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I love the look of fear in the bartender’s (Gary’s) eyes. Or was it Greg. I always get those four-letter G-names confused.
Hmm, perhaps THIS is why we spent $400 in 40 mins, ya think?
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So I spent an hour last evening uploading pictures galore to write this big, long witty post on my birthday, including a recap of all the debauchery. Well, maybe not ALL of the debauchery, but all that is fit to print.
Then (thanks, Firefox!) my browser crashed and I lost the entire post. Yes, my fault for not hitting draft, but still…argh.
Anyhoo, don’t think I have the energy to tell all about the week of Aubrey (now that I’m 29, have decided that I can limit the month of Aubrey to just a week – that’s how mature I am these days) but the pictures should tell most of the story. In case they miss something, I’m still trying to find my BlackBerry, my jean jacket, and a friend or two are still on the lookout for their pride after barfing on the curb. (And yes, these were GUYS.) Oh, and just know that my friends can drink you all under the table…ALL OF YOU.
Yep, that’s right, I’m in Vegas. It’s not only our National Sales Conference (Sin City doesn’t know what hit ’em when this throng of Googlers descended upon the city) but today is the widely-known holiday of "The Day Before My Birthday." Really, you should see these people celebrating already.
Anyway, pictures haven’t yet been posted (and I’ve amazingly kept the revelry to a quiet roar thus far) but tonight, all bets are off. There’s shuttles taking us from our serene resort here in Lake Las Vegas (hi, Ritz Carlton!) to the strip. Yes, that’s right, I think someone must have told Google about my birthday (and of course "The Day Before My Birthday") and they’re so kind to plan this whole evening of debauchery JUST for me.
Google – gotta love ’em.
One of the best local radio stations here in San Francisco, KFOG, airs their weekly program “Acoustic Sunset” every Sunday evening, and I invariably discover a new favoruite artist by tuning in. While they’re not that great about telling who the artist is, my trusty BlackBerry with its Google browser allows me to query the lyrics and I can usually find out who is causing me to dodge traffic and email while driving – the songs are usually that good.
This week’s discovery is no exception, and while it took a bit more searching to find the Damien Rice-esque crooner, I was successful in my pursuit. David Ford is startlingly blunt in some of the lyrics on his 8-song album “I Sincerely Apologize for all the Trouble I’ve Caused” and I’ve been playing “I Don’t Care What You Call Me” on repeat for the last 12 hours. Unable to find my USB upload-y cord for my iPod, I’m sitting here waiting on my flight listening to it from my computer, from where I downloaded the entire album. “Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck)” is another great track – I highly, highly endorse this album and invoke you to go forth and shell out the $8 – it will be well spent.
THIS is what I really want.
Stressed?
Confused?
Running around trying to figure out what to get me for my birthday next Thursday?
If you answered yes to the questions above, I’ve got a few ideas for ya.
Lovely, right?
Or perhaps:
Next time I have you over, we can share some good red together!
No? Already bought your gift? Good on ya. I like people that plan ahead.
I was going to call this post "Worst Music EVER" but my boss says that I use superlatives far too much. I prefer to say that I’m emphatic. Whatever. Let’s change it to "Quite Possibly Some of the Crappiest Music I’ve Willingly Listened to in a While." That works.
If you’ve been following that handy litte counter over there on the right sidebar, you’ll see just how bad this music is. No, I wasn’t speaking in hyperbole for once: it’s AWFUL. And I’m enjoying every single second of it.
Don’t believe me? ACTUAL SCREENSHOT OF MY ITUNES.
See? I wasn’t kidding.
I hadn’t meant to write this post, hadn’t meant to talk about this because really, it’s not that surprising. I kind of wish it was more surprising than it was, but alas, if I’ve learned anything in these nearly 29 years I’ve walked this Earth it’s that people don’t change. Let’s add emphasis: PEOPLE. DO. NOT. CHANGE. I used to want them to, used to expect life to end up like TV and movies and right always wins and those happy endings? Yeah, I thought they were possible. But not anymore. I’ve seen too much, lived through too much, and though this post is supposed to be lighthearted and talk about my crazy beach week(end) and post the pictures that are truly a blast, it was a guise, a placeholder until I deemed it appropriate to write about what I’m ending up writing about. No need for a filibuster here because, as I said before, I’m not that surprised and whether I care or not right now doesn’t really matter because I CAN’T care. It’s funny, when you know you really can’t care and shouldn’t be surprised, it makes it easier. You wouldn’t think that would be the case but in this instance, it is.
I’m writing about this because the song popped into my head, that old song by Sinead O’Connor that most of you don’t know but I do, a song that I hadn’t listened to or thought of in years…the song that goes:
Today’s the day
Our friendship has been stale
And we will meet later to finalize the details
Two years ago the seed was planted
And since then you’ve taken me for granted
But this is the last day of our acquaintance
I will meet you later in somebody’s office
I’ll talk but you won’t listen to me
I know your answer already.
I said it to someone last weekend: life doesn’t often shock me. And as dismal and fatalistic as it sounds, neither did this.
I don’t even wonder when, nor if. It affects me (dare I say hurt?) but soon it won’t. Each day I’ll care less and less and while I can acknowledge it’s a shame, I accept it for what it is: the future, as it should be. If only I were less jaded; but in fact, I don’t know how I could be. This has happened before, and even before that…but I won’t let it happen again. My shell, it’s back. And this time I think it’s here to stay.
This is the last day of our acquaintance.
So I did it. I entered Lila Belle in the "Choose the new ‘Magic’ Old Navy Mascot" contest. At post time, there are 119,325 dogs in the contest. I’m sure she’ll be in the top five (I mean, really, why wouldn’t she? Lila IS, after all, the cutest thing on four legs.) While the judges haven’t yet knocked on my door with the extra-large cardboard check in hand, I’m waiting with bated breath for them to do so. In the meantime, and while you check out her entry below, let’s talk about how great she is.
Lila is funny. This is the only dog I’ve ever met that is creative in her awakening techniques. You see, if she decides it’s time for you to be up, she is nothing if not persistent. She stands on one side of the bed, barking her tell-tale "WOOF"; if ignored, she goes to the other side and repeats her strategy. Again, if she doesn’t receive her desired response (read: me getting up from my nice warm featherbed to go take her to smell where every dog this side of the Mississippi has lifted her leg), she employs Operation: Steamroller wherein she lays all of her (darling) 25 lbs. on my chest and rolls from head to toe and back again until the only alternative to this torture is to, in fact, do just what she wanted. Featherbeds lose their lustre after being repeatedly steamrolled by an overzealous dog (tail-wagging ensuing).
Lila is smart. She knows the difference between "Duckie" (her favorite Old Navy toy – and no, that’s not just a plug so I’ll have a better shot at winning, it really IS her favorite toy) and "Teddy" and can discriminate between a "toy" and a "bone." She can sit, lay down, and now can even crawl around the room (upon promise of a treat, another entity she knows all too well.) She’s a bit confused on "shake" but from the glint in her eye, I think she knows what I’m asking, but just thinks I’m stupid to be doing so. And – glory behold all things happy and sparkling and wonderous in the world – she has learned "drop it." Already this week this has saved me, say, seven pairs of (overpriced, very lacy) underwear. Good, GOOD dog, Lila Belle.
Lila is friendly. She firmly believes every lap is hers for the taking in reverse Santa Claus fashion, regardless of her 25+ lb frame. She’ll look up at you (while sitting on your PowerBook) with her long, Looooonnnggg eyelashes to convey just how lucky you are to have her in your presence. She may chew a bone (ON you, of course), may want to wipe her sullied-from-wet-Iams mouth all over your new white skirt, but damnit, you are the chosen one for her affection. That’s NOT a cross to bear, it’s a privilage.
So you see, WHY WOULDN’T she be the judges’ choice? She’s cute, funny, smart and friendly! And one of a kind, to boot, as I learned this weekend. Yes, my brilliant, amazing, talented dog performed her deal-breaker while she was staying with her ever-tolerant "Uncle Kevin" as I lazied my days away at the beach. While en route to a winery in Sonoma, Lila Belle added her piece de resistance to her application: oenophile. Yes, my dog was so overcome by the sights and smells of wine country that she found it necessary to JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW of the moving car (going about 35 mph) just to get herself closer to the nectar of the gods.**
Sigh. Brings a tear to this dog-mama’s eye – my puppy is a wine lover after my own heart.
**NOTE: Thankfully, despite her acrobatics, ingenuity and persistence to get to the vineyard, she wasn’t seriously hurt. As the story goes, the car behind them DID come to a screeching halt while a road-burned Lila trotted off to find the grapes. She’s got a few cuts and scrapes (serves her right, the silly little thing) but alas, I’m not only one PROUD puppy-mama, I’m also a very lucky one. We’ll be leaving the windows open just a crack from now on.
Sometimes I think these things, these beyond ridiculous and preposterous things that would sound incredulous if they were happening to anyone but me, DO happen to me so I’ll later have something to write about. And yes, later…it takes time to digest these instances of pure insanity before I can appropriately find the words to describe them. Because trust me, you may have a hard time believing them even in a few weeks or months when I find the right words to sufficiently downplay their seeming hyperbole. In the meantime, at least, I get to create, and use, words like “douchebaggery.” Which, until I can find other words to try and make sense of it all, is what I’ll leave you with.
AubreySabala.com 