Flirty Vaginas August 30, 2011

I am the hostess with the mostess.  I live to throw a good party, and I have such an occasion coming up!  My sister, who hates loves my party style, was annoyed delighted to hear me rattle on incessantly about my plans.  This conversation went horribly, HORRIBLY, awry thanks to my auto correct and overzealous typing.

Note: this is a Sex and the City theme party

Me:  We are having Flirtinis and Cosmo Cupcakes! I even have sugar pearls to sink in champagne glasses because it’s too cute and Charlotte-like.  Also, I am making pineapple ice cubes with cherries in the middle so the Flirtinis aren’t watered down.  How cute is that!? You think I should also freeze chunks of pineapple?

Sister: That sounds like you.  Yes freeze the fruit. You’ll like that.  Just be sure not to stab anyone if they use the wrong fork.

Me: No forks.  However, if they don’t keep their vaginas up as they drink Flirtinis, I might have to slap them.

Sister: Damn that’s tough.

Me: Whatever, I always raise my vaginas. That’s what ladies do.

Sister: No sis, that’s what whores do.  And since when do you have two?

Me: What? You are mean. :’-(

Sister: Read your damn text dork.

Me: Sweet baby moses….  I meant pinkies!

Sister: Uh-huh.  I was close to coming to your party if vagina raising was involved.  Now, I’m not coming.  This is much less fun.  Drink a Flirtini and raise your vaginas for me on Friday…..

Me: Bite me.

On Hippos. August 30, 2011

On a particularly lovely outing with PIC (my Partner in Crime for all of my new readers), I decided to embarrass myself yet again.

We were in the ritzy section of town where we had a coupon *SCORE!* for a free appetizer with entrée at a new restaurant.  We went in and saw that you had to select a pasta option, which started at $5; then you had to select a sauce option, which started at an additional $5; and if you wanted to add a meat, that also was an additional $5+.  So, if you wanted a basic spaghetti with marinara and meatball (yes, that is a singular meatball), the cost was $17.  What the crap.  Really? Really am I going to buy $17 worth of pasta? Highway robbery.  I’ll save that money for my Prada fund thankyouverymuch.

So PIC and I went to another restaurant where we ate ourselves into a carb+crab+lobster+wine overload.  I was reduced to one step above zombie.  (Not the scary kind, or the maple kind – that’s for you PIC; rather the heavy footed, swaying side to side kind of zombie that does not want to eat your flesh or any other food at the moment.)

This is when I got the bright idea to start roaming around to walk off what I affectionately referred to as my food baby.  PIC indulged me and we strolled about looking in store windows and laughing loudly at pretty much everything that passed us by.

Then, we came upon sculptures.  Yes, y’all, there were big bronze sculptures about the area.  Hooray! I love a good sculpture! This one was in an area filled with loitering teens.  In my haste and excitement, I screamed , “It’s a hippy!”

Now, what I meant to say was, “It’s a hippo.”

My PIC, ever by my side, pulled me by the arm and lead me across the street to a safe zone (also infested with large sculptures, albeit they were part of the actual building). She gently explained that I can’t call people hippies, even if this is a town notorious for such.  I explained that I was trying to say hippo, although the stench of hippy was quite rank….and why were they in the ritzy section anyway?

And this is when I stopped.  I realized my dumb ass just might have saved myself from myself for once.

The loitering teens were large.  At it would be possible for someone to conjure the word hippo when referring to the ladies and their gentlemen callers (as grandma would have said).

When PIC realized this hippy-hippo slip was likely in my favor, we laughed until we cried.  We ran from the hippy-hippos with nothing more than slight scowls thrown our way.  It’s a good thing too.  If I’d yelled hippo, I’m sure we would have had a fight à la Kill Bill.  My nun-chucks were in the car so it wouldn’t have been a fair fight.

Moral of the evening?  1) coupons are misleading, 2) sculptures can get you in trouble, 3) always carry your nun-chucks….just in case of ninja warfare.

The end of an era. August 23, 2011

Sadly, they are tearing down my old dorm. I am very sad.  I had some really great times in there….and some not so great.  Allow me this stroll down memory lane.

• The Secret Shitter
• The Crusty Couch
• Maggots and Easy Cheese
• Sadie!
• Bonanza
• Spit Pizza – aka Zima on a Pizza
• Whiskey + Cigars + Gramma
• Night Train
• Charlie’s Angels, the Shaft, the Tick
• The pile of tp in front of the door
• The Winters…..
• Alyze Please
• The Night The Lights Went Out
• Quarantine Days
• The Fight Night – broken gumball machine and man down!
• ****Gate.  I can’t type the name.
• The guy who did acid and jumped off the balcony.
• “Sucks the Lifeblood” graffiti
• Flat foot breaks face
• Dance Party nights
• Rolly Chair nights
• Suite Parties
• The Common Area
• Proud Mary
• The Flip-n-…..well you know
• The poor hermit crabs

Rest in peace sweet dorm of mine.  Thanks for three years of wonderful memories!

A case of the Googles? August 23, 2011

Another day in the life of my phone.  This was a text conversation with a co-worker.  No, I’m not allowed to speak at the office.  We resort to texting, which is much funnier.

Coworker: WTF you been laughing all day? What’s wrong with you?

Me: hahahahaha lololololol

Co-worker 2 (not on text): I have to leave immediately. My baby has a fever and I have to get him to the doctor.

Coworker (back to texting): Did your mama take you to the dr every time you had a fever?

Me: Clearly not. Actually, I feel feverish now. I’m delirious with googles.

Me: Goggles

Me: DAMN IT TO HELL. GIGGLES.  Now I’m not laughing anymore.

Coworker: I love that you have a case of beer googles and it is only 10am. For christsake share….

Me: Beer googles? Are you making fun of my spelling challenged phone, or did you mean to really say goggles?

Coworker: I would love to claim I was cleaver, but it was a mistake. I did mean goggles.

Me: You are Super Cleaver.  You wield a mighty knife.

Coworker: Shut it.

Me: You love me.

Coworker: Googles are on you tonight.

Me: ?

************Silence*************

The New Tan August 23, 2011

I am naturally very pale.  My people say that it is like a porcelain doll, but I fear that it is in a Corpse Bride sort of way.  Of course, I never use a tanning bed (wrinkles!?!) and I do not lay out.  So my only option for color in the summer is a spray tan.

Before my trip out of town last weekend, I decided to get a spray tan.  This was not my first foray into the spray tan world, but it WAS my first whirl at the new and improved tanning system.  In case any of my readers do care about how to tan like a pro, or how the new tanning system will totally boggle your mind, please read on.  If you’d like to laugh while vividly imagining someone doing these steps, also, please read on.

1.  Defy being a Gila Monster.  You’re not supposed to shower for eight hours after you get sprayed.  I know, gross?  As an avid multi-shower a day lady, I have to really have to make this one count. And I learned the hard way that if you don’t exfoliate, the tan sticks to you and you look like a Gila monster.  If you don’t moisturize, you risk being a splotchy Gila Monster.

2.  Go bare.  Ok. not really…just be sure to wear something that you don’t mind getting tan lines from.  I usually opt for my minimalist sandals, bikini top under a very loose shirt and baggy skirt/dress.

3. The formerly easy part.  You used to just go to the salon, select the color and go to step 4.  This is no longer the case.  There are now three shades to choose from as a base, then two boosters that make you some shade between the three. Then you pick a scent to add.  Then you pick whether or not to sticky feet (prayers answered!) Then you pick whether or not to quick set the tan.  In case you wondered, as a fair person here is what I selected:

• Color 1
• Booster X 3
• Lime Coconut scent
• Sticky Feet
• Quick Set

4. Lunch Lady meets Scrub Nurse. The salon will give you the following for your prep:

• Lunchroom lady cap to protect your hair
• Lotion to keep the tan from setting on to certain areas of your skin
• (if you opted) sticky feet…which just stick on your foot like a flip flop.  This keeps the tan off the bottom of the foot!
• Scrub nurse booties- the alternate to sticky feet.
• Paper towels

5. Sticky feet are sexier.  If given the option, GET the sticky feet. If you don’t opt for sticky feet, you must do what I used to do: place multiple lunch lady caps  strategically on the floor, then goop the bottom of my feet with the lotion VERY heavily.  This caused me to slip on more than one occasion….which I was well aware of and yet risked to not have to wear the medical booties and get weird tan lines; or ruin my flip flops.

6. Lunch lady up.  Put on the bonnet. I know it isn’t sexy…. Pull it behind your ears and I even expose the outer part of my hairline…. if you pull it down, you will have a white frame around your face, which is even less sexy than a lunch lady cap.

7. She puts the lotion on her skin. Lotion will keep the tan from sticking to your unwanted parts….like in-between your fingers and toes.  I put globs in those places as well as on and under my nails.  I apply some to the top of my hand, a lot to the palm of my hand.  I also apply a layer to the tops of my feet, my knees and elbows.  Do note that this will make it very hard to open the door of your spray tan booth.  Just work with it.

8.  Prepare to contort.   If you have the old spray tan, here is what you do.

• Do not face the spray nozzles on the first go.  You will always inhale, you will always sneeze, and it will always be gross.
• Before you push the button and turn around, you must know, love and instinctively morph into “The Pose”- you will have 5 seconds to do so. What is the pose?  Bend your knees a little, but still stand up straight. While NOT facing the sprayers, bend your arms around so it looks like you are holding a fat belly.  Your wrists and palms should be in front of your pelvis area.
  
• After you push the button, spin around and do The Pose, let the sprayer do its thing.  DO NOT turn around.  It will beep to let you know it’s time to turn around.  If you turn before the beep, you will be flipping back and forth trying to even everything out….and then you’ll fall….or be way more tan on one side.
• After the beep, turn around and assume The Pose 2. Take a deep breath and hold it as you get sprayed.  What is The Pose 2?  Like The Pose, you will bend your knees a little, but still stand up straight. Now that you are facing the sprayers, you will put your arms to your side, but leave a wide gap between you and the arms.  You will keep the arms bent a little…almost like you are T-Rex.  Spread your fingers out a-la Jazz Hands from Fosse.  Now, curl your fingers down like you have monster hands.  Next, bend your wrists back as far as you can….seriously.
• After the beep, if you got a 2 or a 3 level, turn around and repeat this process. And once more if you got a 3…. are you exhausted yet? Then you did it right.

If you have a new system spray tan, things go all Twister on you.  There are numbers 1,2,3 and 4 on the floor.  Ya’ll…this machine talks. It tells you what to do, where to go and how to be. I freaked out – but turns out I still do know how to count to four, even if I still have problems with left and right.  Thank God.  In the new system, you still have to pose, so be ready.

9.  Still Standing. Stay still.  This is very important.  In the new system you get air vents.  In the old system you just open the door to fumigate your spray tan coffin and hold until you feel semi-dry.  Do not break a sweat.  Do not sneeze.  Just stay still until you are mostly dry. This is much harder than you might expect….

10.  The Dismount. If you opted to go without the sticky feet, CAREFULLY get out of the chamber of tan.  Use the paper towels to take the goop off your hands and feet. Do NOT rub too harshly.  If you do, the appendages will not tan.  You will have a tan body and white hands and feet.  It looks God awful.  Take off your lunch lady hat.  Pat yourself dry if you must (again, I stress air dry if possible) and then get dressed.  You are ready to go….finally.

Important notes:

• Do not be alarmed.  You won’t look tan right away.
• The tan that appears before 24 hours is not the color you will end up with after you shower.  You will end up being less Snooki, more Dancing with the Stars after 24 hours and a shower.
• Chlorine sucks the tan away.
• Sweat wipes the tan away even faster.
• Be sure to apply self tan lotion every other day to maintain your tan as long as you can…usually 7 days.
• If you have drama….. use pure acetone to remove the color – or salt scrub and a loofah.  You will likely lose a layer of skin, but at least you won’t be an oompa-loompa.

The Humble Pig. August 15, 2011

I went on an outing with PIC.  The only photo of the night that I can share is below.

After the both of us had a particularly bad week, we determined a girl night was in store.

After singing Beyoncé to the top of our lungs (as all girl nights SHOULD begin), the conversation turned to being humble, and then being patient (two qualities I sadly have too much of?)  Then, I spotted the most perfect pig. Ever.  She was like me: in a dress looking quite humble and patient.  PIC dutifully stopped traffic as I snapped the picture. God bless her for her patience with me!

Patient Pig in Pink

This is the point my PIC was likely wondering why I was oddly mute.  Feeling quite close to the pig, I named her Priscilla.  Why? It seemed appropriate.  I think she sent me her name telepathically because we ARE so close.  I began to wonder why Priscilla was grey.  Here is the conversation in my head:

Me: Aren’t all little pigs usually pink?

Brain: That would clash with her pink dress.

Me: Oh… wait. Is THAT why her dress is pink?

Brain: Oh dear.  Maybe she was born grey and insists on wearing pink to fit in!

Me: Oh God! Poor Priscilla!

Brain: THAT must be why she is patient and humble….because she doesn’t fit in!

Me: Priscilla.  I must buy you, paint you pink, and then let you pick out any color dress you want.

Brain: Wait.  Maybe she LIKES standing out as a grey pig.

Me: No.  She doesn’t.  If she did, she would not be so humble.  She would have worn a color less unassuming than pink, perhaps a nice Chartreuse or Persimmon.  And, she would be sporting fabulous shoes.

Brain: Why isn’t she wearing shoes? She clearly walks upright.

Me: Damn them. Someone has stolen her Jimmy Choo’s.

Brain: And her Birkin.

Me: That would certainly make me humble….and patient if said assailant was holding them in front of me.  Perhaps Priscilla IS in fact a diva?

Brain: She is wearing pearls….We are too smart for our own good.  We are on to you Priscilla.

Little did I know this would turn out to be an omen for the rest of the evening.

The Land of the Google and the Bing August 11, 2011

As I have said, I spend a lot of time on the phone, mostly with people who whine or do not understand what I’m saying.

Here is the most painful conversation – ever. My apologies to any septuagenarian with web skills.

Caller: I have two “intranet” addresses for you.  Which is right?

Me: Well, there is only one web address for our organization.  What do you have?

Caller: *changed to protect*  www.StuffICantPostOnFacebook.com and stuffadmin@wordpress.com

Me: Um.  You have an internet address and an email address.

Caller: What’s the difference?  Which one is right?

Me: Both are correct; however one you use to find a page online, and the other to email.

Caller: Which one uses the Google or the Bing? I need to forms.

Me: (pounding my head on my desk) You need to forms?

Caller: Yes. I need to forms. This note says so. “I NEED TO FORMS.”

Me: Do you need two forms?

Caller: NO! Just the to forms you can find in the Bing.

Me: Perhaps you should allow a more web-savvy member of your organization handle the form or forms you need? Have her call back and I can direct her properly.

Caller: I AM PRESIDENT. This is MY job! I am computer illiterate, and I move that we stop this online nonsense.  Paper is the way. When are you sending me my forms so I don’t have to troll through this lala land of Google?

Me: Ok. Well, the forms are found on the address with the w’s in it. Currently we are not sending these forms out via mail. If you would like to request paper copies of the forms, I can leave a message for our executive.

Caller: Hmph. No. I’ll struggle through it.

Me: Ok. Well thank you for calling.

Caller: I have more questions.

Me: (slitting my wrists with the letter opener) Ok. What can I help you with today?

Caller: How do I print?

Me: I’ll have to transfer you.

Seriously y’all.  I couldn’t handle it.  I transferred her to my unknowing coworker, who came to my cubicle and strangled me.  After work, she and I plan to do a shot or shots…of Jack.  Fair enough. Her conversation was much like mine, except she had to explain what a PDF is and why you can’t save it online…unless you have something like a print driver….. and how do you print if you don’t even have a printer?

Moral of the story: there should be an age restriction on any job that requires you to effectively dwell in the “land of the google”.

Our first year paperless.  God have mercy on us as we step right in a steaming pile of Bing.

Dear Sir August 10, 2011

WARNING: This post is slightly mean spirited.  But, if you threw up weekly due to this, you’d understand.  I’m not exaggerating.

 

Dear office mate:

This is the second time this week (mind you it is Wednesday) you have caused me to literally vomit in my mouth.  You truly smell.  I mean this nicely, really I do, but you are offensive.

I have to believe that you are either 1)custom to or 2) love the stench of body odor, strong coffee, vinegar and raw sewage.  Otherwise, why else would you live like this?

If neither of the two aforementioned reasons are correct, I am left to draw my own conclusion (confirmed by the way you keep your office, your lack of attention to your work and your inability to sneeze without spraying the entire desk): a lazy slob who thinks standing in the shower and turning around twice = clean.

In case you missed it, here are 5 basic rules for you.

1. You must use soap.
2. You must scrub your bits that may or may not be covered with your fleshy rolls.
3. You must wash your dirty bits more than once.
4. You must not wear the same outfit three days in a row, unless you wash it between wearings.
5. You must use deodorant, daily.

If you can please follow even one of those rules, I feel my vomit weekly quota will decrease.  Although some may call this a lovely diet, it is not a fun way to exist. Also, I am really sick and tired of Febreezing my office every time you walk by.  This is getting expensive.

Hugs from a distance,

Me

Satan? No, just seitan! August 10, 2011

I will try anything once.  Usually, this serves me well….until today.

A coworker brought in some new food called seitan.  Unfamiliar? It is pronounced like satan, or rather that’s how she pronounced.

Satan? Sure tastes evil.

This stuff is called “wheat meat” and is very nutritious.  However, here is what seitan tastes like:

• Consistency of mashed potato
• Flavor of pickles and mustard (two things I hate, but in seitan’s defense it was the flavor selected by my coworker)
• Texture of stringy meat

OH DEAR GOD. When I put it in my mouth, my eyes immediately watered and I began to get the “I’m going to hurl” wet mouth/throat thing.  I did swallow it, however, I have made multiple trips to the restroom to scrub my tongue.

Therefore, I now fully believe that anything pronounced like a demonic figure will taste equally horrific. Angel food cake = good; Seitan= GOD AWFUL.

Moral: I will try anything once, unless it is pronounced like something evil.  Then, all bets are off.  Don’t ask me.  I won’t do it.

Yeah. Really. August 10, 2011

I get a thousand phone calls a day.  Usually from really idiotic college girls, or really old women. I find humor in them, so I shall blog about today’s calls.

Girl: Hi. Can you help me? I’m a muse.

Me: Good for you.

Girl: No really.

Me: Amusing?

Girl: Yeah sometimes.

Me: <silence>

*************

Lady: I can’t find the buggy.

Me: Pardon?

Lady: The buggy!

Me: I’m sorry, I do not understand.  Are you trying to find our online shopping cart?

Lady: Maybe. I don’t really know.

Me: <silence>

************