Well, dear reader, I survived "The Attack of the Jackals" in San Francisco, which can more aptly be described as "The Purring of the Kittens" with "The Occasional Bark of the One Bull Dog". The barks were not directed at moi. Bull dogs have a very highly developed sense of self-preservation, I hear.
The ride from SFO to the hospital was harrowing. Our driver was a very chatty Chinese immigrant, who could not stop talking about his love for scalpals, once he found out we were outfitting a hospital. What was more discomfiting however, was he drove literally like a fucking bat out of hell, and I am not faint of heart when it comes to driving. My ex-husband (most Old French Whores are divorced, FYI) put a license plate holder on my car that read "Caution: Stunt Driver" and threatened to put large numbers on the doors and hood if I didn't learn to slow down and stick with one lane.
Aaaanyway, the meeting was productive & civil, and the attendees ran the gamut from somewhat curt (the bull dog) to downright enchanting. The weather cooperated nicely by being warm (70 degrees!) and sunny (thanks, weather!) One couldn't have asked for more, and yet...the one truly enchanting, old-school, (old school, not old) gentleman-like meeting attendee (who will henceforth always be referred as The Truly Enchanting Mr. J.) then made the world stand still by asking my snarky & witty co-worker (just the way I like my co-workers!) and I to lunch at a delightfully relaxing and tasty restaurant in The Galleria (naturally) of the Design Center (of course). I highly recommend the place: great food, great service, truly enchanting company. What more can a gal ask for? Alas, ladies, (and homosexual gentlemen) he is spoken for. Sigh.
The Truly Enchanting Mr. J. then dropped us off at City Hall in order to admire the architecture of that grand and stately edifice, and lounge (and possibly score some meth or git us a ho? WTF, SF City Hall???) in the park area across the street, since we had some time to kill before hailing a cab to take us to SFO.
Now I will take the time to wax poetic and wistful about the wisdom of a man's being handsome, charming and extremely well-groomed, if he possibly can be. It takes remarkably little effort fellas, to not be the bald-headed bull dog at the meeting. The bald-headed bull dog is not awful or ugly or terrible, but he is a bald-headed bull dog. (Disclaimer: Some of my favorite people are bald, I am not slighting bald people in any way. Don't leave comments about my not liking bald people. I have dated bald people for fuck's sake!) The bull dog's aim is to let everyone know a.) he is the alpha-dog at this meeting and b.) he does not suffer fools. Good to know. Nevertheless, when one sees the exact opposite in every aspect, save competence (for both of the men I am alluding to are indeed extremely capable indiviuals), sitting literally across the table from each other, the head swivels to and fro and one thinks to oneself, "Hmmm...'Bull dog -or- Truly Enchanting Mr. J.? Bull dog -or- Truly Enchanting Mr. J.? Bull dog -or- Truly Enchanting Mr. J.?' It's kind of a no-brainer. I choose you, Truly Ennchanting Mr. J. I mean, really? Who would you rather go to lunch with. AND the guy wouldn't even let us pay!
Then the beautiful dream of a day had to come to an end and the plane had to land in 46 degrees and raining Seattle. Shit sandwiches. And this morning I arrived at work only to find that the power is out (again!) in our office building (Not my fault! I swear! It happened BEFORE I got to work!) The Seattle City Light people say they expect the power to be restored to our building at 3:57p.m. I am not making this shit up. Not 3:54. Not 3:59. Not 4:06. At 3:57p.m. (Those people are completely full of shit. They cannot explain why only our building ever loses power. How can the entire rest of the city of Seattle be up and running and we are down?) The main reason why this sucks so hard is that I told the bull dog at the hospital that I would have some serious deliverables to him by Wednesday afternoon. And I don't want to experience the bull dog's bark. So I'll be at the office at 6a.m., and will work straight through until the promised documents are indeed deliverable, and not a moment before, which come to think of it is not very Old French Whore-like. At all. But a girl's gotta eat. And buy shoes...So maybe there's something to this bull dog thing after all...I can't imagine The Truly Enchanting Mr. J. biting anyone's head off for any reason.
4.03.2011
My How Time Flies...
...when you have a job. The last time I wrote I think some of my country cousins had just left. Since then another batch came and went, but these were city cousins. Well, 1 cousin. My sister housed the other city cousin and we spent the weekend shopping and eating and listening to great music. We saw the band "The Clumsy Lovers" (yes, yes, I know they finally named a band after moi...)
There occurred during the weekend shopping foray a particularly OFW split down the middle of the party...my sister had called me and my cousin and my sister-in-law (we were all 3 already in downtown Seattle fully engaged in the Nordstrom Mothership Experience) from the bus where she and her entourage (daughter, cousin, friend from Spokane) where fast approaching our exact coordinates. She asked where we were and I told her. I then said we were getting peckish and would be requiring sustenance in short order & suggested the cafe on the top floor of The Mothership, since it was right handy. Their party arrived forthwith and the darling 22 year old offspring of my charming sister piped up with a, "We're not really down with your choice for a place to eat lunch, aunt Katois." "Well, I'm not married to the choice, pick a better one and I'll gladly follow." She then informed me her comestible milieu of choice was a Vietnamese place 6 blocks away that sold pastries filled with meats of dubious origin for $2.00 at the Pike Place Market. I informed her that 1.) It's raining and 2.) My hair looks cute (it did) and the moisture will destroy it, and 3. I have no desire to stand outside in the rain eating a greasy pastry filled with god-knows-what when I still had shopping to do at or near The Mothership. So the party split up as we had met up, my gals agreeing that Nordstrom Cafe was a more pleasant alternative and the intrepid four scampering about the city-scape gobbling down hum-bow.
To keep you abreast of the goings on in my pretty little head: I am still very nervous about the state of Godzilla country and the effect her radiation poisoning will have on yours truly and those she loves. I wonder why Muammar Gaddafi's female bodyguards don't try to dissuade him from the hair and moustache dye-it's not fooling anyone. I place bets with myself on when Charlie Sheen will come to in Tijuana with no front teeth and no recollection of how he got there. Just some of my musings...
Well, I'm going to get ready for work tomorrow-I have to be at SeaTac at the barbaric hour of 5:30a.m. in order to catch a plane and be at my meeting in San Francisco by 10:00a.m. Wish me luck and pray the jackals don't flay me alive. I am the new kid on the block and apparently rendering the flesh of the newbies is one of the favorite pastimes of the group I'm to meet with. Oh well, it's nothing an Old French Whore hasn't faced before. And usually those attempting to assault me end up in the I.C.U. with their bodily fluids and gasses entering and leaving their carcasses via tubes and bags with round-the-clock teams of highly skilled medical personnel hovering nearby. Figuratively speaking, of course. Good thing the meeting is at the new hospital trauma center, though. I'm just sayin'...
There occurred during the weekend shopping foray a particularly OFW split down the middle of the party...my sister had called me and my cousin and my sister-in-law (we were all 3 already in downtown Seattle fully engaged in the Nordstrom Mothership Experience) from the bus where she and her entourage (daughter, cousin, friend from Spokane) where fast approaching our exact coordinates. She asked where we were and I told her. I then said we were getting peckish and would be requiring sustenance in short order & suggested the cafe on the top floor of The Mothership, since it was right handy. Their party arrived forthwith and the darling 22 year old offspring of my charming sister piped up with a, "We're not really down with your choice for a place to eat lunch, aunt Katois." "Well, I'm not married to the choice, pick a better one and I'll gladly follow." She then informed me her comestible milieu of choice was a Vietnamese place 6 blocks away that sold pastries filled with meats of dubious origin for $2.00 at the Pike Place Market. I informed her that 1.) It's raining and 2.) My hair looks cute (it did) and the moisture will destroy it, and 3. I have no desire to stand outside in the rain eating a greasy pastry filled with god-knows-what when I still had shopping to do at or near The Mothership. So the party split up as we had met up, my gals agreeing that Nordstrom Cafe was a more pleasant alternative and the intrepid four scampering about the city-scape gobbling down hum-bow.
To keep you abreast of the goings on in my pretty little head: I am still very nervous about the state of Godzilla country and the effect her radiation poisoning will have on yours truly and those she loves. I wonder why Muammar Gaddafi's female bodyguards don't try to dissuade him from the hair and moustache dye-it's not fooling anyone. I place bets with myself on when Charlie Sheen will come to in Tijuana with no front teeth and no recollection of how he got there. Just some of my musings...
Well, I'm going to get ready for work tomorrow-I have to be at SeaTac at the barbaric hour of 5:30a.m. in order to catch a plane and be at my meeting in San Francisco by 10:00a.m. Wish me luck and pray the jackals don't flay me alive. I am the new kid on the block and apparently rendering the flesh of the newbies is one of the favorite pastimes of the group I'm to meet with. Oh well, it's nothing an Old French Whore hasn't faced before. And usually those attempting to assault me end up in the I.C.U. with their bodily fluids and gasses entering and leaving their carcasses via tubes and bags with round-the-clock teams of highly skilled medical personnel hovering nearby. Figuratively speaking, of course. Good thing the meeting is at the new hospital trauma center, though. I'm just sayin'...
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