Un-glamorous

As I look back on my day I am struck by the number of things I did that serve as proof that I will never be graceful and glamorous...

I gave myself such a profound blister with a pair of cheap shoes that I bought at Target that I've been limping all week. (The cheap shoes is the unglamorous part and the large exposed blister is not only not graceful but icky.)

While talking to my client today I got one of those shivers up the spine but instead of just quietly dealing with it I started to twitch like an epileptic poodle. He had the grace to not look horrified.

I went through half of this morning with lipstick on my teeth and a large smear of black ink on the back of my hand.

I told my boss (whose name is Dain) that he was "Dain-irrific". Then I let out a very unglamorous guffaw which, I believe, was followed by a snort.

While having lunch with some co-workers I started to do an impression of my sister as a junior high-school cheerleader doing the "Funky Chicken". Allow me to repeat that -- I was in public having lunch in front of other people doing the FUNKY CHICKEN!

I would like to be the kind of person that never has a run in her stocking, knows just what to say and when to say it, and has a delightful little genteel giggle. But these, alas, are not the kind of traits I exhibit. At least my own stupidity is an endless source of amusement for my blog readers. And for that reason, dear readers, I will continue to be a jerk for as long as I can. 'Cuz I'm a giver.

Wingey moany-hole

I've been a wingy moany-hole since I moved here. "I have no friends." "I miss New York." "Why did I move so far away?" Winge winge, moan moan. Who knew I was so flippin' pathetic?

Last night a bunch of people went out to dinner for Elizabeth's birthday and I looked around the table and I realized: I have friends here. I've only been here three months and I am lucky enough to have found a group of people that make me smile... and I get to see them every day at work.

Las Vegas is not the easiest city in which to meet people but my company is so friendly and so full of fun people. They may not fully understand the concept of happy hour (although Tamar, Stephanie and I plan to change that if we can) but they know how to have a good time, they take the time to stop and talk over morning coffee and not a one of 'em comes to work cranky.

Anyway thought I would throw that out to all my friends from back home that have been subjected to my whining. Next time, tell me to shut the fuck up, 'kay?

Coffee is bad for you

I've had so much to tell you guys lately but no time available to write. I've met celebrities -- Fergie, Jamie Fox, All American Rejects, Wayne Newton AGAIN -- and done other weird things -- served as bodyguard for actual Vegas showgirls as they walked through Fremont Street to stand in front of a Dodge Neon on national TV, fell flat on my face while trying to get to my seat on an America West flight from New York -- all of which were worthy of a blog. But I haven't had the time, dear readers. And time is of the essence when writing an entertaining blog.

And that is because I am overworked. Overworked, overwhelmed and tired. And after working for 13 straight hours on New Year's Eve I've come to the conclusion that my New Year's resolution will be to start telling people who make me work for 13 straight hours on a national holiday to go fuck themselves.

That probably won't happen. Because I'm chicken shit.

Maybe I'll just give up drinking so much damn coffee.