you want me to do what now?

Work has decided for the next quarterly meeting we will be split into four teams. Each team must come up with a theme, elect a captain and then prepare a feast based around the theme. We have to have decorations, appetizers, a main dish and dessert. My team, which includes British Boy, has chosen the theme of Halloween. Brett and I are making pie. It seemed the easiest way out. If I get really creative, I might make some chocolate mice or something.

Oddly enough, the rest of the D&D crew ended up on another team.

It's amazing how hard it is to stay here after midnight. Tomorrow they're rolling out an update to the Oracle system and I have a bad feeling everything's going to crash at 8pm. Joy. I hope to make it in by 4pm so I can get out of here as fast as possible.

(no subject)

It's good to see the Kate Moss trend alive and well. I was flipping through photos from fashion week in New York on the wires, and it struck me how creepily skinny so many of the models appeared. Every now and then one who looked almost normal would pop out. It's a weird thing, because there were lots of lovely clothes but the people bother me. Coture and designer fashion is such an odd art form.

I have a hard time finding a lot of models attractive in anything other than an abstract way. Mostly because the idea of a six foot tall praying mantis person is not a sexy image. Not only that, but they are blank canvases. They exhibit no personality, they seem to exist as vehicles for the clothes. On one hand, you know, that's interesting, and on the other it is so boring because it's been done over and over. Too bad there's no one doing anything subversive and weird with models. Runway show of the newest creepy plastic surgery techniques and modifications maybe? Give them all tails I say.

It has less to do with my own self image than any psych would tell you. I bear no malice or hidden loathing of the tall skinny people. My only jealousy stems from the fact that they must have an easier time of finding comfortable jeans than I do, but that's really more of an issue with stores that only stock approximately five sizes. I bear more malice towards marketers and pitchfolk who create magazine spreads and commercials that carry the message that being a certain way, using a certain product, having a certain look will make one happy.

But enough about the race of praying mantis people who will surely take over the world in their Prada heels. We went to Dennys after work, saw drunk women talking on an ancient cell phone, a waiter get fired for arguing with a customer about something or other, a strange man who ignored his girlfriend but talked to us, and various other weird bits of the post bar hour in a twenty four seven diner. Ate greasy, greasy fried food. It's alright.

I want a chocolate shake now, I'm feeling so American.

I hate the parking lot at the tax office

There's nothing quite like the sense of your stomach being hollow and empty because you're up about five hours early, driving on the freeway, visiting state offices where employees of indeterminate middle age tell you there's no way you can have your car registered and titled because you lack one piece of paper. But I'm sure they would gladly solve my problem if I paid them a few hundred dollars.

I hate being looked at as if I am some stupid suburban girl who has no clue. I have your fucking paperwork bitch, no give me the damned sticker for my car!

Never going to be able to go back to sleep now. I was too cranky to even want to deal with getting my oil changed, so I returned home on still crowded streets.

I will never sleep again

I tried at some point to close my eyes and drift off, but the light hampered me and the neighbors rattling around upstairs, and my own thoughts...

At some point I did drift off because I just had my first offical nightmare about the wedding. I feel like a cat that's just been chased up a tree, and certainly not any more rested.