Weatherman: You’re Fired

This bad hair day I’m having? Yeah it’s your fault. When you said snow would start falling around 11 pm last night, hitting heaviest in the convergence zone where I live, I believed you. I even gave you a little “wiggle room”, guessing that sometime between 11 pm and 5 am, the storm would hit, making the morning commute a nightmare and guaranteeing a little extra snooze time for me. So I stayed up late. I surfed blogs, I worked on my book, I downloaded music. And at 5:30, when my first alarm went off, I looked out the window: nothin’. I hit snooze, figuring it would start to dump any minute and that, just as yesterday, I would get to sleep in. When I finally flew out of bed and into the shower at 6:05, there was still not a flake in sight.

So here I sit with a hastily-styled coif, on time at my desk, yawning. I feel robbed. And if a blizzard starts while I sit in my cubicle and I am forced to stay in a Renton hotel for the night because I can’t drive home, I vow to come and kick you’re ass personally.

…just stick me in the oven, seriously.

Several nights ago, in the wake of the shockingly sad death of yet another bright young celebrity, Roomie, Other Roomie, and I somehow got on the topic of what happens to a body after you die. It started off innocently enough, with me explaining how being discovered completely alone and naked was probably one of the WORST ways I could think of to be discovered dead (after things like being covered in my own poop and dead, or half eaten by my starving pets and dead), and it quickly evolved to more morbid topics, like how quickly you start to decompose. This is subsequently why people get embalmed, to preserve the body until–and after—burial. At this point, Other Roomie expressed her concerns about the embalming process, and defiantly informed us that she is to be cremated when she dies. No being pumped full of chemicals and put on display for people to gawk at…just torch the body and scatter the ashes to the winds. I didn’t really understand why she had such a hard-line stance on this topic…until today, when she sent Roomie and I this email:

OTHER ROOMIE’S GROSSEST PHONE CALL OF THE WEEK:

OTHER ROOMIE: Health Sciences Maintenance & Alterations…
CALLER: Yeah, this has been ongoing problem and it happened again today…we have a ceiling leak. But, I don’t know how to word this…but it’s of the “human kind”.
OTHER ROOMIE: You mean its raw sewage leaking in? *ew*
CALLER: No, they dissect cadavers above us and it leaks to the offices below.
OTHER ROOMIE: *silence* 

My first thought was “I’d hate to hear about the second grossest phone call of the week…”, but I responded via email: “Seriously, if that had happened to me, I would blog it.” Roomie chimed in that was her first thought too…but she couldn’t blog it because her post from the day before was about the passing of afore mentioned young celebrity, and she thought it might be inappropriate. I assured her she could tooootally spin it to make it work…although, now that I think about it, I don’t really see how she could. So I won.

Oh, the sacrifices I make…

The weeks ahead are going to be INSANE! I’m in the middle of a billing cycle at work, plus I have a special project to complete that seems a bit more complicated than what I’ve had to do thus far at my job. In addition, this month’s selection for book club is 615 pages…I’m on page 234, and I have 15 days to read it.

BUT, I am committed to you, my dear blog readers. You see, I have just come home from the funnest, most hilarious weekend I’ve had in a looooong time. And instead of spending the next two weeks reading until by eyeballs fall out, I have at least 3 blog posts in the works…and I’m committed to delivering them to YOU!

So, keep your eyes peeled in the next few days for some serious blog posts about this past weekend. I’ll give you a hint: it’s “star-studded”, it’s a train-wreck, a reunion of sorts…and it co-stars yours truly!!!

I’m officially a nutter…

…and I don’t mean “a person who gathers nuts”. I mean “nutter” in the traditional British Slang way: “an insane person”, one who’s gone completely “batty”, “koo-koo”, “bonkers”, “tits up”, “loony”, “wonky in the head”.  I committed the Cardinal Sin of the single woman longing for companionship: I went to a movie alone. But not just any movie…no, I go to movies by myself all the time, that’s no big deal. But this time, I went to a romantic comedy. Alone. And now I’ve lost my marbles.

Friday night, I went and saw the screen adaptation of Cecelia Ahern’s novel P.S. I Love You. *sigh* Despite the fact that I despise Hillary Swank (eh, she’s an Oscar winner…big deal), she was actually quite endearing in the role of Holly, the young 20-something whose husband, played by Gerard Butler, has just died of a brain tumor at the age of 30. “Gerard who?” you ask. My thoughts exactly. As I sat watching what amounts to the most heartbreakingly sadly funny movie I’ve seen all year, I couldn’t help but wonder “Who is this bundle of Scottish yummy joy on the screen? And where can I get one of my very own?”

So I went home, got on the internet and I turned to the only places that I know I can get reliable information: Wikipedia and YouTube. I now know all there is to know about Gerard Butler (can I get a “This…is…SPARTA!”?)…and I am smitten. Actually, if Gerard were here, he’d remark on the glassy-eyed senseless look on my face as I sat at my computer, silly with giddiness  (except he’d say it with his sexy Scottish burr: “She sat there with a glaikit look oan har fizzog”). I stayed up until well past midnight watching archived footage of interviews from late night television; my Netflix queue is now full to the brim with every film he’s ever made, and I’ve petitioned my oldest friend (who just so happens to live in Glascow, Gerard’s home town) to keep her eye out for his twin so she can ship him back to me in a crate, kilt and all.

Truly, there could be nothing better than waking up to this every morning. If 2008 is anything for me like 2007 was, perhaps I’ll have a chance…at least at the next best thing. After all, “Whits fur ye’ll no gin by ye” (What’s meant for you will not pass you by).

Told ya…complete nutter.

(BTW, do go see this movie. It’s charming and sweet, despite its rather depressing premise. Just keep your guard up ladies, cause that Gerry…he’s a charmer!)