Oh hell honey… October 28, 2011

Happy Friday!  I was going through my draft file and see that I have inadvertently forgotten to post this lovely gem of a story.  Enjoy dear readers.

 

Attack of the insomnia beast again.  This time I decided to do something productive. I got up at 0 dark 30, went to the gym and had a cardio experience so intense I am pretty sure I saw the light.

Have you ever been to the gym at 0 dark 30? It’s bizarre!  There are two types of people there that early:

1. The little old people.  They enjoy swimming, have no qualms about being full-out naked in the dressing room and always wear a swim cap.
2. The insomniacs.  The minority that early, they are usually women who look like they could use a stiff drink, a hot shower and a warm bed.  Note: I realize I am in this category since I was THERE…  and am not even close to my wrinkly stage.

After my workout, I shielded my eyes from the sea of naked (save for the swim cap) ladies and made my way quickly to the shower.

CRAP! I realized that I was out of my conditioner, and to get back to said conditioner, I had to go back through the naked sea.  Not a big deal, just go without right?

Wrong.

What you, dear reader, do not know  is when my hair is given the opportunity, it is all sorts of wild kingdom.  Conditioner separates me from “oh hot damn” and “oh no! damn!” Without it, I look like I a very sad knockoff of Amy Winehouse (rest her soul). With it, I have the locks of a movie star.  Sad, but true!

I was running late, so I just dealt with it.  I got out of the shower, fixed myself best I could….and then this happened.  I wish I was taking creative liberty here, but alas, I am not.

Lady: Oh…hell honey (in a very genteel southern accent)

Me: turn to look and see what she is referring to, realize it is me, and then turn beet red.

Lady: beckons me to come sit on the bench in front of her

Me: oblige because hell, what do I have to lose?

Lady: You will never catch a man like that honey! I used to be a hairdresser.  Let me fix you.  Do you have any safety pins?

Me: SAFETY PINS?

Lady: Clothespins

Me: WHAT?

Lady: BOBBYpins.  Sorry sweetie my mind is racing looking at this hairdo of yours.

Me: Is it really that bad?

Lady: Oh hell honey. Yes sweet girl, it really is.

Me: I have spin pins. Will that work?

Lady: Anything would be better than this.

Me: provide lady with the spin pins

Lady: works her magic and creates me some Victorian bun, complete with ringlets on the side of my face. (Those were all me, my hair does that near my face.)

Voila! Oh honey! Go to a coffee shop and find a man!

Me: I look in the mirror and see what she has done. I realize that this is coming down, but I at least have to migrate out of the gym this way.  Thankfully, hot boys don’t work out this early.

Oh thank you! This is fantastic! And, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you think I don’t already have a man?

Lady: Oh honey. If you did, you wouldn’t be here this early. Fancy young things like you don’t ever get up this early if there’s a man in their bed.

Me: Oh. (because what else do you say here???)

Lady: So you go get you a man honey and I hope you don’t ever have to see me again.

Me: Um. I really appreciate your help. I promise to go get that coffee.

Lady: smiles wide

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

Update: I saw her again this morning. She was not impressed and looked a little disheartened. I can no longer go to the gym that early because I don’t want to break her heart.

Svetlana and Lola October 26, 2011

I get to see PIC tonight! We are going to sing loudly, eat, drink and laugh like school girls at things that don’t make sense to the rest of the world.  That’s how we roll.

I wasn’t going to share this, but I think it is hysterically funny and I can’t help it.

PIC had a run in with the auto-correct.  Instead of Hurray! Girl’s Night!, it read “Horny! Girl’s Night!” Heretofore, girl night is dubbed Horny Girl’s Night.  Pair that with my own Svetlana issue? To the untrained eye, PIC and I look like oversexed party girls with friends that are worse. To me, it’s just funny.

To the readers who know my cast of characters, and have read most of my posts, this should amuse you. If this is your first read of my blog, my apologies.  I’m not that wild and crazy, but my phone and GPS certainly are.

PIC: Horny Girl’s Night!

Me: Raise your vaginas!

PIC: I can’t wait.  But that crackhead Lola isn’t invited. She craaazzzy.

Me: Lola’s due in rehab. She is shouting “lost satellite reception” a lot these days.  I am beginning to wonder if that is her version of “hell yeah” because she says it at the best times to accent my quirky inner dialogue.

PIC: Lola’s due for 28 days.

Me: But… I do have to bring Svetlana because I can’t quit her.  She is a bitch, but she is my bitch.

PIC: haha Wheat Mush and Rav ride at 5?

Me: Lost. Satellite. Reception. (aka hell yeah!)

Well, that was embarrassing…. October 25, 2011

I pride myself on being a classy lady, particularly at work.

Today, I blew that out the window.

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when out of nowhere a spider drops STRAIGHT down my shirt.  Seriously! The damn thing had better aim than most men I know!

What do I wish I did? Stand up, flop out the bottom of my shirt, release the spider and sit back down.

What actually happened:

1. I feel something drop down my shirt.  I look down and see a fuzzy ass spider.
2. I leap up and scream at the top of my lungs, sending a coffee mug flying.  Thank God it was empty. Rest in peace mug, you were a fave.
3. Notice the spider has crawled into my bra.
4. Begin to pull the TOP of my shirt down to evict the spider from my chest, in the middle of the office.
5. Realize I’m disrobing only after I hear the sole male coworker here today say, “Um. Can I help you with that?”
6. Realize that this is probably the most the coworker has ever seen of a woman before. (Yes, he’s THAT guy.)
7. Become horribly embarrassed.
8. Realize the spider is still in my bra.
9. Scream, I’m so sorry!
10. Flee to the bathroom, get spider out of my bra and flush it.

The only positive spin I can take on this is that I made the coworker’s day.  Also, I didn’t get that far into the disrobing…in my hot evening dresses, I have shown more of my cleavage.

But, the more I think about it, the more I’m confident it was the gangster squirrels from last week trying to send me a message.  I guess I’m lucky.  The spider could have had a shiv. That would have been worse.  Maybe. Ah hell… No. That would have been way better than this.  I would really like to hide. In a hole. Well played squirrels…. you best watch your backs.

And then it hits you…. October 21, 2011

Dear Readers,

I usually reserve this blog space for the stuff I can’t post on social networking sites.  This does not really qualify.  However, it kind of does in a twisty way that I can’t get into right now.  This has been an über hard week.  Usually that means I’m whiny.  Usually that means I’m knee deep in wine.  Usually that means I’m running on 2 hours of sleep…sum total.  Usually that means I’m less than amused at things that normally make me belly laugh.

To top off this awesomely crazy week, I had a rather unpleasant visit with some clients. On regular days, this bums me out.  Given this week, it would put me in a growly-funk that would send me to a two hour cardio gym session to release the aggression. As I contemplated my gym visit today, I realized that as I was not seeking aggressive, stop my heart cardio.  No!  I want happy cardio (yes, it does exist) and some ab work.  No anger to work out, just some extra energy to expend.

And then it hit me.

I’m happy, downright giddy, for the first time in ages.  I’ve gone through a really rough patch y’all… and I’m starting to see the light.  Finally.  Feeling alive? Pretty freakin cool. I highly recommend it. I had no idea life like this actually existed.

So. Moral of the story: if you are doing something that kills your spirit, be it a job or a relationship, stop it right now.  Don’t look back.  No really.  Right now. The hardest thing in life is knowing which bridges to cross and which to burn.  But when you set fire to that bridge that wasn’t right? Once the pain goes away and you had time to think it over….wow.  The world is a beautiful place.  Here’s to burning bridges and discovering brand new ones that lead you places better than you ever imagined…..

Love,

Me

Another Manic Monday October 18, 2011

Dear Readers,

This week will be tough for me.  So, for the few of you that read me regularly, this post is for you.  If I do not post for a bit, I have not been taken by a chupacabra, zombies, gangster squirrels or anything of the like.  And if I do post more frequently, those aforementioned ideas are also not applicable, rather I have likely just temporarily lost my mind.

No, nothing quite as exciting or random, I just have a crazy work week in store.  See, we all get breaks. But when your boss is absentminded enough to give more than one person a break simultaneously? Well, that leaves me holding the proverbial bag.  In our busy time.  With a new database.  With a new software system. This means I will be doing the job of 3 this whole week.  Fun right?  Well, it could be.  I guess we will have to see.  I’m fresh into the first hours, and yet here I sit blogging. I’m procrastinating already, which may not be a good sign. I foresee late nights in my future. (Do not give me that look! I do have work ethic!!! I will totally get all my work done.  However, it may…or may not…be between regular 9-5 hours.)

I had a nice, restful weekend to prepare for all of this.  And, I currently have a nice bottle of pinot grigo chilling in the fridge for me upon my return home.  I am sure I’ll have some witty anecdotes that I will begin as drafts and post later on.  Or right then.  Whatever strikes me right.

Until then, the inevitable must happen: work. Wish me luck.  Toast to me if it’s that time wherever you are when you read this. I’ll be doing the same come 6pm….or whenever it is I wrap it up here.

Love,

Me

P.S. I realize that it is now Tuesday.  I think this is indicative of the next three days.  Or four.  Or something. I’ve lost count. And, incidentally, I did go home to the welcome arms of the pinot grigio.

PIC Night October 17, 2011

PIC (my partner in crime for you new readers) and I went to a local franchise for dinner the other night.  We now have new nicknames, and I don’t think I can go back again soon, but we’ll get to that.

We picked the said restaurant because I have a massive affinity for eating like a rabbit.  I can’t get enough of this place’s salad.  I have eaten four bowls, one sitting, all alone.  No lie!  And if you knew what I eat on a normal basis? You’d be like Oh Holy Cow!! Trust.

Anyway, PIC and I head to the restaurant, singing Beyonce because….that’s just what we do.  While waiting, we had a glass of wine, vaginas properly lifted, and toasted to girl’s night.

Eventually we are lead to an arbitrary table in the back.  We sit.  Then, PIC and I look around and see what I’m pretty sure was a wrap party for some reality teenage mommy show.  There were six moms, all with kids under 1 year, all look less than 21 (although two were drinking wine, but I am not sure they were carded.) Not judging (ok maybe I a little), but here is the conversation we overhear:

Mom 1: I can’t believe I am an old mom.  I didn’t have my first kid til I was 17.

Mom 2: Totally. I was 15 with my first and I was almost too old.

Mom 3: I couldn’t do it if I was an old mom at like 25. How would you have the energy?

Mom 4: Right? This one (she passes her baby like a football to a mom across from her), he’s more than I can handle. And with his sister at home hitting the terrible 2s? God, I don’t know what I’d do if I were old.

PIC and I: Oh. My. Dear. God.

There was so much wrong with that entire conversation.  We didn’t know what to say first, so we took the less obvious route.

Me: Did she just call us old?

PIC: Yeah.

Me: REALLY!?

PIC: WTF.  Yeah.

Me: They think WE are old?  I mean, having a baby before you can legally drink or vote is super smart, right?

PIC: I know right? This is really bad reality TV.

Me: I KNOW! But much more sad because they are like RIGHT THERE. (watching one mom swill down a glass of wine like it’s a festive fruit punch) Do you think she’s really 21?

PIC: I have no idea.  She doesn’t look it.  Seriously, this is sad….

Me: But it’s like watching animals feed at the zoo.  I know I should stop watching, but I just can’t. And the way they talk! I would clutch my pearls if I had any on.

I realize that if I don’t stop looking, I will be drawn in and forced to comment. We don’t want another hippy hippo episode right?  Finally, I avert my eyes, and look at the table to my left.  MORE babies and young moms, although these have husbands in tow.

Me: Really!?  More babies!?

PIC: They sat us in the fertile section!

Me: I hope to GOD that doesn’t rub off.  I have enough right now with cats and a turtle.

We eat a little. I order more than just rabbit food because I realize I’m starving.

PIC: (She begins to giggle, which sets me into giggles.) OMG! Do you see that couple behind me!?  She begins humming.

Me: Wow.  They are…..unique. What are you humming?

PIC: The theme from Odd Couple.

Me: BAHAHAHA! (I should note here that this couple was a tiny man of like 6 ft 2, 160; she was like 5 ft 2, 180.  Between laughs, I gasp. I. Can’t. Stop. Laughing.)

At this point, our waiter has boxed our food. He quietly lays it on the table.  And, a new set of nicknames are born: behold.

Wheat Mush and Rav? Really? Could I have a less attractive name on my box please?

One look at the boxes and I roar with laughter. I have tears streaming down my face and this makes my PIC laugh too. The restaurant is looking at us like we are uncivilized, and our waiter very insistently asks us not so steal his super fantastic light up pen as he scurries away.  At first I was like – um, do I look like a thief? But, then PIC reminded me that it is a light-up-fantastic pen… and I DO like a fancy pen….so maybe the waiter was right in insisting we not steal his pen.  I digress, but we did not steal the pen.

Wheat Mush? Oh for God’s sake….. could you not find a better way to say whole wheat pasta and mushrooms?  How about wheat w/ shroom? Rav.  Ok. I get that. But, my name is forevermore Wheat Mush.  Hers, Rav.  I’ll deal with it because it makes me laugh, but please don’t put that on my tombstone.

UPDATE: Gangster Squirrels October 13, 2011

This morning I posted about how gangster squirrels were bothering me.  After this post, things in the animal kingdom got worse.

CLICK CLACK SCRATCH

Me: What the… what is that?

Squirrel climbing UP MY WINDOW.

Me: AHHHH!

CLUBNK

Bird flies seriously close to window and sits on sill.

Me: AHHHHH!

Coworker: What the hell is the matter with you!?

Me: It’s all wild kingdom up in here and I don’t like it.

Coworker comes over to investigate.

At this point there are eight squirrels in the yard, six birds and a couple of things I didn’t recognize….possibly moles?

Coworker goes to window: Wow.  You’re like Snow White or something.

Me: Um….why would you say that.

Coworker: All the animals want to be close to you!

Me: They look like they want to kill me. I’m pretty sure that one has a shiv.  And I don’t want to be Snow White.  I am afraid of the little people and I really hate birds landing near or on me.

Coworker: Really? Cause it looks like the animals just enjoy your company so much they can’t leave.

Me: They have you fooled.

Coworker: Let me know if they produce shivs.

Me: It’ll be too late then.

Coworker: Well then it won’t matter.

Me: True that.

If my tires are slashed, my dear reader….it was the gangster animals that did it.

Gangster Squirrels October 13, 2011

I sit beside a large, floor to ceiling window at my office.  Outside, I see all assortments of things from drunk men peeing (I’m close to a bus station) to bear. Usually, the goings on outside serve as welcome distraction, good conversation starters or simply go unnoticed.  That is…until last week.  For the last week I have been terrorized by gangster squirrels.

No dear readers, these are not the cute squirrels pictured in animated movies that you want to pet and take home.  I’m relatively sure these squirrels are taking performance enhancing drugs. Seriously.  These squirrels are aggressive, large, fast and super strong.

It all started when I saw one abnormally large squirrel take a flying leap straight on top of another squirrel.  They fought, but the attacker successfully stole an awesomely large acorn and then ran away, acorn in tow. Five minutes later, the squirrel was back beating up two other squirrels who did not have acorns. Don’t tisk tisk me.  Yes.  It WAS the same squirrel.  There is a distinct mark on its back.

Since that day, the squirrels have grown more aggressive and scary.  What started as one aggressive squirrel has quickly overrun the entire population of them. I’m pretty sure they have each chosen a gang: Crips and the Bloods Acorns and the Seeds. Every time one of them runs by my window, I scream a little and jump….which causes my knee to fly up and hit the bottom of the desk…which has now caused a large lump to form.  I am not ok with this.  So, I have a message for all you squirrels.

Dear Office Gangster Squirrels,

I’m on to you.  Although you were cute until a few weeks ago, I know things have changed.  I don’t know if its something in the water or the acorns, but it has gotten out of hand.

I do not want to see you conduct acorn wars outside my window any longer.  You are not cute.  You are not entertaining.  I currently think of you as rats with tails.  I apologize if you feel you are indeed adorable, but here is a life lesson: cartoons have mislead you (and me too, but that’s another story).

If you continue to hold acorn wars and subsequently cause me to bang my knee, I will punt you.  Yes.  I said punt.  I’ll punt you, and your acorns, and your little gangster friends square into the adjacent lot with the homeless man that smells like potted meat.  I’m pretty sure you will look like steak to him.

This is a warning to both gangs. I don’t want to see your furry little tails around here again.

Love,

Me

I Love New Meanings. October 7, 2011

WTF.  In the modern vernacular, we all know what that stands for.  However, when you are in an office governed by an older lady who openly shares her belief that women should always wear pearls (ok I get that) and pantyhose (um..not so much),  WTF is not a phrase to bat around willy-nilly.  My sweet but stressed coworkers frequently say the acronym here.  Having them simply scatter the acronym around has been fine….until today.

Coworker: Sweet Mother Mary. What is wrong with everyone today? I just got chewed out by X, Y and Z. Everyone is in a foul mood today.

Me: Yeah I noticed.

Coworker: WTF man?

Me: shrug

Boss appears like a ninja, literally out of nowhere.  She says with a straight face, “What is W-T-F?”

(Note: I would not buy this from anyone but her, and perhaps my mom. If you met them you would know they are as innocent as apple pie.)

Coworker and I: silence

Boss: I hear her say that a lot (nodding to the coworker and not me thank you), like she did just now.

Coworker: Yeah. It’s just…um… It’s just…

Me:  (Totally butted in) Um. What it means to the rest of the world and what she means is not the same.  In here, we say Wow, That’s Fantastic.  It’s supposed to be sarcastic.

Boss: Oh. That makes sense.  It was fantastic (she used air quotes) that people are in a bad mood today. That’s kind of funny.  Do I want to know what it means if I say that to the rest of  the world?

Me: No. Just… shaking my head slowly….no.

Boss: Would you use the term in front of your mom? (She’s nodding at me to answer.)

Me: No.  No I would not.

Boss: (Nods satisfactorily) Fair enough. I’ll take your word.

Coworker looks at me with huge eyes, appreciating that I have saved her from a very intense lashing from the boss in etiquette, professionalism and language.

I smile.  I saved the day AND entertained myself.  Go me.  Wow.  that kind of IS fantastic!

Clearly I need to put that on a shirt. I’d totally sequin it up and wear it on the treadmill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Came, I Saw…. October 6, 2011

Warning.  If you have never read my blog, please go back to a better post.  Really. This post turned into a rambling, nonsensical jaunt through my overcrowded brain. If you do happen to read this, don’t judge too harshly. At the moment, this seems to be really funny.  It’s probably not, but maybe it is.  I have giggled at everything today, including the word applicable. Why you ask? Ok fine, read on…or don’t. I promise not to be offended.

We all know I don’t sleep.  I’ve come to terms with that.  It works to my favor many times….I mean, who else can quote infomercials like me? “This tuna looks boring. Stop having boring tuna. Stop having a boring life.” “Fettuccine, linguine, martini, bikini”.

The last two weeks have been worse with my sleeping and the like.  I’ve been in different cities, met a lot of new people and made some great memories.  (Cue the Breakfast Club music.)

Veni vidi vici y’all.

The answer to why I’ve been all Julius Caesar up in here is less fun than the stories that have come out of the last two weeks. So, let’s just call it a rough spot and move on.

Four nights ago, I pondered how long I could actually go without a real adult’s version of sleep, and still function as a working, contributing member of society.  I was betting a month. Turns out? About two weeks.  Last night I hit the proverbial fence around 4am.  This blogger went down.  I was in that sound sleep I reserve for Thanksgiving dinner’s tryptophan high, a glass of Cupcake Pinot Grigio and my heavenly 1200 thread count sheets.

I woke abruptly to my “get your ass up because you seriously overslept backup alarm” at 8am. I have done this twice in my life.  Seriously. And, although just short of four hours is more sleep than I’ve gotten sum total in the last bit, I’m relatively sure that I’m in some sort of trance. I can’t feel my face and I’m doing a slow blink thing that kinda scares me. Is this what most college kids feel like after an all-nighter study session?  Damn. No wonder I irritated everyone with my ability to cram, not sleep and feel spectacular the next day.

I’m neck-deep in coffee, and I even ate a real breakfast – ok PART of a real breakfast.  However, I can’t stop my eyes from closing. If I am indeed in a trance, and I wake up on a stage singing like a bird for some hypnotist show (yes, I’ve done that), I’ll be really mad.

To top it all off,  I have a VIP at the office today who needs my attention.  So I’m left to my one fail safe in my business world: fake it.  I’ve had pageant training. I’m kind of good at that. I’ll harness my inner diva and smile brightly….and if we all get lucky, I might even mean it by the end of today.

Wish me luck readers.  I came, I saw….I’m conquered.