Delinquency is not a sin

I've behaved poorly. I've mistreated the poor reader of this little blog by not writing for almost a month. I will try and remedy this by apologizing profusely and looking pitiful. I, of course, already look pitiful, but that is neither here nor there.

Anyway, on to the show.

Went to Chicago last weekend to see Stais and her beau Phil. I had a great time. Phil, being the worrywort, believes that I didn't do enough stuff to enjoy myself, but just hanging with Stais was enough for me. We hung out Friday, drinking and reminiscing because this is some sort of prerequisite for long term visits. I can't be sure, but I do know we could go without it. I couldn't stand high school when I was there, looking back on it just confirms my belief that I had to serve my purgatory before I ever died.

Saturday was better because we went downtown, which was an experience in and of itself, and walked around even though it was fucking cold. That whole train thing is a trip, I cannot even imagine riding a train for an hour just to get to work. Any thoughts I was entertaining to move to Chicago were pretty much quashed. Going out to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory was also incredibly funny and extremely enlightening about the town. Besides, all I could afford was a condo, and I'd much rather have a house, with a lawn and a garden, in a neighborhood where the local kids would cut my grass for a fee and I could sit out on my front porch and read a book, drink some wine and smoke a cigarette. I'll be happy just visiting Stais and Phil. Besides, I don't think her couple friends would accept someone who is not a part of the group.

Either way, I had a blast, but as always I got homesick for my own bed and my cats and split out a little early on Sunday. After a certain point, you just want to get home. Especially after a five hour drive.

Something that came out of the trip, though, is that Stais and I are going to Ireland. It is an idea I've been kicking around, but when I was talking to Stais and Phil about it, Phil said that if I bought a house this year, I would probably never go to Ireland. He's right. So, the house is going to be put off a year, and Stais and I will fly out to Dublin the first week of May. This is huge for me. Spending a ton of money always makes me nervous, but I just can't resist. We are taking a pub tour which sounds really cool. There is this other walking tour, but it is a couple hundred dollars more per person and I would rather have that as spending money.

So, now the tedious process of getting a passport and all that other crap. I've got the form filled out. I've found my birth certificate, now I'll have to make some time this week to run to the post office. Of course, I also have to get a couple of pictures taken as well. Crap! Where and when am I going to have time to have that done? And find a picture that is a good likeness of me? Is that even possible? Shit shit shit. Of course, then there is the $157 processing fee to get the damn thing done and sent back to me in 3 days just so I can have it out of the way.

As a side note, I love my cats but they aren't the brightest. I have two candles burning on the side table and I've been watching Ginger circle them, giving them squinty eyed stares because they are flickering, and trying to smack at them so they will stop. One would think the heat would be enough to make her walk away, but she really isn't that bright.

So, I've got this new thing. I'm trying to walk a mile a day. It isn't much I know, but as I'm extremely out of shape and overweight, I need to start doing something. I figure, as soon as I can breeze through a mile, I will start kicking it up. I need to get back to the Y, but me breathing heavy in front of complete strangers, as well as singing off key with my Ipod, doesn't strike me as something I should really consider doing. But, I need to get my ass in gear and go there to lift weights as well.

Well, I have a meeting in a few hours, so I'd better get my ass up and start exercising so I stop sweating by the time I have to address my employees. Just the thought of talking to these people on what is my day off, makes my stomach turn. Of course, if I were independently wealthy, I would never leave my apartment. Rodney, one of my assistants was going on the other day about how his roommate never leaves the house, just sits and watches tv and drinks vodka. He was going on about how pathetic it was and it was all I could do not to shrink within myself. Except for the vodka part, it sounds amazingly like myself. I know Rod is just talking and blowing off steam about being frustrated with this idiot he pays rent to, but there are days when he talks about what a social non-entity this guy is, or his weight and I just want to slap him and say, "Do you even realize who you are talking to? Do you even see me? Are you aware that I have the social skills of a small monkey and I weigh the same as any two of my employees put together? I know I'm not pretty, but god dammit, talking to you almost always makes me feel worse!" But I don't. I just smile and laugh and then walk away and put it to the back of my mind so it can pop out later and make me cry at the end of a movie I haven't seen, but everyone on the screen is crying so it must have been sad, right?

I really need to make an appointment with a shrink.

But, enough about me. How are all of you doing? Really, that's great. Glad to hear it. No, really you should all drop a line sometime and let me know what it is like to look in the mirror and not feel like crawling beneath the covers to stay for a month. Maybe if I can turn this compulsive eating thing into a compulsive exercising thing I can feel better about the way I fit into my clothes.

Yea. And a handsome, burly, tall, chivalrous guy with a sense of humor has been outside my door just waiting for me to open it.

And the cold beneath your feet has nothing to do with hell freezing. I swear.