Tuesday, July 15, 2008

All play, no work...

So the countdown has begun. I have officially twelve and one half days left in the office. If you've spoken to me within the last year and half since I entered the workforce, you've probably heard me complain pathetically about it--the workforce that is. I'm done, folks. Which is why I'm now a proud member of the freelance world and so far, things are looking up. Here's why:

So last week, I went to Scottsdale, Arizona for one of my new writing clients, um, that has now become my favorite client, for the record. Scottsdale is apparently the next LA in case you haven't heard. I'm a small town girl that loves a bargain, which is why I almost wet my britches when I learned that after arriving in Phoenix, a lovely car was going to pick me up and deliver me to my hotel, the Kierland Westin. Nice.

Little did I know that the chauffeur and fancy hotel goodness was just the beginning. After a sprinkling of work, we head over to our dinner location, Mastro's Ocean Club. Mind you, there are no oceans even close to Scottsdale, they can dream. This place is 'fly', folks. So fancy, in fact, that a lovely young lady hands you a towel after washing your hands in the bathroom. I'm a spry, able-bodied young woman and can reach the eight inches for my own towel, but that's beside the point. Maybe she's just there to ensure that you do indeed wash your hands, but I was impressed just the same.

We're there with about fifteen or so of their top people and for a bunch of over achievers, these people know to party. The wait staff is passing around the tequila shots before they've even placed the bread baskets. I'm thinking it could be a long night when the CEO stands and declares that he's going to make 'a few toasts' and informs the wait staff that as he's doing this, a few people might consume their shot of Patron tequila and when they do, to promptly bring them another one. Yikes.

So we're about a third of the way around the table for toasts/introductions and I'm plastered. The gentleman next to me and myself have cleaned, and I do mean CLEANED, our side of the chilled seafood tower--shrimp, lobster, crab legs, etc--and he is nonchalantly rotating the dish in microscopic increments so that the people across from us don't notice that we're mining for any errant shrimp that they, technically, are entitled to. And they haven't even taken our order yet. Not to mention, he keeps reporting me to the waiter every time he's sees that my shot glass is empty.

And the next night, we did it all over again at Barcelona. How awesome is that? I almost feel guilty to charge them. After two days in Scottsdale, I was two pounds heavier than when I arrived. Not good.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Fire does NOT work

Of late, the California landscape has been uncharacteristically grim. Sure, competing climates can produce a lingering but slightly romantic fog. But what is in the air is something slightly more toxic than water vapor. In fact, the normally outward-bound people of northern California have been driven indoors by the smoke. Yes, smoke. No not from cigarettes, you kidding? You can't even smoke in your own home in CA. As hundreds of wildfires burned across the state over the last few weeks, the skies have been a little more brown than blue.

Thank goodness things are getting under control and as we move into the Fourth of July holiday weekend, it looks like we're going to have almost perfectly clean air to breathe. However, I'm just glad I'm alive to experience the 4th of July this year since I almost ran into a light post after driving past a fireworks stand the other day. What? Yes, folks. They are selling FIREWORKS on just about every street corner around here. What knuckle-head authorized that? It's so dry out there I can't drink water fast enough and people still gotta have their fireworks.

C'mon people. Don't make me thump you.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Internal dialogue at 6 am

Tell me if you do this too: it's been a while. So you promise yourself that tomorrow morning, you're going to do it. Six a.m. is upon you and once again, you're disgusted with yourself because your desire to stay in bed is ludicrously stronger than your desire to get out, in the cold, and go to the gym. You must be crazy.

I've been doing this for several weeks now. Tomorrow is always the day. See, I was doing so good. My eyelids were falling open every morning--even on weekends--and I was at that gym like a duck on a junebug. For a good three months this was my routine. Then, the inevitable happened. I took a trip. Two time zones away. Pretty much haven't been to the gym since.

Luckily, I have quasi-decent self control when it comes to food, so the consequences of my absence at the gym aren't too shocking--yet. But even though I know in my head that the satisfaction I have after a good workout is SO much better than that extra hour of sleep, the sleep still seizes me. The SHAME! What I am proud of, however, is the conversations I'm having with myself about this very topic at the wee hours of the morning. For some reason, I'm awake enough for a little debate, but not awake enough for a jog. Ridiculous.