fire i'll take you to burn fire i'll take you to learn you're going to burn you're going to burn

So jess and not jess and I were having beers (properly memorized by the bartender from his having served us on one previous occasion) at our not favorite watering hole and we were chatting about what and not and whatnot and so on and suddenly jess, looking past me and not jess, exclaimed, "Fire cheese!" and we all realized that the woman next to not jess was eating a plate of melty, sizzling fried cheese, bathed in brandy and lemon or something, with flames that were just burning out, at which point we then realized that we had all reached our respective ages of older than zero years old without a) knowing that fire cheese existed and b) ever having eaten fire cheese, something we immediately rectified by placing our own order of fire cheese to accompany our memorized-by-the-bartender beers, at which point I whipped out the trusty iPhone because, you know, how could we partake of such a momentous occasion of our first fire cheese without recording the event for posterity? Herewith, our tale:

First, fire cheese aflame!
Still aflame!
Squeezing something on the flaming cheese!
Shaking something on the fire cheese!
Still life with beer and cheese.
'Tis a thing of beauty. Jess pronounced it the most metal food ever. (Accordingly, I quoted Ozzy in today's title. Despite my inclination to quote The Clash. Because, you know, I always quote The Clash. It's the only band that matters.)

i'm taking myself to a dirty part of town where all my troubles can't be found

WHY can't I wake up enough to see the peeps today (who were *ahem* trying to get me to go places to see Hot Guy last night - who had made a point of telling me where he'd be, but I am not the eighth grader riding my bike past the cute boy's house trying to get a glimpse of him on a weekend, even though it might have gotten someone a current boyfriend coughnotyourmothercough)?

I did finish the Somewhat Cowl (Ravelry link) - here is my fine, self-portrait without head in the bathroom mirror from the iPhone:I also saw the Pope. He drove past my office in his Popemobile (a flatbed truck with a bulletproof box affixed). His eyes are rather piercingly creepy. This was on his birthday, about one block from the White House, as he was leaving.It amused me how many people were selling "Pope World Tour 2008" t-shirts.

found my way downstairs and drank a cup and looking up i noticed i was late

6:00 am: woke up.

6:30 am: logged into work email, did work.

7:15 am: logged out of work email, realized should be on train at that moment.

8:35 am: realized should stop reading Ravelry, interwebs, Twitter, etc., and get dressed.

8:40 am: sent email to manager, promising i'd be in my 9:00 am.

9:00 am: got off couch to get dressed.

9:15 am: decided to look for clothes to wear to work.

9:30 am: realized would be in meetings with Hot Guy all day; applied makeup with a trowel to simulate drag queen.

10:00 am: got off Metro too ridiculously late to get Starbucks.

10:05 am: received phone call as walking into office from colleague in other building who suggested immediate meeting at Starbucks; told colleague she was a goddess.

11:30 am: walked back to colleague's office from Starbucks, only to encounter Hot Guy, who sits near colleague.

12:00 pm: Hot Guy interrupted meeting with colleague to discuss 1:00 meeting and flirt with me.

12:15 pm: walking outside back my office, ran into Hot Guy walking back to his office from my building. Received half-hug from Hot Guy, who insisted on having a meeting outside on sunny, lovely sidewalk, standing up, whilst touching me often, about 1:00 meeting.

12:48 pm: ran into office to read email and delegate work to colleague across the hall to prepare for 2:00 meeting. Took time to refresh lipstick application.

1:01 pm: ran into meeting room in other building, skipping lunch, in time for Hot Guy to sit next to me.

1:59 pm: walked out of meeting still in progress, being almost tackled by Hot Guy, who was trying to make me stay in meeting, to go to other meeting (in same, other building).

3:01 pm: walked to meeting room next to Hot Guy's office, outside of which Hot Guy was standing, eating cake. Discussed 1:00 meeting with Hot Guy and merits of buttercream frosting on cake. Talked so long 3:00 meeting participants yelled down the hall for me to stop talking to Hot Guy already and get my ass in meeting room.

4:15 pm: left meeting to walk into other meeting across the hall.

4:40 pm: left meeting to walk back to main building, passing Hot Guy's office. Hot Guy suggested meeting to discuss planning future meetings. Politely declined for own sanity's sake, despite continued pleasure of Hot Guy's presence. Left Hot Guy's office immediately and walked as quickly as possible back to office.

4:55 pm: ran into manager leaving building for the day, who exclaimed, "Oh! You came to work today?!? I had no idea!"

i want security yeah i'm telling you once say again oh now security and i want it in the end

There's still time to give to the MS WALK! The walk was great. For pictures, see Melissa's blog (linked below), or wait for me to put some up, maybe. Thanks to those who gave!

Back in November, for various tax purposes, I changed my residency from Georgia to Virginia (although now I believe I'm considered a resident of both, actually). Because the 9/11 hijackers had apparently super duper easily piece-of-cakily obtained their driver's licenses from Virginia, the Commonwealth of Virginia requirements for a driver's license now require about twelve forms of photo ID, along with a passport, birth certificate, grocery store card, library card, four utility bills, a letter from your past three employers, and letters from your best friend in kindergarten attesting to the fact that yes, you do in fact live in Virginia and you do not intend to fly any airplanes into any major buildings soon.

And so it took me about eight minutes, from start to finish, to get my Virginia driver's license on one Saturday in November, a day when the DMV opened thirty minutes EARLY, was unbelievably efficient, and forgot to even test my incredibly blind eyesight and didn't put that I needed corrective lenses on my license.

So when Melissa was driving me to the airport in Portland (Maine, not Oregon, which was an amusing bit of confusion with Amber one morning, who is originally from Portland OREGON and couldn't figure out why I was having trouble finding flights) today and commented that perhaps security in the tiny little airport wouldn't be the extreme breeze I expected it to be since the 9/11 hijackers had begun their trips out of that airport, it didn't really phase me. "Huh," I think I might have said.

In fact, nothing occurred to me until I had to show the TSA guard at the 9/11 originating airport Portland (Maine) my 9/11 easily-gotten Virginia driver's license.

Yeah.

I think one of those two items would have been just fine. It's the combination of the two that brought over three guards to inspect the license with the ultraviolet light, the infrared light, the magnifying glass, a larger magnifying glass, a call to a manager, a call to a higher manager, and a halt to all airport screening whilst all Portland (Maine) TSA security guards had to be trained on the spot in the fine art of inspecting a Virginia driver's license.

By this time, all ten people flying out of Portland (Maine) behind me who hadn't yet gone through security were getting really impatient. Yours truly was pulled aside into the "specially roped off private screening area," which is a roped off circle on the other side of the driver's-license-checking-podium with no privacy screens AT ALL, which are required, maybe?, I believe, where all of the n00b guards were taking turns shining an assortment of rainbow lights and differently-sized magnifying glasses upon my license, looking up at me, looking down at my license, looking up at me, down at my license, up at me, license, me, license, me, license, me...Nobody yet had said a word to me except to ask me to "step into the circle."

After about ten minutes, I was handed back my license and allowed to proceed on my way.

Without having to put my bags or myself through x-ray.

Portland (Maine) TSA: They're all about the security.