nina turns 40

fun facts that you should know

I got two consecutive, unrelated, non-spam emails this morning.  Subject line on the first one: "You are SO right", subject line on the second one: "No. You're wrong."

I'm way too excited about The Apprentice starting up again tonight.

We have a report generating system here at work that emails me the completed report.  I click on a link to go to the .pdf file with my data in it.  The link I click says "pick up package".  This makes me feel like I am a very important secret agent.  I am not just crunching numbers, I am picking up the package.

My father is about to embark on a cruise around South America, the bastard the lucky fellow.

I forgot it was Not One Damn Dime Day and have been spending money left and right on the usual things like parking and triple espressos.

The kidlet was extra mad that the cartoons on PBS were pre-empted this morning by the inauguration.  Not that we ever watch TV in the morning at our house, no siree.

the big...

I am no fan of corporate coffee.  I prefer independent, small, labor-of-love type coffee places, but it just so happens that the big guys have a little branch right in the lobby of my office building, and the convenience factor is very high.  So yes, I get some java there daily.  Well, they have come out with a new drink, an absolutely coffee-free drink that has one of those horridly cheesey marketing department invented names that makes one roll their eyes and sigh.  But this drink is made of chocolate, and as such, I was persuaded to try said drink. There is only one way to describe it:  orgasm in a cup.

wanted

Domestic assistance in the form of a mutually beneficial exchange.  Here's what I will do:  scrub the bathroom, make the beds, buy the groceries, cook dinner, take out the garbage, do all laundry, pay the bills, read bedtime stories, straighten up.  Here's what you will do: wash the dishes, sweep the floor, make the kidlet's lunch everyday.  What I will offer you:  just about any damn thing you please.  Sexual favors negotiable.   Please contact nina.  She is the one pulling out her hair and whimpering over there amongst all the dirty dishes and discarded peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

On Sunday, after another lovely afternoon of coffee and yummy things to eat with Kimberly, she loaded me up with books to bring home.  Now that I have this magnificent pile of reading material here, though, I am a bit concerned.  These books don't look like they've been read.  They are as pristine as the day they left the bookstore.  The backs are straight, the covers are clean, and they stay closed when you set them down.  These look nothing like my books when I'm done with them.   My books look downright abused compared to hers, but I swear it's just love.  That, and reading them in the bathtub.  I certainly won't be doing that with Kimberly's books, but I don't know if I can read a book without leaving some evidence of my passage through it.  Well, if worse comes to worse, I'll just find myself at the bookstore buying new copies to return to her.  And then I'm filling up the tub.

the phonecall

What ruins a hot date faster than a loud fart in public?  A phonecall from the ex.  His ex, not mine.  His huge heartbreak, the woman who changed his life, and then destroyed it by leaving, the woman whose name must never be mentioned, the woman who can still cause morose moods and melancholy sighs.  HER.  Yup, right at a most inopportune moment, the phone rings, and after over a year of absolutely no contact with him whatsoever, there she is.  I could hear the trembling in his voice as he said that name, and I was feeling sorry for him.  But then I just felt like an idiot.  All my carefully laid plans blown away by one little hello.

cooking up some nookie

I'm bummed because tonight is the Seattle blogger get together hosted by Zero Boss, and Catawampus, and welcoming the Genuines to our fair city, and I am not able to attend.  The reason I'm not able to attend is most charming, though.  A man is cooking dinner for me.  Gentlemen, here is something that all of you should know and use to your advantage:  cooking dinner for a woman dramatically increases your chances of getting laid.  I mean, it's quite nice to be taken out to dinner, and you can show off your exquisite taste and your knowledge of wine, and impress your date, if she is so inclined, with how much loot you are willing to drop on her in one evening, but it is still ever so much better (and sexalicious) to make dinner for her.  Cooking dinner demonstrates a couple of things about you: your planning skills, that you're not afraid of the grocery store, that wine selection mojo thing again, and of course, that fact that you can cook.  Your willingness to make an effort on her behalf will not go unnoticed.  Even if the meal itself is not so hot, she will appreciate all the work that went into it.  And then of course, the number one factor that makes this the best road to the sack--you're at home, your bedroom is just a short walk away (and who says you even need the bedroom?).  Serve something rich and chocolatey for dessert, and my friend, you've just about assured yourself of some high quality nookie.

I realize that the previous paragraph all but screams that I will be putting out this evening.  Believe it or not, that remains to be seen.  This man and I have a rather complicated relationship that always seems to settle best into friendship.  Besides, I have to leave some element of surprise for y'all.  Meanwhile, I can't wait to read all about the debauchery that will ensue when the other Seattle bloggers hook up.

advice for bloggers

Do not, under any circumstances, even as a joke, put the phrase h*t! n*ked! ch*cks! into your blog, because for months on end afterwards a large portion of your Google directed traffic will be looking for that phrase, and for what it allegedly promises, and once they get there, they will be pissed because you do not have ch*cks on your blog, not h*t ones, not n*aked ones, not any. 

I don't know where he gets this stuff

After receiving two astronomy related toys this Christmas the kidlet has declared that our bathroom is the shadow of Io.

I'll be impressed if you know what Io is.

goofy self portraits

no resume required

You have got to be fucking kidding me