New Year's Resolution #1: Broken

I have sworn that in 2011 I will work less overtime and use up all of my vacation. My crappiest program already busted the first one, but to be honest, part of the reason I had to stay late is that I was emailing with DQ and M-Jo all day long about our next social extravaganza. It will be quite an event. More about that as the date approaches. But even though I was at work later than I should have been today, I’m still going to seriously curb the overtime this year. I have given an amazing amount of time to the company I work for, and while I have been rewarded in some ways for hard work, in other ways I’ve missed out on a lot. Not specific events (except for a wedding I wish I’d attended), but the opportunity to have anything that’s not work. Even if I’m just walking my dogs, running, or watching crappy TV, it’s my time, not theirs.

One quick snippet about New Year’s Eve: an attractive man asked me why I don’t have a boyfriend or any sort of committed relationship, and the question took me aback. He was hitting on me and continued to all night, but I think the question was sincere when he asked it. Since I was surprised by it, my answer was completely honest. I told him that I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t need one. That I’m very happy and content and satisfied with my life, and while I sometimes wish for someone to go to movies with or just hang out with, I am absolutely fine being alone for now. As I was saying it, I thought, “Wow! I really would rather be alone than to settle for someone who isn’t completely and totally amazing.” And the guy was quite attractive AND a massage therapist AND tried to give me a butt massage after I told him about the drive to New Orleans and back.

So, tour in NOLA: Our tour guide was the most full of shit person I have ever met or heard or dealt with, and I’ve heard some wicked bullshit in my life. He just yammered on and on and on for HOURS and he made up the majority of his “facts.” However, many of the riders on the tour were completely captivated by him and the fantastic tales he wove, and they thought we were pretty obnoxious. Which we were. But still.

Early in the tour he took us down Bourbon Street and started talking about how every time he walks past a certain street, he gets winked at. By guys. And he went on and on and on about how he can’t go past this street without the winking. And there was a lesbian couple on our bus who eventually took umbrage at this slamming on our sassy gay friends and asked him, “Do you have a problem with gays?” So he explained, again on and on and on, about how New Orleans is so liberal and open-minded and he didn’t MIND being hit on, but it happened. A lot. I whispered to Xtina, “Dude, check your rearview for mullets before you start slamming the gays.” It was only mildly amusing, but it hit her just right and she couldn’t stop giggling, which caused the people around us to glare at us.

He showed us Brad and Angie’s house and told us how much she looks around and sees things and believes things. He was trying to say she’s superstitious, but just couldn’t find the word. He said they bought the place because there’s a shop called “Angelique” on the corner. Don’t believe a word of it. He also showed us where Nicolas Cage was evicted from, plus the place he rents now. And John Goodman’s house and Sandra Bullock’s house.

Among the gems:
1) There was no graffiti in New Orleans before the Nicaraguans came to rebuild the city. But they do it because of their fiery Latin blood, which makes them very creative. He really said this. E said that she tagged her own desk today because she just had to express her Latin culture.
2) He told a long tale about the origin of the word “hooker.” He made it all up. He said that the ladies were taught about how to make hooks and use fishing poles by the sailors in the port, and that they would lean over the balconies or galleries and snag the gentlemen’s hats to lure them into the brothel. I can’t find a word of corroboration for this theory anywhere.
3) He also told a long and erroneous story about how it came to be that multiple people are buried in a single large tomb. It was all a tale woven of fantasy and stupidity. It was so stupid that I can’t repeat it.
4) While we were at the cemetery, he picked up a clamshell and started yammering about how kids these days have it so good with their Wiis and their indoor plumbing. He said that when he was a kid, their toys were shells. Then he demonstrated that you can play tic-tac-toe and hopscotch by scribbling with a shell on pavement. That’s what they had. And they lived in a shoebox and walked uphill in the snow both ways to and from school.
5) He then pointed out a puddle and said, “See that puddle? That’s been there for three days because of the water table.” Then I said to Xtina, “See that puddle? It’s my best friend and my whole family drowned in it because we were poor.” Many, many more dirty looks from our traveling companions.
6) Not really related to the tour guide, but still memorable: The woman sitting behind us was moaning and groaning for 2 hours, giving herself a deep-tissue belly massage. I expected a rip-roaring gaseous explosion to occur, or for her to give birth to a food baby right there. E was texting me about it so as not to discuss this in front of her and her family. I tried to reply and accidentally sent a text to the DQ that said, “Deep-tissue belly massage.” She was understandably confused.

I wanted to write down many of the other fictions this dickweed made up, but I kept forgetting to pull my notebook out.

But it was all good, because we kept laughing about it the whole time we were there. All anyone had to say was, “See this shell?” and the rest of us would pee our pants laughing.

All day long, I had to hear “Go TCU!” and “Good job, Hornfrogs!” I couldn’t really get mad about it, though, because I would have been way worse if the Badgers had won the Rose Bowl. Maybe next year, Badgers!