Tuesday, March 17, 2009

La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha, Stay the Eff Away From Me...



So, I returned to work today from my Seattle conference/vacay only to learn that a cockroach has been on the loose in my office for the past few days.

Um…excuse me? A cockroach?! I’ll be taking a leave of absence until said cockroach (and all his little friends for that matter) has been properly disposed of.

Ants=tolerable. Mosquitoes=annoying, but not scary. Spiders=not my favorite but can somewhat deal with since they help control the insect population. But giant, hissing, no-purpose-on-this-earth cockroaches=major panic attack.

My palms are sweating, my heart rate has elevated higher than it has in more than 3 months (that’s how long it’s been since I exercised) and I have to take long, deep breaths to keep from completely loosing it.

A co-worker just trapped it, but I’m convinced that thing is going to escape, maneuver its way into my cubical and start doing the Mexican hat dance while hissing at me.

Gross, gross, gross.

Speaking of gross, here are some other things I deem vile and unacceptable that I experienced during my trip:

-Seattle weather.
Cold. Rainy. Windy. Miserable. I have to say that it wasn’t like that the entire time I was there. The first two days were mild and sunny, but the other three were absolutely awful. It’s really hard to enjoy a city when you’re dressed in three layers, trying to avoid getting completely drenched and holding on to your significant other for dear life so you won’t be blown away by 60 mph wind gusts.

Case in point: The Hoff and I were crossing the street. He got about halfway across, realized I wasn’t beside him and turned around to find I had been shoved a good twenty feet behind him by the wind. After laughing hysterically, he came to my rescue.

…I have a boyfriend who takes pleasure in my misery-what a lucky girl I am.

-Sketchy middle-aged men.
So, I don’t really mind being hit on (as long as it’s not vulgar) and I obviously won’t turn down a free drink. Which is why I gladly accepted when a 45-year-old guy asked if he could buy my glass of wine the first night in Seattle. (The Hoff wasn’t there yet, so I hit a wine bar solo.) Problem is, I have an extremely guilty conscience, so I can’t just let a guy buy me a drink and then run off. I continue talking to him.

It wasn’t like I had anywhere better to be or anyone else to talk to, so I started chatting with the guy. He seemed harmless enough, but three glasses of wine in, he leaned across the chair separating us, right into my personal space and sayed, “So, where are we heading after this? You wanna walk around the city? Go to another bar?”

AND the crazy, stalker side rears its ugly head.

Instinctively, I leaned away from him, desperately trying to get the attention of the three bartenders running around to jump in and save me. Unfortunately, they were all male (read: dense) and therefore don’t recognize a woman in need of rescuing when they see one.

What I wanted to say was: WE aren’t heading anywhere. I am going back to my hotel room. Alone. Solo.

That’s what Lo would have said. I wish I could be more like her in these situations.

Instead, I took the passive-aggressive approach and reached for my phone. I texted The Hoff and GlitzGal, a good friend from high school who I knew would get a kick out of the situation…and give me an excuse to hightail it outta there.

In my present sober state, I could have easily gotten myself out of this situation. But between the three glasses of wine, three hour time difference and lack of sleep (I had been up since 4 a.m. EST), I felt helpless. Thankfully The Hoff walked me through leaving the bar sans Sketchy McSketchface.

-American cheese.
Not the deli counter kind-the one that comes individually wrapped in plastic. Every time I see it, smell it or God forbid-touch it, I want to projectile vomit. It looks like the bottom of feet and it doesn’t even feel like cheese. An older lady sitting next to me at my boarding gate had a bag full of goodies to tie her over during the flight. She could have easily opened a grocery store with the amount of food she was carrying around. It was all I could do not to gag when she pulled out her American cheese squares and started scarfing them down with her crackers.

-Diet soda.
I don’t care what kind it is, it’s foul. To me, diet soda is the equivalent of drinking a non-alcoholic beer-if you’re gonna do it, go all out! At the conference, my co-worker brought me one to be nice. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d rather drink Syrup of Ipecac than that shizz. So I hid the can in my purse until the end of the day and immediately chucked it when I got back to my hotel room.

But Seattle wasn’t all bad. It’s actually a very cool city…but let’s be honest, the above things make a much better post than recounting my visit to the Space Needle, the fish market, way too many bars, etc.

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