Favorite Work Conversation

I work with a lot of people across the globe, mainly with the team down in Brazil, Argentina, Columbia and Mexico. I secretly love it when things don't quite translate between languages. Here is my favorite recent exchange:

Brazilian: "Denise, did you hear about Pedro?"
Me: "No, what happened? Is he ok? Did he make it to Chile?"
...Pedro was traveling from Brazil to Chile for work.
Brazilian: "Yes, but he got so intoxicated on the plane. He couldn't make the meeting."
Me: "Are you fucking kidding me? He got intoxicated on the plane and couldn't do the one thing he was fucking supposed to do there?"
Brazilian: "Yes, but he was very, very intoxicated. He had to go to the hospital."
Me: "So, he gets so intoxicated on the plane that he has to go to the fucking hospital? What the hell!"
Brazilian: "Well, yes, he was intoxicated."
Me: "I get that, but seriously the hospital? Tell him to man up."
....at this point, I thought maybe I should take this call in a more private setting. I am sure my ease dropping neighbors were loving this. I also made a mental note to look up AA meetings in Sao Paulo.
Brazilian: "He could barely move he was so intoxicated. He just went to the hotel and puked all night. So he had to go."
Me: "Well, no shit. That is what happens when you are intoxicated. Tell him to suck it up and stop being a fucking rookie. He needs to deal with it. I do almost every Monday, Thursday and Friday."
Brazilian: "You get food intoxicated every week?"
Me: "Wait, what? Food intoxicated? You mean, food poisoning? He got food poisoning on the plane?"
Brazilian: "Yes, of course. What do you think I meant?"
Me: "Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing. But if anyone asks you about where he is, especially from the US, tell them about his intoxication."

So Long, P-Funks

Dear Parliament Lights,


Good-Bye, friend.

It's not you, it's me. Really..it is. I know we have been together for a long time, longer than I care to admit. You were there for me after many late nights and early mornings. You helped me relieve stress. You were there for me when I got my first and only D in college. You moved with me all over the country: New Haven, Columbus, Chicago and now New York. No one can question your loyalty. You were the one I turned to when I was happy, upset, angry, sad, joyful or any other emotion I experienced. We have vacationed together all over the world. Remember those crazy nights in Mykonos, Phukett and Paris? Yeah, me either. You have kept me company during the cold winter months and you brighten my summer nights. There was that time where I was really upset with you when I could no longer enjoy your company indoors, but we got passed that. You forgave me when I cheated on you with your friends Marlboro, Camel, L&M and my most shameful infidelity, Newport. But I always came running back to you. You were my rock. But it is with a heavy heart that I tell you: we need to part ways.

I know we have broken up before and got back together countless times over the years, but this time is it. We have had a good ride, but I just don't see a future for us. I love you, but I'm not in love with you anymore.

I just wanna be friends.

Keep on, keep on truckin'
-Denise

My sisters and my worst hang over, ever.

Last night, I went to see Sister Act with Nathan and Sam. It wasn't the best Broadway show I have ever seen, but it was entertaining. It really irked me that there was no music from the movie though. I really wanted to sing along to "I will follow him...follow him to where ever he may go.."

I do believe the funniest part was the comment Nathan made to me as the nuns first paraded on the stage. "Does that look familiar to you?" We all busted out laughing. For those who don't know the story, let me share it with you. It's a treat.

It has been 3 years since what I like to call the worst hangover in history. This story has taken on a life of it's own among my Chicago friends. Heather Reed adds something new each time she tells it. The real version, however, is an amazing story. No embellishment needed.

March 17, 2008. It is a Saturday. And for those who are a bit slow, it's also St. Patty's Day. Now, St Patrick's Day in Chicago is like no other. You need to train your liver for about a month prior. The week leading up to this black out fest, I was sick. I had a horrible sinus infection. I barely ate all week. I think I managed to get down some saltines and chicken broth, yum. I think God must have been smiling down on me because I woke up on St. Patty's day feeling like a million bucks. It was on.

The river dying in Chitown. 

I went down to my friend Michelle's boyfriend's condo. It overlooked Michigan Ave and the River. It was perfect because it was cold outside. We were inside, drinking like Charlie Sheen and watching the shenanigans below. I couldn't have been happier. We then went from bar to bar, drinking whatever I could get my hands on. I believe the whole day I had half a bagel, a handful a fries and a case of beer. I was in prime form. I went into what I like to call "auto-pilot" and just kind of charged on in a hazy state. St. Patty's eventually got the best of me and I put myself to bed.

I woke up the next morning to my phone going off to a frenzy of text messages. The boys were all getting together for brunch. Since I had only consumed about 500 calories the entire week (minus the 5,000 in beer the day before), I knew I needed to eat. I started getting ready and was just not feeling it. I had to sit down in the shower. I couldn't blow dry my hair. Putting on makeup was a task. Picking out my outfit proved to be a struggle. I knew I had probably bit off more than I could chew by agreeing to brunch, but I was determined to make it.

The "incident" scene. 

I lived about a 10 minute walk from the place. I couldn't make the hike. I walked up my street and had to take a break halfway. My street wasn't very big mind you. I eventually hailed a cab and paid him $5 to drive me 6 blocks. I walked into Melrose. I sat down at the end of the table and ordered my usual: ice tea, chicken and rice soup, club sandwich and fries. I was really struggling. I felt really hot. My ice tea came and I could barely choke it down. The soup came and that's when I knew I was done. I could not do it. Brunch was too much too soon for me. I told them I was sorry but I have to go home. I can't even remember if I threw down money.

I quickly get up to leave and as I walk towards the door, my hearing starts to go out. It was like a 4-alarm going off in my ears. I sit down on a stack of new papers, sweating like Pamela Anderson in church. I took a deep breath and knew I only had a few feet to go until I was outside to get fresh air. As I stand up, my hearing is completely gone, my vision becomes blurred. I see the outline of the door, but can't see all the people in the way. My vision was gone. I was like large marge and forced my way to the door. I push through the innocent patrons and all I feel is coats and hair. Coats and hair. I manage to get outside and that's when I fall down. Face first, on the sidewalk. I did catch my cheek with my arm. I fainted for a hot minute. When I finally came to and my hearing came back, the first thing I heard was, "OH MY GOD, SHE IS HAVING A SEIZURE, CALL 911". Great. Just fucking great. I am not having a seizure, but rather just puking on the sidewalk. Relax. Yes, I am a mess, but no need to cause a scene.

The Sisters. 

A nice person helps me up. I am sitting in their arms and puking in my lap. Yes, I was the epitome of a hot mess. There I sat, in this stranger's arm, barfing all over my myself. Someone else asked if I had friends inside. I said, "Nathan, Sam and Frank." There were about 12 of us there, but I couldn't find the energy to say anymore. They went inside to try to find my friends. There, I sat, puking in my lap. I was shaking. I puked more, on myself. Then, I took notice to this plant in my face. I batted it away. I puked again. I was drawing a crowd. I then finally took notice to the person holding me up. It was a nun. The plant I was batting away was a palm. Her sisters were behind her, also holding palms. It was Palm Sunday. I hit a new low.

One of the sisters, much to my disapproval, took the liberty to call 9-1-1. How am I going to explain this? That's when the boys come outside. I am sure the site of seeing their friend in the arms of a nun with vomit in her lap was a lot to take in. That's when I heard the sirens. I told them that my ride was coming. The police show up. Now, I have caused a real scene. Everyone has made a small semi circle around me. I didn't want to talk to the cop, so Sam took it upon himself to give me my complete information. He somehow knew my address too. I am surprised he didn't tell him my blood type. And then the ambulance shows up. Fantastic. I was forced to go inside - thanks Sister Mary. They take my vitals and tell me they need to take me to the hospital. No way I tell them. I tried to explain it was just a really bad hangover. They were not buying it, but they told me if I didn't puke and could walk out without falling down, they would let me leave. I told them I needed a minute to muster up some energy. That was a big task to undertake, but I was up for the challenge. No way in hell was I spending the afternoon in a hospital. I had some real Housewives to catch up on. I made it out, unscathed.

Heather just got a new car and drove to brunch. I walk over to her car to catch a ride. She told me I couldn't ride in her car with pukey pants. Sam gave me his sweaty pair of gym pants. I just dropped my vomit covered pants on the sidewalk. As if I didn't have enough embarrassment for one day. I put on the sweaty pants and off we were. We stopped to get some much needed Gatorade and Advil. Eventually, we started laughing. Real hard.

My favorite addition that Heather adds is that the nuns were fanning me with their Palms. That didn't happen; however, it took about 3 days to fully recover. But never in my life, will I ever recover from this story.