Exit Stage Left

Has it really been 18 month since I've written? I mean, really? Ugh. I'm a bad blogger. Sorry. No really. I am. Sorry.

In the past week, two of my once-loyal readers have reminded me that I used to write on a somewhat regular basis about my simple life climbing the ladder at work and in my simple life with my two cats. And I had "once loyal readers." And now, I actually have more interesting things to write about. Like the fact that I bought a house, got a neurotic dog and am getting married this fall and yet still...no blog. So, Kyra and Tara, this is for you. I promise to make an effort to post on a more regular basis about all the goings-on in wedding planning land and ticket selling land and homeowner-ship land, etc.

So, stay tuned. More to come. Soon.

I have long been a political fanatic. It all started during the '88 election: the year I realized that I was among the minority in my at-the-time-home state of Nevada by being a *gasp* Democrat and proudly announced to my fifth grade class that I may very well become the first woman President of the United States. At the time I was 25 years from even being legally eligible to hold the highest office in the land and thankfully I didn't even know how ridiculous it sounded that we would have to wait a quarter of a century to have a woman President. What an absolutely asinine concept. After all, Great Britain had a female Prime Minister in 1979; surely the citizens of the U.S. would come to their senses sooner than the election of 2016--when I'll be 38 and therefore legally eligible to run for President...if I so choose--or would they? Apparently I was wrong.

When Bill Clinton was elected to office in '92 I was an instant Clinton-atic. I couldn't get enough of his charisma, his charm and his wit. I couldn't get enough of her insatiable desire to be a different kind of a First Lady. Unfortunately the rest of the country wasn't ready to have a ball buster as the President's wife and her agenda turned quickly from health care and being a "voice for children" to that of a ceremonial figure meaning Easter egg hunts and lighting of Christmas Trees. "Women should be seen and not heard" apparently, and we're getting closer to 2016 all the while.

Three years ago in April I was visiting my friend, Heather, in Washington, D.C. and she had a bumper sticker hanging above her desk that said: Hillary '08: A Woman's Place is in the House...the White House." I almost stole that bumper sticker right off the cork board on which it hung and apparently Heather sensed my coveting because no more than two weeks later my own bumper sticker arrived in the mail. It was immediately placed in the back window of my car right beneath my "University of the Pacific" banner decal and there it has hung for three solid years. Rain and 100 plus degree days and at least two bona fide blizzards and that bumper sticker has held on...both before and after Hillary's official declaration of her candidacy. I like to think of it as an omen; a small representation of just what Hillary has to offer.

I've never been one to shy away from a sensitive social topic, so my next post will focus on the non-emotional reasons why I caucused for and will, if given the opportunity, vote for Hillary.

Hello loyal "readers." This is a quick post to say that I'm back... I think. I have realized just how much I have to say and just how much I've missed blogging, so I'm going to make a concerted effort to do more of it. Stay tuned.

Because I was sick when I got home from Nicaragua I wasn't able to take my second trip to see my mom in Reno. She's been wanting me to come out for awhile, as I've only been once in the two years that she's been there. I actually had this entire weekend off from work, and Christopher was quite busy with some volunteer work so I decided that I could afford to fork over the $55 for the round-trip ticket, once again afforded to me by my buddies Mike and Mary.

On Friday afternoon I hauled myself to the pass bureau to buy my plane tickets. When you go they give you three of the old-school tickets that you might remember from being hauled back and forth from your divorced parents when you were a small child. Oh, wait...that was just MY childhood. Anyhow...you get one ticket for each leg of the trip and then a receipt that details your purchase. I mention this, because this will become an important part of the story in a minute. Anyway, moving on.

By the time I left work on Friday I was sort of having second thoughts about the trip. I was to fly to Sacramento, rent a car and then drive over the mountains to get to mom's all after working a full week of work and not arriving until 11:15pm. I was already tired, and sort of had a bad feeling about it. But, I went to Chipotle, finished packing and headed out to the airport, regardless. Flying on Frontier at night is easy because they have so few flights. There was no line when I approached the check-in counter and was sent to an agent "to the left." She was nice enough--a somewhat rare occurrence when you're a non-revenue passenger--and checked me in pretty quickly. When all was said and done she handed me my boarding pass, sans ticket. Now, I've been flying standby courtesy of Mike's airline employment for more than two years now, I pretty much get the drill and I know that my ticket needs to be stapled to my boarding pass. I asked the agent about that and she said, "no, I keep that here." In fairness to me, Frontier did just implement a new system for listing on flights, etc. so I thought that maybe this was all part of it. But I digress.

When all was said and done I had made it through check-in and security in literally eight minutes. I headed out to the concourse with more than an hour to kill and wandered around people watching and perfecting my texting-while-walking skills. About 8:40 I finally headed to the gate and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent and sat down to wait for my seat assignment. Less than a minute later the gate agent called me back to the podium and wanted to know where my ticket was. I told her that the ticket agent who checked me in had kept it and she said, "well, they shouldn't have done that." Great. "Well, should I go back up there? Can I call someone?" She called the ticket counter and the supervisor said that they'd look for it. I sat down and about five minutes later was called back up to the podium, "Um, yeah.." in her best Bill Lumbergh impersonation, "they weren't able to find it. Do you mind running up there and finding the person you talked to?" No, bitch, I don't mind that at this point I'm supposed to actually be getting on the plane in 10 minutes and you want me to go back out to the terminal, find my lost ticket and get through security and back to the gate in less than 30 minutes. What choice do I have? I started huffing it back to the terminal.

I approached the counter and told the first person I found what had happened who pointed me towards the supervisor and another girl who were working on something together. Both were super-nice and helpful and started looking for my ticket. After I told them which kiosk I had checked in at and describing who it was who helped me they went into the back room. They emerged a few minutes later lost ticket in-hand. Phew. After receiving a brief, but stern lecture from the supervisor about how I should never give my ticket to the agent at the counter when I check-in and that I always need to make sure that my priority is accurate, blah, blah, blah. By this point it was about 9:15, my flight was leaving at 9:45, "could I please just have my ticket?!" She apologized, she didn't know that I was trying to catch a flight right at that moment.

I headed towards the main security line, which I never go through because I always fly out of the A concourse and take the walkway rather than the train. As I was walking down the escalator I began digging around to find my driver's license. I vaguely remembered it being in my back pocket, but now it wasn't there. I grabbed my wallet. No dice. I checked all remaining pockets and stopped to dig in my bag. I could not find my license anywhere. Now, how the hell am I supposed to get through airport security without my ID? Not to mention the fact that even if I did get to Sacramento, there was no way for me to rent a car. At this point my adrenaline rush was piquing. I grabbed my cell phone, sat down and while chuckling--because that's all I could think of to do--and dialed my mom. "I don't know if I'm going to make it." I briefly recounted the evening's events up to that point and told her about the latest debacle with my license. While I was talking, still quite not ready to give up, I began retracing my steps: up the escalator, down the hallway, back to the check-in counter, back to security (which was now closed for the evening) and no driver's license. Okay, it's was 9:25. I clearly wasn't going to make it. Defeated, I sat down and called my mom and told her that this wasn't going to happen. I give up. She was disappointed, but understanding. If the ticket debacle wasn't enough of a sign, the losing of the driver's license was. I was not meant to go on the trip.

I went down to baggage claim to wait for my bag to return to me, played a million games of bubble breaker and salivated over the glass of wine that was waiting for me at home. After 45 minutes my bag had not made an appearance. I filed a claim, rode the shuttle back to my car and called it a night. Even after all that, the main concern I was pondering as I trekked home was how I was ever to do my hair without my hairdryer!?

In Denver being a sports fan is almost a prerequisite for residence and as such (or perhaps in spite of it) I consider myself a sports fan. I'm not a sports fanatic, and I don't pretend to know everything about everything, but I enjoy watching most spectator sports.

As you know, the Colorado Rockies won entrance into the World Series a couple of weeks ago after a remarkable winning streak. Everyone was calling their success "destiny," including me, but I also said all along that they weren't capable of winning it all. However, even my lack of illusion about the success of our homegrown team has not kept me from the hype about the Rockies. At the risk of sounding like a fair weather fan (which I don't consider myself to be), I have watched more baseball in the last month than I have in the last five years. I like baseball, I even enjoy watching it on TV unlike a lot of fans, but these last three games have been such heart-breakers that I can hardly stand the idea of watching tonight's game. I even considered skipping it in the hopes that it might make the difference to the Rox, but like most obsessions my current obsession with Rockies baseball is not to be cured at this late juncture. And, so, yet again and for the last time I will settle in for the evening with a wad of gum and clench my jaw as the Rox inevitably hand the Sox the Series--in Denver. I'm not sure what is more heart-breaking: the Rox losing in a sweep, or the fact that the Sox are winning it in the Mile High City; I just wish they'd waited 'til they got back home to take it away.

I am proud to live in a country where I'm allowed--expected--to vote. I was more informed on candidates and issues at age 10 than my parents were, so when I turned 18 I was beyond excited to be able to cast my vote and I have never missed an election since.

With all the craziness surrounding the '08 Presidential election in addition to our own municipal election here in Denver next week my phone has been ringing off the hook. It only took my answering a call once, interrupting the caller by saying, "yes, I'm already voting yes on A-I, thanks for calling" *click* to know what to avoid in the future. The calls all show up on caller I.D. as coming from (000) 000-0000, which makes them fairly easy to ignore effectively.

While I was in Nicaragua--with no phone access--I came home to five voice mails all from candidates or campaigns. This morning I slept late (I'm on vacation okay?!) and while I was still sleeping, within 20 minutes of each other, I received five calls from that telling number, (000) 000-0000. I didn't bother to answer any of the calls because I've actually already filled out my absentee ballot for the municipal election next week, and I already know who I'm pulling for in the Democratic primary--I don't need to be sales pitched. But, I have to say that calling five times in such a short amount of time is quite brazen, in my opinion. I mean, that's the kind of thing that could actually reverse psychology on me, it could actually force me to vote against whatever they were pitching me on. That is, of course, if I weren't so stubborn in my political beliefs.

By the way, Denver residents: be sure to vote YES on Issues A-I on your ballot this year!

Random is the word to describe a lot about my life right now: randomly deciding to post on my blog. Randomly deciding when to work. Randomly choosing to go on a random vacation to a random country. Yes, random really is the most perfect adjective for my life.

While taking my random vacation (10 whole days off!) to a random country (Nicaragua) I got a not-so-random illness. No, I didn't drink the water, but I did manage to catch a nasty cold/flu/infection of some kind. And, of course, it happened on my first full day away from home. Being sick definitely put a damper on my trip, but the tropical depression that settled in over much of Central America and the rain that came along with it--the likes of which I've never seen before--took care of the rest. I was there visiting a good friend from college who has a beautiful house featuring all the comforts of home, including air conditioning, high speed Internet and cable TV so all was not lost, just somewhat washed away with the rain.

I can't really say that Nicaragua was on the top of my list of places to visit, but I can honestly say now that I'm SO glad I went and not just because the rum is the best I've ever tasted. The few pictures I managed to snap during the rain breaks are posted on my Flickr page, so check 'em out if you get a chance.

I love to blog, I really do, though I realize that that may not be clear at the moment, since I've not posted since August 15. Since then much has happened: I turned 29, The Little Mermaid officially opened and then closed at a whopping **.**% of capacity (I can't reveal the real numbers--that would be professionally irresponsible of me) and I have officially left singledom behind and am in a real-life grown-up relationship. Part of the problem with blogging right now is that I'm being really girlie and 99.9% of the time that I'm not with the boy the only thing I'm thinking about is the boy which does not an interesting blog post make. You've all been twitterpated, you know what it's like and don't need to read this blog for the details. Additionally, I have decided that it's not really fair to the boy to write about him publicly and while theoretically, as Talia pointed out, I could just write about my feelings, etc. I still feel like it would be slightly inappropriate for me to do so.

All that aside, I do need to make a bigger effort to post on a regular basis and I will do that starting tonight. Thanks for continuing to check back and for reading, it's a lot more fun when you know you have fans. :)

You may recall this post and this one from last September. While I was being quite vague about what was going on back then I think that nearly a year later I'm ready to 'fes up to what I did. Basically, I threw myself at a boy who paid a little too much attention to me at my high school reunion last year. I'm not generally the most forward girl when it comes to admitting my feelings in that department, so my sending a strongly worded, rather blunt e-mail on the subject was really quite bold, not to mention out of character. I kept asking myself, "will you regret doing it if you do it, or not doing it if you don't do it?" In the end I decided I would more regret not doing it than doing it. After all, what are the chances I would ever see this dude again anyway? Well...at least not until my 20 year reunion, of course. So I took the plunge and I don't regret it...not even now.

On Monday morning-bright and early-I boarded a flight to Seattle (details omitted for the time-being). I was, of course, later leaving the house than I'd planned, got caught in traffic on my way to the airport and arrived at my gate right at the end of the boarding process. While I was waiting in line, frantically text messaging everyone I know, I glanced to my right and could've sworn I saw the aforementioned guy with whom I went to high school with his head tossed back against the seat, snoring quietly while a dull, boring looking girl sat next to him. I did a double, followed quickly by a triple,-take clearly making the dull-looking girl uncomfortable. While I was on the jet way I could feel someone staring at me, could feel the eyes drilling into the back of my head, so I turned around. There he was. The high school boy. Staring right at me. As soon as I caught his eye he looked away, avoiding me. "Whatever," I thought, "I'm making this up. It's not him, there's no way, it's too weird." Like something you dream about happening, but never actually does. But, at the same time, I knew it was him... it was totally him.

When I got to my seat I whipped around as quickly as I could to see if I could figure out where he was sitting, but he had vanished into the sea of people on the plane. I figured I'd bolt off the plane and see if I could catch up with him when I got off the plane. I've known this kid for twelve years, we exchanged e-mails for weeks before the verbal diarrhea hit me and I decided to spill my guts to him, he should talk to me. This should not be a big deal. I'm over it, he should be too.

When the plane landed I had roughly an hour and a half to kill, so wandering around the airport looking for the dull, boring girl and the former high school crush was really no big deal, so I headed down to baggage claim area and spotted him instantly. I was not entirely comfortable walking up and saying "hi" so I mostly tried to make it obvious that I was there: pacing in front of the carousel where he was standing and the like. I was, of course, constantly engaged in something else going on, paying little attention to the people around me. In short: I was being slightly passive aggressive and a bit of a pansy. In the end, he never did say anything to me and suddenly he was no where to be found.

I don't know what it is about this boy that gives me such chutzpah, but shortly after his disappearing act I sent him a text message that said, "Were you really just ignoring me on that flight from Denver to Seattle?" I didn't ever get a response, which pretty much confirmed that it was him. Ultimately I don't really care, I just think it's funny that I have a bigger pair than he does.

I have an oddly shaped body and as such shopping can sometimes be a challenge. Whenever I need to buy a dress for an event (a couple times a year) it turns into an all-out hunting expedition. I look at department stores and specialty shops, boutiques and bridal stores and yet I rarely find anything worthwhile. Somehow I've always managed to make myself look fabulous for whatever event it is that I'm attending but it's not without a significant amount of sacrifice of time, talent and treasure. Of course, whenever a t-shirt and jeans girl puts on a dress people think she looks fabulous, so I'm not sure how much of a feat I've accomplished when it really comes down to it. But I digress...

In two weeks we will have the premiere gala for The Little Mermaid and being as I've worked my tail off (no pun intended) on this show I am really looking forward to going and just having a good time. However, as usual, the search for a dress had nearly put a damper on my excitement. For the past three weeks I've spent evening after evening, weekend after weekend hunting for the perfect dress. The only requirement was that I wanted color since I wore brown and black to the last two events, respectively. I've searched high and low, north, south, east and west; I have been to every mall in the metro area (except the Aurora mall and that doesn't really count now, does it?!) and found nothing of particular interest in my price range. In the past I've learned that just because I didn't find something at the Dillard's at Southwest Plaza mall doesn't mean that if I won't find something at the Dillard's at Flatiron's; not all department stores have the same selection, so it's definitely worth it to hit them all up in the hunt. The very first place I start the search is at Cherry Creek Shopping Center. I start at Macy's and work my way through stopping at Neiman Marcus and Saks just for the heck of it, even though one single sequin is out of my price range at either place. Even though I'd scoped out the selection at Macy's three weeks ago I stopped back in today as I was at the mall looking for a smart summer suit. I quickly glanced through the clearance rack and out popped possibly the most perfect dress ever...except it was one size too small. I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I fumbled through the rack praying there would be one in the correct size and within just a few seconds I had found it. It's totally fun and fits me like a glove. All I have to do is shorten the halter strap and find a really good bra and I should be good to go. I don't even think I'm going to get new shoes; I think I'll just wear the black patent leather peep toe pumps I wore to the last event--who's ever going to remember my shoes anyway?

One fabulous event, check. One fabulous dress, check. Now all I need is one fabulous date and hopefully I'll have that checked off the list by tomorrow. :)