entity within the organization] to film an educational video. Can you be there to cover it for me?"

"Sure. What's the video about?"

[Nonchalantly, as if this is a regular occurence] "Oh, they're filming the birth of a baby."

[Shrieking] "WHAT? DO I HAVE TO BE IN THE ROOM? I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN WATCH THAT, I MIGHT FAINT OR THROW UP OR... OR... DIE!"

Duly noting my reaction, Boss #2 had quite the little chuckle. And then continued to bully me into being there in her place. My reaction:

"............"

Turns out her own schedule was completely free, she just didn't want to see it either. She may be my boss, but I am most certainly not her bitch.

Moral of the story: my line in the sand (when it comes to work-related duties accepted from tyrant bosses) is drawn right before witnessing the birth of a baby. Because those kids I plan on having eventually? Probably wouldn't be born if I had to see that.

Ignoring those reports of a Floridian hard freeze

It's January 8 and I have spring fever. It's officially hit, extra-early this year. Usually, it doesn't really kick in until after Valentine's Day but, you see, we just had a glorious weekend of 64-degree weather. In January. (I even drove with the sunroof open!) Something of a satanic reprieve from the icy temperatures of the last few weeks. It's almost unconscionable to think that there are at least three more months before that kind of weather becomes a regular event.

But then, me rushing the seasons is nothing new. In January, I want to see green buds on the trees and cerulean skies and just the hint of a cool breeze. In May, I want it to be 90 degrees, so sticky that I can't lay on my stomach in the sun for more than five minutes before I have to get in the pool. In August, I just want the leaves to change and the sun to freaking quit it already with its oppressive attitude. I'm usually pretty happy in October. But in November, I want there to be loads of snow and ice - in other words, it better be beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

But now is the time of year that I'm starting to get a little antsy. And allowing myself to wear short sleeves to work yesterday (the warm weather carried over into Monday), in hindsight, was a wee bit stupid. I can be such a tease.

Thank whoever's in charge that I'll be in Florida a week from today.

Did you say "naked"? In a hammock??

Wow, so it just hit me that I haven't posted anything for over a week... I didn't exactly miss it, the posting, but I haven't been itching to get back to the keyboard either. Oh, well. I'm here now!

A recap of the holiday season:

• Went to several holiday-type parties, the best of which was on New Year's Eve. Rang in 2008 with much sweat (dancing), champagne (in a plastic cup with a strawberry slice), and vigor (duh). Oh, and (how could I almost forget?!?) my new favorite dress.
• Made absolutely no effort to resolve anything for the new year.
• Hung out with the family for several days. Home-cooked meals! Fully-stocked cabinet! Leftovers galore! (I like food.)
• Worked a mere day and a half during the eleven days between the weekend before Christmas and New Year's Day. I'm on consecutive day three back in the office and it hurts. The pain of staring at padded cubicle walls all day!
• Laughed a LOT, at parties and with the fam. And then laughed some more. My facial muscles got a workout - does that count as exercise?
• Farkled* close to ten times. And never lost. The bad karma is building up, I can feel it.

All in all, a great holiday season that was (as usual) far too short. But, BUT! There's Florida in a little over a week. Let the bikini panic begin.

*Farkle is a dice game that the boyfriend (and now I) can't get enough of. It's best played with a group, but two people will do just fine. There's complicated (for me) math involved and lots of rules to adjust to, but man is it FUN. The loser has to do something embarassing/disgusting/repellant. Hence, "What are we farkling for?" may be something like licking the toilet seat or laying naked in a hammock while the rest of the group pummels you with snowballs. (Both of which had to be done by people I know over the holidays. Ha.) Great game. You'd like it.