1.) Accepted a job. I start June 3rd. I will be a tax consultant (swallow that one).
2.) There is a boy in my life. He has a job, a car and a house. He has never been married, has no kids and has never been to jail. He might be smarter than me and perhaps funnier than me. I worry a bit about these things.
3.) I consistently wear make up and often don't have holes in my jeans. I even own shoes that aren't flip flops. Bras have become part of my everyday life. I have cut down to a once-a-week pigtail habit.
4.) I go running everyday instead of drinking everyday.
5.) I golf and play tennis often - these are called "life sports." They are for adults.
Who is this girl? And what has she done with my friend Abby?
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Abby v. Fence, Part 2
It has been almost a year since the original falling off the fence in San Diego, so in celebration, I figured I would write about a more recent battle with a fence. This is a very long, multi-faceted story, so bear with me.
Houston has the biggest rodeo in the United States (second biggest in the world) and I can only describe it as cowboy mardis gras. The opening weekend of rodeo is referred to as Cook-Off. This is where a ton of companies sponsor a ton of tents in the parking lot of Reliant Stadium and cook barbeque and serve free alcohol. You have to know people to get wrist bands to get into each party and, fortunately, my friend P worked at a company that sponsored a tent. She left the wrist bands for H, Z and I at her house as she had to get there early to do her networking. We were to meet her later.
H and I get in full on cowgirl gear (buckle and boots, oh my!) and break into a couple of Sparks while we wait for Z to get home from work. When he gets home, he changes and we hear from associates that parking and driving is a bitch, so we decide to take the train. Z drives us to our friend’s house who lives near a train stop to park the car. We park, pee in his lawn, and mosey down the road to the train stop. About a quarter mile into the walk Z tells us he needs to stop at the convenience store, which is strange since we all just peed, had cash and had cigs. H and I pester him and he is forced to admit he just farted and may have shit himself a little. Hilarity ensues, Z wipes his butt, H and I take pictures in the middle of the road. We move on.
Got on the train, tied a kid’s shoes , high-fived his brother, got off the train.
We hustled a ride from a cop from the train station to the rodeo entrance (H is a cute blond…) and then incompetently followed a map to where we were supposed to meet P. This took three times as long as it should have and, oddly enough, when I took control of the navigation, we did not end up at BWI. We found P, swilled some beers, ate some buffalo burritos (the animal, not the sauce) and went to the tent where P’s company was doing their thing. On the way (surprise surprise) we ran into an old college buddy of mine. He was there with some friends of his visiting from Atlanta and all boys present were very cute. P tried to call dibs for flirting privileges on the MIT guy (who we will call Boy 2), but I felt that I was grandfathered into that one. H picked the tall one, and P decided boys were not important that night. They partied with us a little, but Boy 2 had a reserved a table at this “hot spot” club for him and his crew. He told us to call when we left and maybe we’d meet up. They left, we went to another party tent - drank some deadly mudslides until they were closing down the event.
We made it back to the car (P was not drinking because she was working) which involved Z getting lost at the port-a-potties, spraining his ankle, falling behind and ultimately pissing off P (sidebar - P and Z are brother and sister). Somehow I acquired some beads on the way to the car, too. Z finally makes to the car; him and P fight; P kicks him out of the car; I chase him down the road and tell him to get back into the car; they scowl at each other; we drop Z off.
P, H and I decide to meet Boy 2 and crew at the bar. What makes this funny is that this establishment is the kind of place where boys have to wear black pants and girls have to dress like sluts. We decide that we need to go dressed like cowgirls. Surprisingly, they let us in and we find the boys. Dancing and drinking ensue and somehow we lose Boy 2, et al. We leave, call them (let the night-fighting begin!) and they are going to an after hours place down the road.
We go there and they are all just hanging outside, so we just hang outside. Then we saw a girl passed out on the sidewalk and her boyfriend is trying to get her into his car, so I help and consequently get covered in puke. The bouncer at the after hours bar (which we never entered, just loitered outside of) gave me a wet towel to clean up, thanked me for my help and gave me a free pass to get in. Woo eee!!
The loitering gets old so Boy 2 decides we should all go to his town home, which is a few blocks down the road. We get there and he realizes he hid his key outside his front door, which incidentally is located behind a locked wrought iron fence. An 8 foot wrought iron fence.
Obviously, I volunteer to hop the fence. With the help from one of the crew (though H though I just Supermanned over the damn thing all by myself) I scrambled up but then my damn cowboy boot got caught in the top as I was starting my decent. If these were normal shoes, I could have slid my foot out of it and been ok, but my boots go about ¾ of the way up my calf. And so there I was, dangling face down from a fence as my foot slooooowly crept out of the boot, leading to the inevitable faceplant. Hilarity ensued and Boy 2’s roommate came out and opened the fence (why he didn’t call her in the first place, saving me some skin and blood, is unclear). I was given a band aid, a beer and then I think I may have done the electric slide or something to some Latin music. The girls were successful in their night fight and I built a wall of pillows down the middle of Boy 2’s bed and went to sleep (as it turns out, I was kind of creeped out at the thought of kissing my old lab partner - sorry P!!).
The End (kind of…)
Houston has the biggest rodeo in the United States (second biggest in the world) and I can only describe it as cowboy mardis gras. The opening weekend of rodeo is referred to as Cook-Off. This is where a ton of companies sponsor a ton of tents in the parking lot of Reliant Stadium and cook barbeque and serve free alcohol. You have to know people to get wrist bands to get into each party and, fortunately, my friend P worked at a company that sponsored a tent. She left the wrist bands for H, Z and I at her house as she had to get there early to do her networking. We were to meet her later.
H and I get in full on cowgirl gear (buckle and boots, oh my!) and break into a couple of Sparks while we wait for Z to get home from work. When he gets home, he changes and we hear from associates that parking and driving is a bitch, so we decide to take the train. Z drives us to our friend’s house who lives near a train stop to park the car. We park, pee in his lawn, and mosey down the road to the train stop. About a quarter mile into the walk Z tells us he needs to stop at the convenience store, which is strange since we all just peed, had cash and had cigs. H and I pester him and he is forced to admit he just farted and may have shit himself a little. Hilarity ensues, Z wipes his butt, H and I take pictures in the middle of the road. We move on.
Got on the train, tied a kid’s shoes , high-fived his brother, got off the train.
We hustled a ride from a cop from the train station to the rodeo entrance (H is a cute blond…) and then incompetently followed a map to where we were supposed to meet P. This took three times as long as it should have and, oddly enough, when I took control of the navigation, we did not end up at BWI. We found P, swilled some beers, ate some buffalo burritos (the animal, not the sauce) and went to the tent where P’s company was doing their thing. On the way (surprise surprise) we ran into an old college buddy of mine. He was there with some friends of his visiting from Atlanta and all boys present were very cute. P tried to call dibs for flirting privileges on the MIT guy (who we will call Boy 2), but I felt that I was grandfathered into that one. H picked the tall one, and P decided boys were not important that night. They partied with us a little, but Boy 2 had a reserved a table at this “hot spot” club for him and his crew. He told us to call when we left and maybe we’d meet up. They left, we went to another party tent - drank some deadly mudslides until they were closing down the event.
We made it back to the car (P was not drinking because she was working) which involved Z getting lost at the port-a-potties, spraining his ankle, falling behind and ultimately pissing off P (sidebar - P and Z are brother and sister). Somehow I acquired some beads on the way to the car, too. Z finally makes to the car; him and P fight; P kicks him out of the car; I chase him down the road and tell him to get back into the car; they scowl at each other; we drop Z off.
P, H and I decide to meet Boy 2 and crew at the bar. What makes this funny is that this establishment is the kind of place where boys have to wear black pants and girls have to dress like sluts. We decide that we need to go dressed like cowgirls. Surprisingly, they let us in and we find the boys. Dancing and drinking ensue and somehow we lose Boy 2, et al. We leave, call them (let the night-fighting begin!) and they are going to an after hours place down the road.
We go there and they are all just hanging outside, so we just hang outside. Then we saw a girl passed out on the sidewalk and her boyfriend is trying to get her into his car, so I help and consequently get covered in puke. The bouncer at the after hours bar (which we never entered, just loitered outside of) gave me a wet towel to clean up, thanked me for my help and gave me a free pass to get in. Woo eee!!
The loitering gets old so Boy 2 decides we should all go to his town home, which is a few blocks down the road. We get there and he realizes he hid his key outside his front door, which incidentally is located behind a locked wrought iron fence. An 8 foot wrought iron fence.
Obviously, I volunteer to hop the fence. With the help from one of the crew (though H though I just Supermanned over the damn thing all by myself) I scrambled up but then my damn cowboy boot got caught in the top as I was starting my decent. If these were normal shoes, I could have slid my foot out of it and been ok, but my boots go about ¾ of the way up my calf. And so there I was, dangling face down from a fence as my foot slooooowly crept out of the boot, leading to the inevitable faceplant. Hilarity ensued and Boy 2’s roommate came out and opened the fence (why he didn’t call her in the first place, saving me some skin and blood, is unclear). I was given a band aid, a beer and then I think I may have done the electric slide or something to some Latin music. The girls were successful in their night fight and I built a wall of pillows down the middle of Boy 2’s bed and went to sleep (as it turns out, I was kind of creeped out at the thought of kissing my old lab partner - sorry P!!).
The End (kind of…)
Monday, April 28, 2008
Ouchy Ouchy Ouch Ouch
Sweet shit - if you ever want to be in the most pain of your life - play kickball for a few hours and then go bowling. Also, the key is to suck down a steady stream of beer while doing this to maintain dehydration and kick up the lactic acid build up a notch.
I feel bad for my co-conspirators in Super Sports Saturday...they had to go work today while I can moan and groan and cyber-complain to my hearts content.
PS -- There are rumors I might accept a job this week...
I feel bad for my co-conspirators in Super Sports Saturday...they had to go work today while I can moan and groan and cyber-complain to my hearts content.
PS -- There are rumors I might accept a job this week...
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
There's a $4000 fine for knowingly serving to minors in Texas...
My friend Zach moonlights as a waiter in a Mexican restaurant but is very busy doing his big kid job during the day - something about financial planning. Because I have so much time on my hands during this current stint of unemployment, he asked if I would take the Serve Safe test required by the state to sell alcohol. It was online, and it didn’t seem like anything I could fuck up, so I agreed to do it. Ha ha. Let me break down the steps to the ultimate failure of this project.
1.) Before Z goes to his big kid job, he calls the TABC (Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission) to register. He gives them his social, driver’s license number, etc…and a few details from his driver’s license. Height, weight, address, eye color… I was drinking coffee as I listened and laughed when he was like, “My eye color? I don’t know. Blue? Brown? No, they are gray definitely gray.” Z took off for work, and I popped in the DVD. Actually, I tried to just take the test, but it is timed so that you “have” to watch the video. I figured, what the hell, I had nothing better to do than watch a cheaply produced DVD from 1993 about alcohol sale safety.
2.) I finish the first section as Z’s sister, P, wakes up and asks what I am doing. I was supposed to go run some errands with her that day, but told her I was dedicated to the task at hand. Plus the movie was bitchin’. She told me I was stupid and took off to take a piss test. I digress… Watching the video proved worthwhile as the first part of the test asked questions like, “What color was the customer wearing in the second segment of part one of the video?” I get all the questions right and move on to parts 2, 3, 4 of the DVD. I have now pissed away about 3 hours of my day.
3.) In the final set of questions, they ask, “What is your SSN?” As the clock on the computer started ticking down (you only had 60 seconds to answer each question), I panic, but then P finds Z’s tax return documents and I type in the number with 1 second to spare. Phew. That was close.
4.) All questions are done and I hit “Submit” and the following disclaimer pops up: “To complete certification, immediately call 1.800 blah blah blah to talk to a test administrator. This must be done immediately, or test will not be valid.” Crap. I try to contact Zach to have him call this number, but he is still in a meeting. I confer with P and decide its not a big deal if I call and use a deep voice. I’m sure they just want to give me a confirmation number or something. P has to go in the other room so we don’t laugh (my “deep voice” is ridiculous).
5.) I call the number and here is the resulting conversation:
LADY: What is your SSN?
ABBY: ###-###-####
LADY: And who is this calling?
ABBY: Zach W.
LADY: This doesn’t sound like Zach W. I spoke with him this morning when he registered and I don’t think you are him.
ABBY I don’t know what to tell you. I am definitely Zach W.
(Shit shit shit!!):
LADY: Hmmm. Okay, well then maybe you can answer a few questions for me. What is your address?
ABBY: 6... No wait…3333 Cummins, blah blah blah
LADY: Good. What is your birthday?
ABBY: Uhhh… April ninth. Nineteeen eightyyyyyy, ummm, eighty-one.
(Oops, almost fucked that one up)
LADY: Uh-huh. Okay. What is your eye color?
ABBY: Gray. Definitely gray.
(Booyah!!!!!)
LADY: And how tall are you?
ABBY: 6’1”
LADY: I’m sorry. That does not match the information you gave me earlier. I can not verify this is who you say you are.
(CRAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
ABBY (without deep voice): Ok. You busted me. I am his sister (more lies!!!). What do we do now?
LADY: Z will have to retake the test himself. Have a nice day.
The best part is that when Zach retook the test a couple of days later, I was hanging at his apartment and decided to again watch the DVD with him.
1.) Before Z goes to his big kid job, he calls the TABC (Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission) to register. He gives them his social, driver’s license number, etc…and a few details from his driver’s license. Height, weight, address, eye color… I was drinking coffee as I listened and laughed when he was like, “My eye color? I don’t know. Blue? Brown? No, they are gray definitely gray.” Z took off for work, and I popped in the DVD. Actually, I tried to just take the test, but it is timed so that you “have” to watch the video. I figured, what the hell, I had nothing better to do than watch a cheaply produced DVD from 1993 about alcohol sale safety.
2.) I finish the first section as Z’s sister, P, wakes up and asks what I am doing. I was supposed to go run some errands with her that day, but told her I was dedicated to the task at hand. Plus the movie was bitchin’. She told me I was stupid and took off to take a piss test. I digress… Watching the video proved worthwhile as the first part of the test asked questions like, “What color was the customer wearing in the second segment of part one of the video?” I get all the questions right and move on to parts 2, 3, 4 of the DVD. I have now pissed away about 3 hours of my day.
3.) In the final set of questions, they ask, “What is your SSN?” As the clock on the computer started ticking down (you only had 60 seconds to answer each question), I panic, but then P finds Z’s tax return documents and I type in the number with 1 second to spare. Phew. That was close.
4.) All questions are done and I hit “Submit” and the following disclaimer pops up: “To complete certification, immediately call 1.800 blah blah blah to talk to a test administrator. This must be done immediately, or test will not be valid.” Crap. I try to contact Zach to have him call this number, but he is still in a meeting. I confer with P and decide its not a big deal if I call and use a deep voice. I’m sure they just want to give me a confirmation number or something. P has to go in the other room so we don’t laugh (my “deep voice” is ridiculous).
5.) I call the number and here is the resulting conversation:
LADY: What is your SSN?
ABBY: ###-###-####
LADY: And who is this calling?
ABBY: Zach W.
LADY: This doesn’t sound like Zach W. I spoke with him this morning when he registered and I don’t think you are him.
ABBY I don’t know what to tell you. I am definitely Zach W.
(Shit shit shit!!):
LADY: Hmmm. Okay, well then maybe you can answer a few questions for me. What is your address?
ABBY: 6... No wait…3333 Cummins, blah blah blah
LADY: Good. What is your birthday?
ABBY: Uhhh… April ninth. Nineteeen eightyyyyyy, ummm, eighty-one.
(Oops, almost fucked that one up)
LADY: Uh-huh. Okay. What is your eye color?
ABBY: Gray. Definitely gray.
(Booyah!!!!!)
LADY: And how tall are you?
ABBY: 6’1”
LADY: I’m sorry. That does not match the information you gave me earlier. I can not verify this is who you say you are.
(CRAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
ABBY (without deep voice): Ok. You busted me. I am his sister (more lies!!!). What do we do now?
LADY: Z will have to retake the test himself. Have a nice day.
The best part is that when Zach retook the test a couple of days later, I was hanging at his apartment and decided to again watch the DVD with him.
Welcome Back, Kotter!
Once again, I am going through a major life change. I have been unemployed (in Houston) for about 8 weeks now and a lot of shenanigans have happened during this time. I really need to be sharing these shenanigans (one more time to bring on the pistol whip) with the public. I am going to try and start remembering some stories to post as I keep a current events log as well. Be prepared to laugh...cry...it should be better than Cats.
I had a "story" occur to me today that inspired this reactivation of the blog. As I said, I have been unemployed for about two months, so it is really time to start looking for a job again. In the interest of laziness, I posted my resume on monster.com and have just allowed recruiters and such to call me. One of which is a recruiter from New Jersey who is trying to get me to take some contract work in Dallas. I need to make an aside, and say that I have been having fun with the recruiters (because they really are glorified telemarketers) and have been a bit mouthy and sarcastic - you know, standard Abby behavior. This either ticks them off, or enamors them to me. So, NJ recruiter found this charming and funny, so anytime we talked about interviews and what not concerning the Dallas job we would chit chat a bit. Basic stuff: weather, plans for the weekend, baseball (he's a Yankee fan - blech). I started to get the impression he was flirting with me over the phone...
So, today I had the phone interview with the company in Dallas (Painful. Why are engineers so hard to talk to?) and I get an email from him afterwards:
"congrats on your interview! i'm sure you'll get the job. whether you take it or not is the real queation! i didn't want to be the inappropriate one, but now that im emailing you outside of work, i guess i can be honest. i think you're a total cutie. i am quite direct, i know. just thought i'd tell ya. talk to ya soon :)"
My buddy suggested I sue him for sexual harassment so I can put off working a couple more months. Hee hee!!!
I had a "story" occur to me today that inspired this reactivation of the blog. As I said, I have been unemployed for about two months, so it is really time to start looking for a job again. In the interest of laziness, I posted my resume on monster.com and have just allowed recruiters and such to call me. One of which is a recruiter from New Jersey who is trying to get me to take some contract work in Dallas. I need to make an aside, and say that I have been having fun with the recruiters (because they really are glorified telemarketers) and have been a bit mouthy and sarcastic - you know, standard Abby behavior. This either ticks them off, or enamors them to me. So, NJ recruiter found this charming and funny, so anytime we talked about interviews and what not concerning the Dallas job we would chit chat a bit. Basic stuff: weather, plans for the weekend, baseball (he's a Yankee fan - blech). I started to get the impression he was flirting with me over the phone...
So, today I had the phone interview with the company in Dallas (Painful. Why are engineers so hard to talk to?) and I get an email from him afterwards:
"congrats on your interview! i'm sure you'll get the job. whether you take it or not is the real queation! i didn't want to be the inappropriate one, but now that im emailing you outside of work, i guess i can be honest. i think you're a total cutie. i am quite direct, i know. just thought i'd tell ya. talk to ya soon :)"
My buddy suggested I sue him for sexual harassment so I can put off working a couple more months. Hee hee!!!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Would you like fries with your McShizzel?
I recieved an email from a customer (one of the NPS guys from the casino trip) on Saturday night about work stuff. The resulting dialogue was pretty funny (names have been omitted to protect the innocent):
XXXXX wrote:
Right on! Whazzup with the Saturday night email...aren't you watching the Rock of Love reunion? Let me explore the bad juju with the bean weenies here...
(bad juju and bean weanies are referring to the work stuff)
Abby wrote:
Sox/Indians game
Is there really a Rock of Love reunion on? I'll have to catch that on reruns!!
XXXXX wrote:
C'mon girl, you are killing me...baseball is like weak sauce!!! Rock of Love reunion is the McShizzel...damn Jes Rickleff let my boy Brett Michaels down...what a scam! He should have picked Heather... I knew Jes was not down for him on the show. Thank goodness for I Love New York 2.
Abby wrote:
Did you just spoil it for me?
Obviously, Heather was pure 80's rock skank material, but Jes was hot and if you were a 40 year old burnout with a mysterious hairline, wouldn't you pick the 23 year old chicky?
Don't get me wrong, I love Bret Michaels. Maybe I'll try out for Season 2.
I am sure heather (or crazy Lacey) will get their own show a la New York.
As far as McShizzel's go, its the playoffs, Red Sox are going into extra innings. That's good stuff. Surprisingly, my auto-spell doesn't recognize McShizzel.
XXXXX wrote:
Hell no! Heather was fat...and Jes is a freaking ice cube...what we call a Starfish...easy on the 40 yo burnout...you are describing me to a tee! My hairline is not suspect though. Totally solid!
On another note, I met Tracy McGrady on Sunday while I was at the bar watching the Pats game. Whoop dee do.
XXXXX wrote:
Right on! Whazzup with the Saturday night email...aren't you watching the Rock of Love reunion? Let me explore the bad juju with the bean weenies here...
(bad juju and bean weanies are referring to the work stuff)
Abby wrote:
Sox/Indians game
Is there really a Rock of Love reunion on? I'll have to catch that on reruns!!
XXXXX wrote:
C'mon girl, you are killing me...baseball is like weak sauce!!! Rock of Love reunion is the McShizzel...damn Jes Rickleff let my boy Brett Michaels down...what a scam! He should have picked Heather... I knew Jes was not down for him on the show. Thank goodness for I Love New York 2.
Abby wrote:
Did you just spoil it for me?
Obviously, Heather was pure 80's rock skank material, but Jes was hot and if you were a 40 year old burnout with a mysterious hairline, wouldn't you pick the 23 year old chicky?
Don't get me wrong, I love Bret Michaels. Maybe I'll try out for Season 2.
I am sure heather (or crazy Lacey) will get their own show a la New York.
As far as McShizzel's go, its the playoffs, Red Sox are going into extra innings. That's good stuff. Surprisingly, my auto-spell doesn't recognize McShizzel.
XXXXX wrote:
Hell no! Heather was fat...and Jes is a freaking ice cube...what we call a Starfish...easy on the 40 yo burnout...you are describing me to a tee! My hairline is not suspect though. Totally solid!
On another note, I met Tracy McGrady on Sunday while I was at the bar watching the Pats game. Whoop dee do.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
It's Hammertime!
I am taking a quick time out from a three day CAD marathon. Today's annoyance: last night my computer ran automatic updates for Windows and itunes. Now, itunes doesn't work. It thinks it's playing a song, but it's not. I tried all iterations of install/uninstall and it still won't work. Couldn't find any threads on the web that helped. So not cool, because I had a taste for some Jon Secada. And I'm not making that up, either.
I suppose I should debrief on the dry casino adventure. The people there were all really cool and someone snuck some beer into the hotel. Twenty of us packed into a hotel room swilling Budweiser in a can, keeping our voices down when we heard a noise. It felt like sophomore year in high school all over again.
Night two, we ventured off to a dive bar. Kind of like Roadhouse, but on an Indian reservation. The Laguna Indians are awesome as they welcomed us with open arms into their establishment. The night got crazy and words can hardly describe the fun I had. One shining moment from the evening can kind of sum it up: I sang a karaoke duet with a 22 year old Navy ensign to...2 Legit 2 Quit by MC Hammer. Yes, I did the typewriter.
I suppose I should debrief on the dry casino adventure. The people there were all really cool and someone snuck some beer into the hotel. Twenty of us packed into a hotel room swilling Budweiser in a can, keeping our voices down when we heard a noise. It felt like sophomore year in high school all over again.
Night two, we ventured off to a dive bar. Kind of like Roadhouse, but on an Indian reservation. The Laguna Indians are awesome as they welcomed us with open arms into their establishment. The night got crazy and words can hardly describe the fun I had. One shining moment from the evening can kind of sum it up: I sang a karaoke duet with a 22 year old Navy ensign to...2 Legit 2 Quit by MC Hammer. Yes, I did the typewriter.
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