driving in and around the greater boston area: bad plan. best to have lots of insurance.

driving in and around the GBA in any sort of precipitation: better off staying home until teleportation is fully developed. (as my colleague's police officer hubby puts it, "the predominant attitude of the boston driver is airbags = invincibility.")

case in point:

my office is located in a very large commerical park that happens to house lots of medical and legal groups. read: a large portion of the people who drive here each morning have a) never been here before b) might come once yearly. therefore, the magical mystery knot of overpass roads that somehow get you off the highway and onto the two narrow lanes leading into the office park become bottlenecked with confused drivers each morning. add rain, stir, let simmer. season with only one dunkin' donuts within a four block radius. presto! angry drivah chowdah, in less time than it takes your motha to curse out derek jetah.

this morning, in an unseasonably muggy torrential downpour, many people were lost and confused trying to figure out exactly how to get off the highway and make it to their divorce attorney/gynecologist on time. as the light changed three times and no one moved, many horns sweetly sounded reminders that it would be an appropriate time to just say fuck it and run the lights (ahh, sweet urban logic).

the car in front of/next to me diagonally had a mysterious blinker on, even though there was no possible way that he was planning on taking a left turn into the guardrail. regardless, he wasn't moving. the irate driver of a ford taurus nearby decided that this car was the cause of FIVE LANES of backup (right), and began screaming obscenities. many horns around us begin to protest. the guy behind me starts leaning on his horn...i timed it. 1 minute, 36 seconds of howling volvo. kill me. there was nowhere for me to go, however, because damned if i was going to try to run down angry taurus driver, who (christ!) was now rolling down his window, waving his arms erratically, and reaching into the passenger seat (oh my god, oh my god, someone's going to get shot. do i remember cpr? any soft of lifesaving technique beyond the heimlich? who am i supposed to call besides ghostbusters?)

as two cars collide on the right side of me from trying to watch (i have now thrown it into park and am trying to decide whether i'm safer with my seatbelt on or off), angry taurus driver stands up and pegs mysterious blinker car with an empty poland springs water bottle. he-who-should-not-drive gets back into his car, and finds that during his tantrum, the traffic blockage has mysteriously cleared (thanks, assface, for ending three minutes of childish tantrum with an even MORE childish concluding act, thereby making approximately six hundred people later for their jobs, divorce attorneys, and stirrup appointments).

boston, you're my home. but i still want a bike.

i didn't think i'd ever be this toolish, but here it is...

i hate suits. i have a suit on today for a client visit that was canceled at the eleventh hour. needless to say, i was conked out on the couch at the eleventh hour and missed the memo. thank you, suit, for making me look worse. i HAVE all of the assets you're trying to promote, and i spend lots of time minimizing them. hello shoulders. hello boobs. yes. i look like the female version of charles atlas. piss off, j. crew.

i don't feel like myself. where are my shiny green shoes? where are my not-quite-right gap jeans? where's the turtleneck to pull up to my earlobes in this cold, cold office?

if you see a pissed off box roaming the halls, that'll be me. do not say hello. just walk the other way.

request for advice...

directed at all of my photo-happy friends: how and when did you start snapping away happily? have any of you ever taken a class? what if i want a basic slr camera...how to educate myself...what am i looking for? i just have this desire to take non-digital pictures all of a sudden.

i take requests...

woke up to an email from sara: "how was the gymkhana the other day? i want details." ask and ye shall receive. non-horsey people, check back on another day.

woke up in the freezing cold at six on sunday, looked at the duffel bag in my room (on top of which was piled western rowel spurs, my faithful (trampled) straw cowboy hat from running games on the app circuit (read: six years ago), long underwear, runner's layers, scarves, and two northfaces. what the fuck am i doing? i went out two nights in a row and spent twelve freezing hours in the barn on saturday. i am currently trying to handle the client load of 2.5 employees. eep. again. what am i doing?

went to the barn, alex laughed the whole time while we brought mary kay (also for sale) and sir out to the trailer. "what are we doing?" she asked, "this is insane. we're not gamers." sir got bug-eyed and snorty - i think he anticipated a permanent move, and he's a smart guy - life is pretty good at alex's. a little bribery by craisins and sir was on the trailer, but once the reality of the situation dawned on him, he swung his big head around, whacked it on the divider, scared himself, and jumped up in the air - landing full blast on my right foot (clad in danskos).

alex knew disaster had struck when she heard "fucking assface fucking broke my foot you dinkhead! i'm so fucking good to you!"

alex: "uhhh, al, do you want to not go?"

me: "get me the bag of peas, he's going to RUN TODAY!"

thus, i sat in the truck and sulked for the majority of the ride to rhode island, cooking the frozen peas with my swelling foot. two hours later, we rolled onto greene field farms, which was quite pretty, and packed with trailers and horses streaking by, spinning, and tearing back down the length of the grounds. show people will tell you what happens when someone who's obviously green around the gills appears at your event - generally, the other exhibitors won't give the greenie the time of day. not so at a gymkhana. everyone was friendly, warm, and welcoming. the cowboy parked next door, elliott, was quite nice and directed us to the entry booth. he explained that this was his second greene field gymkhana, so we were essentially in the same boat, and his first with his new horse, jack daniels. (jack's a gorgeous bay and built with rocket boosters, i'm pretty sure.)

sir stood quietly while i gimpily tacked him up (a friend had lent me her barrel racing saddle, which is essentially a western saddle with a shortened, deepened seat, impossible to fall out of) and schooled him, and before i knew it, we were being called into the arena for barrels. (sir had never been on the grounds, never been in the arena, and all of a sudden i was digging in and asking him to tear through the door, into the arena, and past the laser sensors. god bless him. he went for it.) as everyone runs, their times are announced, but i couldn't keep track of the times for each horse (there were about 75 on the grounds divided into four different divisions), let alone who was in each division and the fastest overall gamers. quite an experience - as you scream into the arena, people are yelling, "look up! get it! get it! sit down! push him! run, girl! HOOOOORAH! spin 'em!" it's insanity. sir ATE it up. he pranced, he arched his neck, and he stood like a gentleman and waited for each turn patiently. by the end of the day, and four events later, he had a crowd of admirers. the announcer kept referring to him as "sir for sale", which certainly helped things, as three or four people are coming to alex's to try him out this week.

the highlight of my day came when sir and i finished our last event, arena race, and clearly spanked a lot of the professional horses, including elliott and jack daniels. they congratulated us, and a salty old cowboy rode up beside us. "ma'am," he said, "you ride that horse with a pair of brass balls and a ponytail, and we like that. come on back anytime."

at the end of the event, everyone rides into the arena, and the top six times for each event are announced. sir was third in barrels, second in poles, third in keyhole, and second in arena race. kicked ass and took names. the owner of the farm asked alex and myself if we'd consider joining the barrel horse association, and if we still have sir (or another project) we'll certainly come back in the spring. the farm volunteered to profile sir on their website (which i still can't find, so if anyone is a good internet researcher and feels inspired, let me know), and elliott the cowboy left his number for me in alex's truck. debating about whether or not i should call, and what would i possibly say? we did beat him - twice. :) happy ending for our little sirhead, and my foot appears to be horrendously swollen and bruised, but not broken. i laugh, because now i'm in charge of schooling merv (the irish warmblood/draft who comes with a passport), hank (my boss' horse who's beginning to learn dressage fundamentals - we're acquiring knowledge together), and the safest barrel horse in the world (who'll rev up and streak into an arena now like nobody's business, stop, put his head down, and walk away. that's my boy).

::shrugs:: you know how i roll

santorini. that's where i'm headed in september 2006. you can come, or you can stay home and listen to me talk about how glorious it is. it's up to you.

stephie's here for a visit, always wonderful. went to jake ivory's last night - a dueling piano bar in the fenway. much fun. they're request based, and the guys can play/sing absolutely anything from sinatra to snoop. the neighboring table delivered three shots to us and shyly left - steph and i clinked happily and downed them. however, once kathryn and i had gone to the bathroom, an older patron approached steph and advised her against taking any more open shots. when the original bearer of shots reappeared to strike up conversation with her, she tipsily told him that only creepy guys try to rape girls in bars, and if he wanted to talk, he'd better not be a creep. ::head in hands:: i then proceeded to dial drunkenly from my perch on the bathroom sink. queen of my own porcelain pile. thank you, kathryn, for getting us home. (tonight's plans involve redline and middlesex - come out!)

work's wonderful. it had better be, since the two jobs together occupy approximately 70 hours each week, but i honestly don't think i've ever been happier or felt more productive. thank you to my friends who helped with the harmonyline market research and offered advice.

to those of you who asked about my mom - they kept her for a few extra days, but she's home now. internal bleeding required three transfusions. we think, however, that this time she's really on the mend. she's at home reclining and alternately yelling for me, dad, or the dogs. all is well.

sir the gamer is progressing quite nicely...so much so that alex has backdoored me into riding in a gymkhana on sunday to further market our little friend. (holy hell. someone find me a seatbelt. i've gamed before, but this horse is smallish, fast, and squirmy. it'll be fun, but i'm just happy to have health insurance.) for those of you who are horsey and/or interested, here's what we'll be doing:

arena race: a starting line is drawn. a pole is set straight up at the end of the arena. gallop down, right or left hand turn around the pole, gallop back. fastest horse wins.

keyhole race: a starting line is drawn. at the other end of the arena, a keyhole shape is drawn in the dirt with lime powder (leaving the mouth to the "chute" open). gallop up, enter the chute, slam on the breaks and pivot inside the head of the keyhole, and gallop out. if you touch the lines, you're DQed. fastest/most accurate horse wins.

barrel race: three oil drums are set up in a triangle. gallop in, run a cloverleaf pattern around the barrels, and gallop home. fastest horse on course wins.

pole bending: six poles are set upright in a line down the length of the arena. gallop up the side of the line, weaving through the poles on the way back. weave the poles back up to the top of the arena, and gallop home straight down the other side of the poles. fastest horse on course wins.

<-- that's a good example of barrel racing. note the distinct lack of equitation, prim and proper attire, or navy blue and olive green. let's not be fooled by the whole riding team business. i'm kind of a yahoo.


--> that craziness is pole bending. the poles move, thank god, but if you hit one with a kneecap going at that speed, you risk a break. entirely possible and likely. the things we do for fun. :) wish us luck!

feeling spunky today. watch yourself!

sir has a career interest :)

anyone looking for a gaming prospect? sir, who was very much against going around in a circle with his head down, has decided that he'd love to do barrels and poles. i had windburn yesterday from schooling him if that's any indication of the sprint potential. :) i'm so proud!

fact: even whipped cream and a handful of chocolate chips aren't going to spruce up non fat vanilla ice cream enough to be useful in times of very early morning stress.

somehow ended up with "homework" that's rapidly chewing away at my night. how does this happen in the adult world? and i used to be really good at staying up. now it's one and i want to rip someone's face off. so much for ahimsa.

ayudame, estoy en fuego!

hello, three dear, devoted readers:

brain picking time...i need advice on marketing to the following groups of people, or any combination of...

-the tech-savvy
-the musically-inclined
-the 11-14 age group, probably male
-the nerdy and/or bored 22-28 age group, probably male.
-myspace/high school facebook users
-cell phone junkies

any assistance you can offer would be mucho helpful - i just got my first career project/challenge neatly packaged and dropped on my desk, and my two teammates are less than excited. going to run with this apprentice-style, but need to do some research first. thanks guys!



fact: in 1978, The Speak and Spell became the first device in which the human voice was electronically duplicated on a single chip.

this reminds me of the Dane Cook Demonic Speak and Spell skit, ever heard it? download if you haven't. you'll wet yourselves.