The generous and lovely HollyRhea designed and sent me this donation button for our Road to Atlanta fundraiser. She sent it completely out of the blue as I was scratching my head gazing mindlessly at the PayPal site wondering what I had gotten myself into.
The actual active, click-y button is in the margins to the left; under my flikr because I couldn't get it to show up anywhere else. I can't even seem to get the real button in this post either - I'M LAME! To be honest, I'm pattin' myself on the back for even getting the button in the margins. It's all but scotch taped there. P.S., I like to say and type the word button(s). Uh, so satisfying. BUTTONS.
But how gorgeous is the button?
AND CHECK IT, the bracelets showed up today, a week early! Be aware that my hand and wrist are really small. These are rubber so they do stretch to get over some big-ass hands, if that's what you or a significant other has. These will fit kids well though they will be big on the little ones, seven and under. The bracelets are $3/each or four for $10. The purple and the yellow ones say "whatever it takes follow your dreams" and the pink and teal ones say, "go confidently in the direction of your dreams." If you'd like to buy a bracelet or 4, or more, to help out with our Junior Olympic Quest, please donate from the button in the margins and then send me an email at email@example.com to indicate how many and what colors. Thank you so, so much.
AAh man, the Road to Atlanta is looking clear . . .
Now, for a lil' Vegas update even though what happens there, needs to stay there. Whoever came up with that slogan is a goddamn genius. Because I murder that phrase. I say an edited version of this, oh, weekly. Like, what happens in my cubicle, stays in my cubicle. As you know, I bring baggies of soy creamer to my local coffee spot. This practice often elicits comments from other latte patrons, but one morning a guy looked over at me and my baggie and said, "Baileys?" Which I thought was really funny. I said, "Hey, what happens in my cup, stays in my cup" which isn't as funny as Bailey?, and what I'm trying to say is that I can't help myself.
Here are some of my happenings that should've stayed there . . . I'm not saying I'm embarrassed by these things, I'm just saying there are things I do in Vegas that I might not do elsewhere:
1. First of all, I went shopping which I'm not supposed to do. I'm on my Big Non Consumer Experiment -- for the most part -- and we really don't have extra money to blow right now. Initially I was going to just walk the miles and miles of fantastic underground malls that smell like monster airconditioning and fabricated fountains with a touch of coconut oil; these are all smells that I like and make me a little giddy. These places are capped with muraled blue-skied ceilings and paved with cobblestone and planted street lamps. Sounds nice, I know, but it's actually eerie and so obviously all made-up, but there is something about it that I love. Like I'm living in a cartoon. The malls -- that are popping up at every casino now -- are like a crowded secret. Shopping is the newest decadence of Vegas. If you suckers are gambling less, come shop. And we do. We all mull around excitedly thinking, Aren't there better things to do in Vegas? Heehee, no! Indoor Vegas air filters the scene differently, distorting things into technocolor. People let their guard down there from a little bit to a whole lot so the crowds are beyond entertaining. I'm all warm and fuzzy just thinking about the international and broad-spectrum people watching. Soul satisfying, I tell you. Anyway, in Vegas, you consider buying shit you would buy no where else especially in your right mind. I picked up a micro mini top bedazzled beyond recognition and thought, "That's cute." In hindsight, NO IT WASN'T. It was hideous, and embarrassingly I looked at it for a long time. For the most part, I was able to fend off all the alluring, sparkly goods, but when there was a new Urban Outfitters at Mandalay Bay and when this Urban Outfitters displayed these Jellies, I COULD HOLD BACK NO LONGER. $16 for my favorite type of shoe ever made! I had rocked the Jellies the first time around in fourth grade; a transparent red pair that went perfectly with the piping of my catholic school uniform. So, at Urban O's, I greedily grabbed three different colors and a rad tshirt and ran to the register. I just couldn't take it. The Vegas air broke me down.
2. Since I had a room to myself, and because The Robe got hot at times, I walked and lounged around the room naked a lot. I'm not usually gung ho about doing stuff naked. I like the confinement of clothes to be perfectly honest. Am I uptight, do I need to feel the security, who knows. But the weekend room nudity? New and different and staying right there in Vegas.
3. Being a vegan on The Strip is near impossible. I didn't eat a lot this weekend. Saturday afternoon, I went down to the buffet because you'd think a buffet is bound to have a good salad bar. I went alone after walking a marathon in malls. And P.S., I thought buffets were like $4.99? Anyway, I was charged $19 and after a quick prerusal, I found no salad bar. None. I saw aisles and aisles of greasy meat dishes and green beans with bacon, etc. I saw three silver bowls with premade salads like, chinese chicken salad and some other wilted nonsense. So, I went up to the front, with my sunglass on, and told them deadpanly, "I want my money back." "You don't like the buffet, Miss?" "There's no salad bar. I just want to eat a salad" "Yes, there's a salad bar right there," and she points to the three silver bowls. I said, "Those are premade and they don't look very good." We went to the manager at the register who was a tall, bitter lady and I got to have this exact conversation with her in front of two long lines of tired, touristy patrons trying to get their roast-beef on. I got my refund. Mind you, the characteristic to Speak Up I do not lack. But usually I am very diplomatic and charming about what I need to say. I was kinda cold and over it with the non-vegetable having buffet crew. Vegas rocks!
4. Brokers love to drink, and when loud boisterous brokers drink they like to high-five each other. I am not typically a drinker and I AM NOT A HIGH FIVER. This form of communication or validation or punctuation or bonding does not appeal to me at all for some reason. A few years ago when I had a personal trainer for a couple months, he tried to high five me on the first day and I left him hanging. He got the hint. I'd prefer a shove in the arm than a high-five. I'd prefer a little dance. But alas, over the weekend because I had a couple rum and diet cokes at the broker parties, I might've high fived on seven different occasions. I think about that and cringe. If there is video of this and I find that the brokers-gone-wild sounds of "WWWHHOOOOOOO" were also coming out of my mouth, I'll fucking shit myself. High-fiving really needs to stay in Vegas.
The Morning Reading: "They look at our arid lives"
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