Moving - Woof!

Yikes, my blog got a new layout.  Call me a Luddite, if you must, but I hate when technology changes against all my best effort to keep the evolution of such things to a minimum... so I hope this post uploads alright.

Ahhh... such a busy life.  About a month ago I decided to move.  I mean I HAVE lived in the same place for a little over 4 years now, and for me, that's a pretty big commitment.  But, the neighborhood is getting shady, and I am dying to live with my friend Kate and I really wanted a nicer newer place.  So, next week I am moving into just that, a newer nicer place with my cute friend Kate.

And, while it was a voluntary decision to move, it is still such a daunting task.  To say that in the past few weeks I am both under-fed and under-slept would be a wild understatement.  I feel frazzled every single day.

Here is how my life works these days.  My room is an unsightly mess (which is driving me so incredibly nutty).  And, because there are boxes and piles and stacks and bags and... everything is everywhere.  I can't get to anything.  My closet(s) are mostly blocked.  My outfits... they've been awesome lately.   And, by awesome I mean fancy and/or weird.

Not just because I am moving, but more specifically because I am lazy and I HATE shaving my ridiculously long legs, I usually only shave my legs on Saturdays.  (Sorry if that was an over-share, but it's the truth).  This means that I only wear dresses and skirts on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and sometimes Wednesdays (though it isn't always pretty) and by Thursday and Friday I am wearing pants again.  Thus, as you can see at least 2, but often 3 days a week I wear dresses/skirts.  And, I have been working at the same place for 3 1/2 years-ish. 

But, lately (because of the move and the large number of weddings I have been attending) I have been pulling a lot of Saturday/Mondays or Sunday/Mondays, meaning that I pull the dress off the floor that I just wore to a wedding or to church and try to pull it off for work.  So, I MIGHT be a little bit fancier than usual, but I don't iron these clothes, so.... Yet, without fail almost every day I wear a dress or even a skirt (and this is happening no more than usual) at least one of my co-workers/boss says "whoa, fancy, you have a date tonight?" OR "please tell me you don't have a job interview somewhere else?" 

Which brings me to this conclusion - The people I work with think I lead a way more sophisticated life than I actually do AND/OR assume that I am a wildly hot commodity in the work place for as frequent as they think people want to hire me.  However, it leads me also to believe that IF I had a date every other day for the past 3 1/2 years, these people also believe that I must be the WORST dater in the world (which they might have a case for), and IF I had been interviewing every other day for 3 1/2 years, I would also be the WORST interviewer in history (which, actually, I am pretty decent at).  Sheesh... people!  The dates I have been on in the past month, albeit fun, have not EVER required me to wear a dress... boardwalk and dinner in Hermosa beach, dinners at R&D (I can't get enought of that place, I keep going there!) and Cafe Rio, frozen yogurt, sporting event... man would I be overdressed in a dress!  And, I don't have ANY free time, even if I wanted a new job, which... ahhh... I don't.

And, when I am not overdressed (i.e. dressing for work AND a date or work AND an inteview), I am wearing one of two outfits 1.) running clothes or 2.) a gray cardigan with a grey and white stripe shirt and khakis.... I have literally worn this same outfit for about 6 or 8 days now.  Classy... I know.  It seems to be the ONLY matching ensamble I can get to these days.

As part of the move, there is SO much to organize.  And, SO much to pack.  And, SO much to get rid of.  So, I had a garage sale (on the same day I threw a bridal shower, which was NOT a great plan and led to even less sleeping that I have become accustom to).  So knowing how over-scheduled I was, my friend Elyse, who is a doll, volunteered to help me, which was so awesome, because I needed it.  I told her that I wasn't particular about how much she sold stuff for, but that if I didn't have to take it to the Goodwill or Salvation Army and could just get rid of it in the front yard while making some money at the same time, then great.  The only rule I gave her was that I didn't want to have to go to the CoinStar, so if someone was unwilling to spend $1, just say no.  At one point during this garage sale, I look over at Elyse, who for that day only, I called "the banker". She looked panicked.  So, I mouthed to her "what???" And, she mouthed back "this lady just bought $12 worth of stuff!"  To which I replied "great!" And, then Elyse mouthed back "and she's paying in all dimes."  I must say, whenever I am in my car and I see that big bag of dimes, I totally smile.  Love those crazy dimes.

When I talked to Kate later that day.  She asked how it all went. And, I told her.  She said to me "What? Who carries around a Ziploc bag filled with dimes?!?"  Well, I guess that would be me.  Now.  I do.  I would be the over-dressed, or dressed in recylced clothing girl, who shows up to weddings with wet hair and mis-matched shoes, who looks dazed and confused and is paying for everything I buy in dimes... because that's apparently how I roll when I have to move. 

Only four more days... four more really long days until I can sleep, eat and dress like a normal chic... or whatever one would call me... maybe it's not necessarily normal.

Let's get something straight!

Occasionally, but VERY rarely, I let the guys I work with convince me that I want to join them for lunch. Much to my chagrin, I am always sorry.

So, I want to make sure that I understand something.

A "great restaurant" is not defined as a place in which if you order "the right thing" you can properly digest it without feeling some serious side effects one way or the other, right? I mean, a "great restaurant" would suggest that the food is better than just palpable, correct?

Without fail, every single time I let myself get talked into going to some shady joint, pay in cash only, no place to sit, sells RC cola instead of coke or pepsi, no sign identifying the joint... whether it be Pho or Argentine food or some "dive" or some food truck, I regret it, instantly... for at least 8 hours.

Whatever, call me high-maintenance, I don't care!

But, it appears to always be my fault if the restaurant is NOT a up to par... "it IS a great restaurant!" I just "ordered the wrong thing!"

So, for the record, I believe a "great restaurant" (or even a "good restaurant", as I don't want to aim too high here) is one where you could order anything off the menu (or at least a relatively significant sampling of items), and feel satiated - in a non-violently ill fashion; where the taste lingers just long enough; and where the menu items have names you could recite to the individual taking your order instead of having to point to the picture and say "I will have that. That doesn't look like it'll kill me... at least not immediately."

Yikes.

With that being said... this is where I went to lunch today...

This place.... the place with no sign... the boys just call it "that Argentine place, the one with the sandwiches."

It really WAS my fault this time... who agrees to that?!?