Archive | February, 2012

Full of hope…

24 Feb

So the hubby and I are finally, after 8 months, splitting the expenses and some of the income. Yep, we’ve maintained joint checking, savings and credit cards, which was uber-fun during the holidays to see various expenditures he made for his girlfriend. You know, at places like Victoria’s Secret and Lingerie.com.

Of course, nothing could prepare me to actually seeing the lingerie in the flesh so to speak – my bad, I should never have gone into the spare bathroom that day.

Fade to black…

All the travel sized toiletries are kept in the spare bathroom. Since I started traveling again, I decided to raid the coffers at the house. As I enter the bathroom, the counter is littered with bags filled with all sorts of goodies, from lingerie, to cologne, to fur lined boots and jacket.

How do I know this you ask? I freaking peeked of course. I am after all, a GIRL. I really hope his girlfriend likes the lingerie and stuffz that I bought her.

So this had me step up and push a bit harder to separate our money – and this reminded me… WE HAD MONEY STUFFED INTO THE MATTRESS. Well, not the mattress, but hidden in the attic. Bingo!! Time to divvy the greenbacks.

At the same time, we both agreed, it’s time we used some of the Amex rewards points. Might as well 🙂

So the hubby decided to use some of his points on a fancy trip. But he needed more points than his portion provided. Aha! He asks me to sell him my points. Sure thing I told him, if he wants to give me some cash from his portion of the funds from the attic, I’m all in!

So last week, he came by with a wad of Franklin’s and I decide now is the time to get that new tattoo I said I’d get once things got stable post break-up.

Mine is prettier though 🙂

And I did! A 3″ Zibu Angelic symbol representing Hope.

You see, I am hopeful. And grateful too (but there was no symbol for gratitude or I would have done that.) The hubby and I are friends. We have laughed together and share a history and hopefully a future. Not as a couple, of course, but as good friends.

I have lots of hope. For health, wealth, happiness, friendship. Oh and for a pair of Louboutin’s and shiny hair. Because I am after all, a GIRL.

I heart traveling…

1 Feb

I recently hired a new product manager who works out of our Pasadena office. Which means I get to go visit my favorite cupcakeries (Dots and Violets). Schwing!

But this also means I have to get my ass back on an airplane for the hour long trip from Oakland to Burbank.

It goes like this folks… I fly Southwest Airlines, with the humorous flight attendants who like to sing and make horse-y noises when we land, and crappy Finlandia vodka. It’s like public transit in the sky, with open seating.

Because I’m a seasoned traveler, I’m an A-lister which is slang for “I get to board before you people with your small kids and oversized shopping bags. Ha ha!” and I do my best to discourage ANYONE from sitting in the middle seat. I spread all my stuff onto that seat, I talk loudly on my phone (even if I’m not really talking to anyone). I turn my back to the aisle and avoid eye contact AT ALL TIMES. One false move and the next thing you know, you’ve got a neighbor who wants the arm rest and a new BFF.

Now because I’m very thin and drop dead gorgeous (and apparently conceited), I tend to attract people to the middle seat. It’s not so bad when it’s an Asian person as they are generally thin themselves and tend to keep to themselves, but when it’s the fatties… Sorry heavy people, I must qualify the term “fatty”. If your waist size and/or overall circumference exceeds that of a plane seat, you’re a fatty. Otherwise, you’re just American.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I feel all sorts of sadz for fatties on flights. They just look so uncomfortable, all squished in and overflowing like that, but I don’t want them sitting on or rubbing up against me. It offends me.

Last week, “Pat” sat next to me. You know what I’m saying here. Dudette with a ‘stache, man-hair, man-hands, and man-pants. But with boobs. Pat was a 280-lady. She lifted the arm rest between us and literally shared my seat.

In fairness she was nice – we chatted about our mutual love of San Francisco – but she ate a scone on the plane and it kept crumbling onto her moobs and when she brushed said crumbs off her shelf, it landed all over me. Plus, she had some sort of apnia issue and kept making a gurling/grunting sound. It was undaunting and freaked me the fuck out. Did I mention Pat farted twice? I held my breath and placed my wrist against my nose just in case the gas smelled as rank as I pictured it.

Mostly, travel is easy. Except when I get lost. And I do love my heavenly shower and room service, and I don’t have to make the bed and there’s always fresh towels, and all my food and booze is free. So for one hour, I guess I can shut the fuck up and deal with some discomfort. Oh travel, how I heart thee.