amusing google search query of the day that has led to zunta: "needing to poop"

ahem. a couple of shots of espresso and a few dozen jumping jacks should do the trick, buddy.

so, if you haven't realized by now through my continued whining, we've got this wedding thing to go to on saturday. a formal wedding, which, turns out, is a real pain in the ass. tuxes must be rented, non-ugly evening gowns must be bought, one must figure out how to do hair in a way that does not make one look like a monochromatic pinhead, etc. i've even got to paint my toenails. sheesh.

and i know i whine too much about it, really. but you have NO IDEA of what i had to go through to get a relatively normal-looking, affordable dress. let me take you on a little trip through the annals of a timewarped 80s fashion warehouse of death, aka Hecht's Department Store.

How many meetings would you say you average at work? And how useful are they?

I ask because I'm currently working on a contract basis for one of my company's repeat customers, and these guys have a LOT of meetings. This didn't bother me so much the last time I was here. From 10:30 to 1 every day the IT department pretty much clears out, leaving me free to goof off. Unfortunately, since my last visit they've installed a security card reader on the bathroom door, and I don't have a card -- I have to find someone and borrow one. I do, however, have unfettered access to the coffee in the break room.

So it's kind of like that post-apocalyptic episode of the Twilight Zone featuring the bookworm with the broken glasses. Except, you know, with peeing.

stumbling around the kitchen this morning and attempting to make coffee, an odd, unrecognized scent wafted towards my nose. what the hell is that? i thought blearily, standing still in the kitchen with the coffee grinder in one hand and a filter in the other, sniffing in the air. i was also wearing uva sweatpants, tommy's old, ratty, gray robe, a green tank top and a headband to pull back my unwashed hair, so i can assure you that it was a lovely sight. then it hit me - i was smelling smoked ham. huh, i thought. weird. in my early-morning-retardation, i figured it had to do with the lamb that tommy and i had baked last night for dinner. because smoked ham smells exactly like lamb rubbed with garlic and rosemary, and the smell of course continues to permeate the kitchen well into the next morning, pungent enough to awaken the senses of someone who can barely see past her nose at 7:30 am. sure! made sense to me.

thus i ignored the smoked ham smell and went on to do my regular morning routine - finishing up the coffee, showering, getting dressed, putting on make-up, sitting down with a mug of coffee and reading the morning news on my shiny new silver laptop that i love like a brand-new puppy. all the while the smoked ham smell lingered in the background, wafting up through the kitchen like a summer breeze. a ham-tinged summer breeze. and i paid no mind.

finally, as i was getting ready to head out the door around 8:30, i did something i never do: i decided to step outside on the balcony to test the weather. normally i just throw on my black quilted jacket that serves me well throughout the winter months, but there'd been a taste of spring in the nighttime air the previous evening, and i thought that i could wear something a bit lighter.

so i opened the door from the kitchen to the balcony. our lovely, wooden balcony, lined with lovely, wooden planters and a lovely, wooden railing. pieces of which now lay on the floor in ashes, smoldering, as heavy plumes of smoke rose up from a planter that was quite clearly on fire.

i stood there for a second, contemplating, and finishing off my coffee. hmm, i thought. my brain began to slowly process facts. i see smoke. a large chunk of that part of the railing is no longer there and seems to be charred. the plant in that particular planter, formerly dead from the winter cold, is on fire. and it all smells like smoked ham. interesting.

wait. not interesting, my brain thought. fire. burning. wooden balcony that could go up like kindling any moment and engulf all of O Street in a burning twisted mass of destruction OH MY GAWWWWWWD.

you know when you get really scared about something, it's incredibly hard to articulate, well, anything? yeah. you should have seen me this morning. i stood there blankly, looking at the smoke, then said, blankly, "oh. my god. tommy. get here now."

tommy: "why?"

catherine: "get out here! it's - it's on - the thing, that thing is smokey!"

tommy: "what?"

catherine: "BALCONY FIRE DEATH!"

i exaggerate, naturally. there were no leaping flames, and the mini-fire-smoldering-thing was contained quite easily by tommy and me running back and forth with bowls of water (god forbid that we remember there is a fire extinguisher right behind the door to the balcony). about half of a wooden planter was destroyed, and the top of a section of railing. as best as we can figure, unless spontaneous combustion exists in old soil, last evening charles, whom up until today i considered to be a very intelligent young man, put his cigarette out in the wooden planter instead of an ashtray and unwittingly left it to smolder THE ENTIRE NIGHT, thereby ensuring DEATH AND DESTRUCTION and endangering any prospects of MY SPRING BALCONY PLANS, which involve many glasses of wine and spitting contests.

anyway, this seems like common sense, but please: if you come over to our place and have a smoke on the balcony, do not leave it to smolder on or near a wood-based product (ie the entire structure). put it in an ashtray. throw it out in the alley. for the love of god, don't destroy our balcony! otherwise, how are we going to bring our charcoal griller out there this summer? sheesh.

The first games have tipped and things are underway. I'm not a huge college basketball fan most of the year (thanks, suck-ass UVA), but today's a special day: nobody works very hard, instead crowding around breakroom TVs or listening to internet radio streams.

Emboldened by an unlikely win in Jon's office pool last year, I'm nurturing naive dreams of bracketological glory. But how to best maniacally track my march toward victory? Yahoo offers realtime tracking, but you've got to refresh the page to see updates. Anyone know any free realtime java sites that'll still let you submit a bracket?

well, here we are: unrequited narcissism's 1,000th post! let's get self-congratulatory, shall we? this little corner of the internet started out 999 posts ago on august 28th, 2002, with a post by tommy about a week after i had headed off for a year in milan. for quite a long time, almost my entire year in italy, i was the only author of the blog, posting pictures of my heeelarious expat adventures with little commentary, except to say enlightened things as "that pizza was bigger than my head!" or "france really sucks." incredible that from those humble beginnings, this blog has turned into the TOTAL MEDIA POWERHOUSE that you see before you today, eh? according to our rather unreliable stats, we get around 300 visitors, or hits, or page views, or whatever, per day, and we've got over 3,000 comments. and we love it all! we are saps, but we are really completely in love with blogging, this blog, and the ways in which it has enriched our lives. *wipes away tear* so, thanks to the academy, and all our fans - this one goes out to you!

TOM SAYS: At just over 514,000 words, I think this blog is serving its purpose as a compromise between Catherine and my desire to write and our pathetic attention spans. Of course, many of those words are readers', left in comments. So thanks for talking to us, indulging us and providing some motivation to keep writing. It's better than working.