...but how dumb was she?

I tend to refrain from work-related discussions here. Why? Mainly because I do not want this to get me into trouble. Underneath my rather fearless facade is still a scared little girl afraid of breaking curfew. However, what happened today really and truly needs to be shared with the masses.

I will tell you this: My client is SO dumb....

(And this is your part where you say....HOW DUMB WAS SHE???)

...Well, she forgot my name.

Sigh. True story. I spoke with her three times last week to schedule an in-person meeting in my office. I had left her at least three messages in addition to the times I spoke with her on the phone. In each of those messages, I stated clearly both my first and last name. I DID NOT STUTTER. In any event, we scheduled the meeting for this morning. On Friday, I had given her both the time and the location of our meeting, including the floor on which my office was located.

Ten minutes after she is supposed to have arrived, I received a call from another floor in my building. Client was down there, did I know she was coming? I assured that person, yes, I was expecting her, send her up. I continued my review of the client's file. Twenty minutes passed, and I began to wonder why no one has notified me to her presence. I left my office to look for her. She was not in our lobby area. I returned to my office and called client on her cell phone. She did not answer, and I left a message. I continued to review the file, getting more and more irritated. After another twenty-five minutes or so, I went to look for her again.

This time, I went up to the receptionist on my floor. At this moment, I began to realize the level of intelligence with which my client I was operating. My receptionist called the receptionist on the other floor and the mystery of the missing client was solved. Apparently, what had happened was this: Client went to one floor. They looked up her case, called me, and sent her to my floor. When she got to my floor, she had NO idea why she was there, and again had NO idea who she was there to see. (Allow me to remind you that she had spoken to me THREE times last Thursday and Friday.)

She eventually left saying, "I guess they made a mistake." (SERIOUSLY.)

I went back to my office and left another message for her on her voicemail. Of course, the instant I left my office, she began to call. Apparently she had left her cell phone at home. Additionally, she had "been all over the building and NO ONE had any idea what was going on." (REALLY!!??? INCLUDING YOU, DUMBASS.)

I counted to thirty before I called her back. I knew that it would serve no purpose to yell at her, and that this would likely get me in trouble with my supervisors. I called her back and politely told her she must remember my name. I even spelled it for her. I also told her that she should have my phone number on her in the event that she forgot my name AGAIN.

Sigh. Yep. My client forgot my name. That is how dumb she is.

Melt-down No. 867.

Suffice it to say that my first world problems have gotten the upper hand, and I had a melt-down this morning shortly after getting to work. I do not even want to express what really set me off. Rest assured, it was the dumbest thing ever.

SIGH.

Stupid wedding.

Also on the horizon is saying goodbye to my very dearest friend. She embarks on a new east coast adventure this next month. Luckily, the goodbye is not forever, and really, we likely will see each other the same amount as when she lives here, but I am still sad. Saying goodbye is never easy. Tonight, our tight-knit group will tie one on and likely drink too much champagne to say "bye for now." It will be fun. We will laugh. We might cry. Most of all, we will be together. Well, until next month at my bachelorette party. We'll do that all again. "Cuz that's what friends are forrrrr...." (And, now that song is stuck in my head.)

This morning was a colossal failure in my privileged, whiny, white-girl world.

But then P.I.C. texts me about something and instead of "Yeah," his fancy Android phone changes it to "Utah." Sigh. I think he knows how much I love it when he says, "Utah" so he leaves it to make me smile. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am marrying him.

Well, that and his ridiculously good fashion sense.

All the exciting things you likely don't care to know.

Remember how I said that I was not going to become obsessed with my wedding? How I didn't care that much? Blah. Blah. Blah.

I LIED.

I mean, I'm not fully obsessed. I will confess, however, that my nerves have been shot lately. I might have threatened to punch a caterer in his nether regions if he didn't send me a contract soon. Well, I didn't say that to his face. I said it to P.I.C. who laughed, then slowly hid my phone from me. As if?! We all know my level of passive aggressiveness. I might broadcast it on the interwebz, but I most CERTAINLY will not tell him that to his face. (Good news...I got the contract today!)

I had a truly lovely bridal shower, a fantastically food-rific engagement party (props to La Gondola...seriously, if you are a Chicagoan, you must go here. The food is delightful. I have fabulous dreams about their pastas) and our wedding date creeps nearer and nearer. I try very hard to not be one of "those" people and talk incessantly about my wedding, cuz seriously? No one cares that much. Just say, "Don't worry, it's open bar" and people will love you. (Also. It IS open bar. COSMOS FOR EVERYONE!!!!)

I mean, you can drink a cosmo if you want. I probably will stick to champagne. But the point is, if you WANT to drink cosmos at my wedding, you probably can.

In other, non-wedding related news, one of my "crazies," as I have not-so-affectionately nicknamed the people that sue my clients pro se (sans lawyer) has retaliated against my stellar courtroom performance. Yup, the seal has been broken and that S.O.B. sued me (please don't tell me you need to know what I mean when I say "S.O.B.") On Valentine's Day, no less! The very day I professed my love for the world and for my friends via blog posting. In any event, it's more annoying than anything. The man is legitimately mentally unstable. I didn't do anything wrong. But geez, if he wanted to send me a valentine, regular mail was fine...he didn't need to send a Cook County Sheriff. Stay tuned for updates on that little exciting bit in my life.

So, to recap: Crate and Barrel has taken over our tiny apartment. I got sued by a nutter. Wedding planning is slowly driving me mad.

Life sure is interesting here.

A Valentine to all of my friends.

I do not despise Valentine's Day, however I am not one to put a ton of pressure on celebrating (or not celebrating) the day. I have a sweetie, we will have dinner at home and some champagne tonight after work, and it'll be lovely. I have no doubts. I will tell him, like I tell him every single day, that I love him and am grateful that he is in my life.

However, rather than go on and on about how wonderful my significant other is, I'd like to take this as my opportunity to profess my love to my friends. Therefore, I declare this my Valentine to all of you*...you know who you are. May my words reflect the appropriate amount of glitter and cut out hearts that I just didn't have the time or energy to assemble this year.

My friends are a random assortment from various parts of my life. Whether it be those in my life whom I have known since we were itty-bitty (and we used to ride our bikes to cheerleading practice!) or those that I have met most recently, my friends are tops. Truly. I feel confident that my friends are tops. The bee's knees, if you will. Whether it be a long-winded phone call or a long chain of hilarious text messages, even though friend that I do not see often enough are hugely a part of my life. The ones that are local ply me with wine, giggles and plenty of photo opportunities that enable me to look back on our times and smile.

So to you, my friends whether you be my oldest or my newest, please know this: I love you. My world is better with you in it. You are part of my family.

Happy Valentine's Day.

*I know, this is an unprecedented display of verbal emotion. However, there are some days you are just overwhelmed with the love. Today is one of them. If you don't like it, suck it.**

**P.I.C. once told me "You sure tell people to 'suck it' at lot in your blog." Guess what my response was?

I heart a good snack.

My coworker and I were chatting about snacks today. I had just eaten a most delicious Greek yogurt with caramel and was commenting on how amazing it was, and she made the observation that snacks were essential to her life. (As an aside, if you have not tried the caramel Oikos, you are missing out. In fact, I give you this challenge: buy it, eat one, and TRY not to use your finger to get the last remnants out of the container. It's truly delicious.) I had to agree with her. Snacks ARE an important part of life.

Allow me to explain the following scenario:
P.I.C. and I are at a wedding. P.I.C. has not eaten since breakfast, and it is nearing dinner time. P.I.C. is getting increasingly crabby. I notice that I have a Lara bar in my bag from the week and offer it to P.I.C. What happens? P.I.C. instantly stops acting like a jerk.

See? Snacks are important.

Even when I think back to when I was younger, I remember my mom always having snacks on hand. Whether it was the handi-snacks that she would give to us as a surprise (thus starting my love for the fake cheese taste) or the mini-boxes of raisins she would tote around with her as we ran errands, snacks were always there. To this day, I can't resist a tiny little box of Sun-maids. They make me think of Mom. On a more practical note, they also abate hunger. Win for everyone!

Today, I keep some Trader Joe's trail mix in my desk drawer at all times. No one wants to be on the receiving end of my hunger anger. No one. Snacks keep me sane. You heard it here first.

My greatest invention.

As a young lady, I was an avid reader. I would sneak my book under my desk in math class to read rather than pay attention. I would read as late into the night as my parents would sleep (usually undetected, but I would get the occasional scolding for staying up past my bedtime). Because much of my reading was done in bed, I reading lamp was essential. I had one of those "clip onto the headboard" thingies that would enable me to have direct light on my book at the head of my bed. The one problem with this lamp was that the shade was made of metal. Left on for any length of time, it became quite hot. Any touch of it would sear my skin. That was pretty awesome.

One year, one of our class projects (I cannot for the life of me remember which class) was to come up with an intention. My constant burning of my skin due to late nights spent reading and my inability to fall asleep timely created the best idea for me: I would make a cover for my lamp. My mom found some fabric for me and helped me sew  cover for the small lamp. Blue and fuzzy, and I'm certain that cover my mother and I so diligently crafted was a fire hazard. But me? I had THAT part covered. You see, the blue fuzzy version was just a model. My actual invention would be of a fire-proof cloth. Asbestos? Yes. That was the material from which my invention would be made. To me, that was a brilliant touch.

In my defense, as a ten year-old, I had no idea that asbestos would cause cancer. How could I know that there would be millions of dollars invested in removing this material from buildings? Could I be expected to foresee that there would be billions of dollars sought for injuries sustained from this fire-proof material. No. I only knew it as a fire-proof material. Again, as a ten year-old, this detail made my invention particularly efficient and practical. Additionally, my dad always instilled in me a great fear of house fires. We had to ensure that every potential fire hazard was eliminated before we left the house. Toaster? Unplugged. Hair dryer? Unplugged. Clearly, my invention must be similarly conscientious of this fire hazard aware family in which I lived.

Sadly, I did not get a patent for this invention. I used my blue, fuzzy lamp cover unbeknownst to my dad for awhile until I did realized it would get very hot as well. It was thrown away eventually.

Let it be known, that to this day, my hair dryer gets unplugged every time I leave the house. I might not put it away, Dad, but it is most definitely unplugged. (Proof that I would listen occasionally.)

My secret talent...is not singing.

Deep in my heart, I know that I have an undiscovered talent. One day, I will do something I have never done before, and instantly, I will be brilliant at doing it. I have really done a lot of research to narrow down what this could be.

For the longest time, I swore I was an EXCELLENT singer. I would sing in the car and think I sounded awesome. Yes, I might have been relegated to the chorus in school musicals, I knew my talent was too great to be kept to the chorus for long. I thought that when I was promoted from "Student Number Four" to "Student Number Three" and given FOUR lines in my school's production of "Little Miss Christie," I was on my way to stardom. Sadly, I eventually realized that I didn't really have any singing talents.

But secretly? I still hope that my singing talent will develop. I have ventured into the realm of karaoke a few times as of late and have found out that I can hit about three (3) notes. Please do not ask me WHICH notes, because I could not tell you. These three notes, so long as I only sing THOSE notes, can give people the impression that yes, I can sing. Sadly, those are the only three notes I can sing, no matter how hard I try. I actually had a really embarrassing experience in the car the other day try to belt out a Katy Perry tune (DO NOT JUDGE ME) and my voice cracked. It was at this moment that I realized that my secret talent would never be singing. (Either that, or I hit puberty again.) While I might be able to fool a few friends in a private room up at Lincoln Karaoke, I know that those three notes will never translate into an awesome talent. Sigh.

I'm pretty sure that beer made me think that I could hit four notes, not just three.

The search continues.

While I have found some things that I can do well such as cooking (sometimes), drinking wine (ALWAYS), and dancing (that's more of a former talent...my skills these days are rather sad), I still will continue searching for the one thing I can do better than almost anyone else.

But not singing. Well. Not right now.

"Ma'am, you need to get off the bus."

That is a direct quote from a bus driver this morning.

SIGH.

After yesterday's rather chaotic and lengthy commute, I decided to go via bus. I walked several blocks to the next major east/west street and boarded THAT bus. Win, right? Well, my Chicago Card failed to work. Again. This time, the bus driver was not so nice. I couldn't find my back-up card, and had no cash, so I could not pay for my bus fare. What happened? The bus driver kicked me off.

"Ma'am, you need to get off the bus." That's what he said to me.

Now, I was not trying to get a free ride. I pay for unlimited bus/train rides because I do not have a car. I had already paid my $86 for the month. The bus driver refused to allow me to stay on the bus. Instead, I was booted off, forced back out into the frigid air and forced to deal with the situation in another way. After one tearful and pathetic call to P.I.C., I walked to the nearby Dominick's and bought a $10 pre-paid card. I caught another bus, this time trying my Chicago Card again, just in case. Guess what? It worked this time.

I got to work only about thirty minutes late (thankfully), but not the thirty minutes early I had intended.

At least it's Friday, right?

Everyone's talking about their snow days. I WILL TOO!

Only because everyone ELSE is talking about their most awesome snow day today (and NO ONE is mentioning that the groundhog DID NOT see his shadow...early spring!), I feel compelled to do the same. Oh yeah. I will be posting my photos too.

P.I.C. and I had a lovely couple over for dinner last night which turned into a "let's drink lots of wine and be silly" party due to the fact that we slowly and surely found out that we were NOT required to work the following day. Apparently, I was not considered an "essential" employee. If that means I get a snow day, FINE BY ME! We braved the thundersnow (it DOES exist) and the blowing winds with shrimp risotto, sauvignon blanc, then another bottle of red. Why not, right? P.I.C. actually had to go into the office. Apparently, his boss did not find it necessary to let people know that the office was closed before the official start time. Poor P.I.C. This was him, embarking on his work day out our front door:

He worked for a bit (he really is a diligent worker) then came home. We then ventured out to watch the Liverpool match at the local soccer bar. Honestly, I really just wanted to get out and play in the snow. It was GLORIOUS and white and clean-looking and beautiful. I am relatively certain that I will be cursing that same snow in the very near future, but let's stay on my positive streak.

We ventured out onto our very clearly non-traversed street:

And paused for a glamor shot to show that I, too, was present in the Snowpocolypse 2011, or whatever cute nickname has been officially decided for this crazy blizzard we've experienced:

It was the soccer bar where P.I.C. wholly offending me by absolutely refusing to share his chicken sandwich with me when I discovered that my chili was rife with the one thing on this earth I detest (OLIVES...BLECH).  Apparently, because I knew that the buffalo chicken sandwich was his "ush" (he actually said that), I really should know that he was not up for sharing. I have yet to determine his punishment for proving that he failed that vital lesson in kindergarten.

My evening was spent making homemade chicken soup (necessary) and watching my new obsession, Modern Family. (Every single person that suggested I take up this show was absolutely correct: I LOVE it.) All in all, it was a rather fabulous and lazy day. I'm pretty satisfied as to how it worked out.

Now I feel a little greedy. When I called that 1-888 number to find out if our office would be closed again tomorrow and it said that Thursday, February 3, 2011, all offices state-wide would be OPEN, I had a Stephanie Tanner "HOW RUDE" moment. I know. I should  (and really, I AM) be grateful that I got a snow day. But I WANT MORE.

(I also have the sneaking suspicion that the reason that the groundhog did not see his shadow was because he could not get out of his little hole...he was snowed in. But that's neither here nor there, I suppose.)