the good fight

I am on the very precipice of a cold right now. A stiff breeze could knock me over into Stuffy McSneezyTown. Half of my office has caught this thing. I'm doing everything I can to stay on the healthy side of the sickness line. I'm bundling up, I'm sleeping 8+ hours a night, I'm eating my veggies and taking vitamin C. Dammit, I really don't want to get sick. I've got too much fun stuff planned this month. So, with the intention of leaving no stone unturned in the fight against the dreaded cold virus, I give you the power of the repeated mantra:

I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick
I will not get sick

So there.

the juice is loose

I went back east to see my parents for the holiday and had a nice, relaxing visit. One really funny thing happened. Prior to my visit, my mom made a grocery shopping list and gave it to my dad. One of the things on the list was Orange Juice. My dad couldn't remember if my mom liked pulp in her OJ or not and he ended up picking wrong. He also bought a much bigger thing of pineapple juice than my mom needed for a recipe. She decided to return the OJ and the pineapple juice to the store. My parents are the only people I know who regularly return things to the grocery store. I know when I buy something from Pavillions and it turns out to be the wrong thing (I' ve accidentally bought Vanilla Diet Coke instead of the regular Diet Coke, for example), I just suck it up and either use what I bought or throw it out and eat the cost. Not my parents.

So, anyway, my mom returned the OJ & the pineapple juice on Wednesday morning. Later that day, my dad said to my mom, "So, I see you returned the orange juice." My mom said that she had indeed. My dad dropped the bomb -- he had already drunk two big glasses of OJ from the carton. My mom returned used juice!

I hope she doesn't get black-balled from the grocery store.

only in LA

So, because we work for a poker show and have access to a snazzy table, chips, a regulation timer and official dealer buttons, another company in the building likes to have poker tournaments with us. Our second tournament was last night and it went pretty well -- I finished second which paid out nicely (although I had to pay out to my co-workers since we all took a piece of each other and I'm the only one who made the money. Sigh.)

When I walked in to their office last night, I looked around trying to recognize who I'd played with at our last tournament and, as I'm mentally going around the room, I'm thinking "ok, his name is Jay, he's Dave, that guy is Mark or maybe Matt, hey that guy looks familiar, did he play last time? No, it's Macaulay Culkin." Yes, I played poker with a Culkin. Not just a Culkin. THE Culkin. He's actually a pretty good player. He probably would have done better against a better field of players, but our table was full of crazy callers and he tried to bluff and push a little more than he should.

Truthfully, I didn't play great either. I've got a major leak right now where I'm not getting good value on my winning hands. I keep scaring people out of the pot instead of letting them bet into me. I think playing so much on the internet is screwing me up because my first instinct is always to just take down the pot and get out rather than risk a chaser hitting his miracle two-outer.

But enough about my boring poker problems. Macaulay Fucking Culkin was at my poker game last night! Life is good.

Surreal, but good.

my kingdom for a camera phone

I was driving along, minding my own business, when I looked over and noticed the guy on the motorcycle stopped at the light next to me. The first thing that caught my eye was the unwieldy bag he had strapped over his shoulder. It took me a second to realize he was carrying his golf clubs. On his motorcyle.

And then I processed the rest of his outfit. Black Northface puffer jacket -- Check. White helmet -- Check. Cargo shorts -- um, check? Completing the look? Socks & flip-flops. On his motorcycle.

I immediately reported this sighting to Jessica but, alas, was unable to obtain photographic record.

internet big, world small

So, there is a barely recognizable picture of me up on Ultratart in my Halloween costume. I'm wearing a wig and my face is all winky. Unbeknownst to me, my cousin Rachel reads Ultratart. She saw my picture and posted a comment, seeing through my disguise and identifying me as her cousin. My worlds have officially collided.