Uncle Hunky and the Nun January 31, 2012

I’m a ball of nerves today.  Why?  Well, I am waiting impatiently to find out about a job.  I’ve had two interviews, presentations…. I feel confident! But….now I wait.  I suck at waiting.  I keep checking my phone like I’m a teenager waiting on a boy….which I am actually doing for that reason too….but I digress.

I can’t sleep, so I log in to chat.  Low and behold, my good college friend is there.  I tell my friend about my nerves.  She’s nervous too.  And here’s what happens. 

Note: I am pretty sure neither of us slept in the last four days.  Me due to nerves, her due to…being due actually.  I have changed all the names in this chat session that began around 3am.  This was uproariously funny around 4:30.  Maybe its not. I’m still working on no sleep.  Anyway,  M is my friend, Alex is my godchild, Dean is my to be born next godchild, I is…well.. me.

M:  I want to know the moment you have news.  I even made Alex pray for it tonight.  “And please help those sweet people at the hospital realize that Aunt I is the best thing that has ever crossed their doorstep”

I:  you are fantastic and wonderful

M:  Then you may really like the next part.  We said “and please help a hunky and great doctor realize that my Aunt I would complete his world”

I:  or the one hunky male i like now…..

M: I don’t care what his name is, or if he’s a doctor…Alex and Dean are going to call him Uncle Hunky.

Uncle Hunky, why do we call you that when your name is Joe?  Uncle Hunky, why does mommy laugh til she cries every time we say your name?

I: can’t – breathe – laughing- loudly…but… you know that’s partly why i’m up still.

M: Did a want him to be future uncle hunky hurt you?

I: no…. just me wanting clarification on things that i can’t get in to right now. if this doesn’t work, i’m done. no uncle hunky. i’m done with relationshits. i’m gonna convert and be a nun.

M: hahahaha

I: thanks for laughing at my nun potential!!!  i totally could.  honestly though, i am just tired of waiting for someone to say i’m his. to want me the way i want him….i think the nun thing has potential. i’m a good girl – i pray a lot anyway.  i would miss wearing my pradas though….

M: Wait. You didn’t mean to make a pun?

I: ?

M: Relationshits. It’s fitting for you darling.

I: ha! I didn’t mean that. but yes. relationshits. it’s amazing how one little letter changes the whole word. i’ve dealt with too many relationshits.  wait. i said shit and nun in the same sentence.  does that mean i can’t be a nun even if i didn’t mean it?

M: Yes.

I: Shit. Plan C?

M: Tequila?

*****
Alex woke up wailing and she had to go. I spent the rest of the night watching infomercials and a repeat of this movie.

Hoot-Dawg, Meat Suits and Hashtags January 30, 2012

I fully intended to write something different today.  However, something just happened and I needed to share.

I work with a women’s organization.  Four times a year we have a rather important group gather here at the office to do business stuff.  These women average around the age of 65 and are wildly successful in their normal day-to-day lives. If I didn’t witness this, I’d say you were lying.  But no.  This really happened. All of it.

First order of business today? Let me talk to them about the meaning of the hashtag.  You all know it: #.  Here’s how that all went down:

Me: A hashtag looks like this: # And it’s primary use for us is to mark important….

Member1: That’s a pound sign.

Me: Yes. The symbol also is known as a pound sign.

Member 2: That’s stupid.

Me: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.  So.  As I was saying, we use it in our Twitter feeds to designate key words….

Member 3: That’s the number sign too.

Member 1: RIGHT! Why can’t we just call it that- this tag hash thing is confusing.

Me: It’s quite simple actually if you’d let me finish.

Member 2: Does it involve hash or tagging?

(Room erupts in laughter)

Me: Pardon? Um… it does involve tagging.  As I was saying….

Member 1: Do we have to do this or can you just handle it?

Me: You all requested me to speak on this, correct?

Member 3: Yes but this is boring and complicated.

Me: Blink. Blink. Blink.

**********

I was at my desk, which is tragically located near both the conference room and the main traffic area.  I hear this:

Member 1: She was wearing…. get this….a meat suit.  Serious hand to God, made out of real meat.

Member 2: WHAT???

I envision her clutching her pearls and it makes me giggle.

Member 3: That’s unsanitary.

Member 1: Right! I didn’t believe my daughter, but she showed me pictures online.

Member 2: That’s disgusting.

Member 3: Who does she think she is?

Member 1: I’m not sure, but she’s royalty.  Her name is Lady something.

At this point I can’t control it any longer and I burst with laughter.  So much so that I had to flee from my cubicle, hands over mouth.  I think they thought I might be ill.  But, that doesn’t really surprise any of them considering who I work with….bless him.

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

This started as an innocent remark that went way down Beevus and Butthead lane.

Coworker: So, ladies, where would you like us to cater your lunch today?  The only place that’s not open since your last visit is Hooters.  It closed a few months back.

Member 1: chuckle

Member 2: giggle snort

Member 3: WAHHAHAHAHA

Coworker looks at me – we blink and exchange um… why are they laughing looks.

Member 1: she said Hooters.

Member 2: I’ll show you hooters!  shakes her chest towards the other members

Member 3: Is laughing so hard she is now crying and wheezing.  That’s…so….funny….

Member 1: We went there last time – remember girls?

Member 2: That was so funny!!!  Hoot-Dawgs in the house!

Member 3: SHHHH! Staff is here!!!

Member 1: Makes a zip the lip gesture and then shakes her chest wildly.

Member 2: Throws some gang sign and does the same.

Member 3: Throws a new sign and then they all three chest butt.

Coworker: So…. I recommend the new mexican restaurant down the street…..

Me: They make a mean burrito.

Members 1, 2 & 3: WAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

Coworker: I’ll leave the menu book here for you ladies.  Let us know what you decide.

Incidentally, they picked another chain restaurant.  They also opted to go eat there rather than us bring it in.  I can only imagine what holy hell they unleashed on the poor servers.  Bless….  So, blogland….be on the lookout for old ladies with beehive hair.  They are up to no good I guarantee….but it’ll probably amuse you.

Where’s my wine?  Is it wine o clock yet?
Me

The Work Cast Part 1 January 24, 2012

Today’s post only works because this blog is anonymous.  If this actually got pinned to the people I’m about to talk about, I’d be mortified….like clutch my pearls-keel over-someone grab the smelling salts – mortified.  Then I’d probably have to flee to Abu Dhabi….but I digress.

I work in a small office.  There are a grand total of six people handling this international organization.  Blows. My. Mind.  Then I realize oh – I do the job of ten, that’s how this works!  The fact that I work so much means I have to find a little comic relief or go mad.  Lucky for me, I have an entire cast of characters to offer me this relief…daily.

I am going to make this a four part series.  I know I have five co-workers, but one is just lazy and that’s all there is to him.  There is no blog fodder there.  So, hold tight blog land.  More to follow!

First up: The Beast

There’s one in every office.  Once you make your mind about her, every single action she does pisses you off.  Currently, she’s drinking a soda.  No way that should piss you off right? Nope. I just looked at her and thought, “Look at that bitch slurping soda like she’s God.” Then I thought um…. really? Did I just think that? Yes. Yes I did think that.

She’s the boss’ daughter and I call her beast because she kind of resembles one.  She’s large, furry and has big teeth.  She’s belligerent, lazy and acts like she entitled to the world.  Beast always has to be right and she always has an opinion.

Beast’s comic relief to me comes in two forms that I’ve turned into a drinking game.

1) Whenever Beast wants to interject herself unwantedly into your conversation, she rolls her chair back and stares at you.  Then, talks over you until you have to listen or go deaf.  Every time she rolls back, that’s a shot I get to take at some point during the week.  This week, I’m up to ten shots.  It’s Tuesday.

2) Beast’s favorite thing on earth is to be right. So, I ask her questions.  Questions I already know the answer to, but I’m not allowed to actually answer because they are her “specialty”. Every time she gives me a wrong answer, I prove she’s wrong. I then get to watch the smirk on her face dissipate as she tries to figure out a way around the right answer and try to find some loophole that makes her answer right in some alternate universe. When I push her to the point she says the line, “Well. You’re just wrong and that’s all there is to it.” I get to pick a drink of my choice for that.  Again, it’s Tuesday and I’m up four.

I think the point I started really disliking Beast was the day she scolded me for needing to put my check in the bank.  She lives at home with her mom still.  She has no bills.  She gets paid more than I do…. so of course she has no need to put her freaking check in the bank right away! Me? I’m single. Mounds of college debt. A mortgage.  A car payment.  Credit cards from when I used to make money from a previous job-now I don’t and I am still paying these damn things off. All of these things have due dates.  I get paid once a month.  The audacity of someone to scold me for needing to put my check into the bank in a timely fashion? The hell.  I have wanted to slap the white right off her since that day.

Seriously?  Ok blog land – she just rolled out and asked why I was typing so much.  I WORK IN A FREAKING OFFICE. WE HAVE COMPUTERS. I’M TYPING UP A REPORT FOR BOARD….and my blog, but that’s beside the point….THAT’S WHY.

We are officially up to shot #11.  Yes please.  I think I’ll have one tonight.  Maybe two.  Wanna join me?  Cheers!

Damn you January Gym January 18, 2012

It’s January.  Everybody and their brother resolves to lose weight and get in shape for the new year.  This means the gym in January is packed.  Packed with people in their brand new gym clothes and shiny new tennis shoes. Here’s me: annoyed. My if-you-have-been-coming-here-long-enough-you-know-I-call-dibs-on-this-locker is gone, my favorite cardio machines are taken and I have to wait in line for a shower.

Hey – I’m all for working and feeling your best – go man go! But, I prefer to bypass the gym until the “January gymers” are gone.  This means that I have to resort to workout DVDs at times.  That happened tonight – and it was epic.

My friend recommended a DVD to me and said, “If you can finish half of it? I’ll be fully impressed.”  Um – GAME ON!  I pop the thing in thinking it was going to be cake.   HELL NO.  Warning.  Grab your pearls mama.  I am about to unleash a little cursing.

The first sign that this would be difficult?  The terrified “run for the love of God” look on the girl’s face to the trainer’s left and the “I’m about to shit myself” look on the man in the back.  Slightly apprehensive, I continue through the warm up.  That was the last nice thing that happened.  Here’s how it went down:

TV: after an intense series of flies and rows – 2 more!

Me: sweat dripping down my back

TV: Just kidding, 15 more

Me: Damn you!

TV: Now switch and go 30 – Angel, if you are going to do this half ass, don’t do it at all.

Me: The hell? Were you talking to me?

No.  TV man literally bashed one of his trainees…for the world to see….multiple times….  I looked at Angel, AKA “Shit Myself” guy and felt his pain.

TV: Around the world push ups, sumo squats and divebombers

Me: after round 6 of the push ups, I have sweat in places I didn’t know you could sweat.  I have begun to shake like one of those tiny ass dogs in the cold.  I moan –  I FREAKING HATE YOU.

And then he says what I was sure was a lie.

TV: We are 20 minutes in! 40 more to go! Now – side burpees and side plank extensions

Me: Stop all motions cold: The fuck.

TV: continues to blurt out instruction, demonstrating one and then letting his poor minions attempt the hell he has unleashed.  ”Shit Myself” guy falls – seriously y’all he fell down.  ”Run For Your Life” girl drops her weights and looks like she might cry.

Me: my limbs are shaking violently and my “small weight” is now too heavy for me to lift with both hands.  I mutter with hatred between reps: You. Cheeky. Fucker….

TV: We are 40 minutes in, 20 left!

Me: blink blink

I seriously think I blacked out.  I can’t recall the last ten minutes.  The next part was on the ground.  I collapse to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I begin my whatever the hell move makes you balance on one elbow and part of your foot while doing all crazy stuff with your arm and other leg.

This is when my sweet, precious cat Daisy decides to need love.

Me: NO! Daisy no! Go – leave me alone!

Daisy: if she could talk: Bitch.  You look a fool doing this – just stop and pet me because I’m freakin adorable.

She proceeds to lay down under my one arm that is semi supporting my wobbly ass at the moment.  Then, she flipped over on her back to show me her furry little belly.

The next few moments were slow motion.  I lost concentration – I hit my knee pretty hard, Daisy held fast in her belly up pose and some how, I managed to miss her.  The moment I regain composure, she’s run off about her business again.  I continue on…

TV: Now – frog leaps…with weights!

Me: What holy hell is this?!?!

I frog leap, which I’ll admit looked more like dead frog jolted by a battery. Then, Daisy appears from nowhere and runs right under my feet.  I lose balance.  I fall like a tree - I hit hard and I have no capacity to stop myself because my appendages are currently gelatinous mounds of flesh thanks to TV man.  Weights flew from my hands and smacked the wall, my knees hit with enough force to completely numb my legs, which then made me scream something incoherent – I’m pretty sure it was profane, but lacked actual word formation. Daisy hisses and runs. I’m balled up in the floor, sweaty, teared up and wondering why I paid money to put myself through this torture.

I look at the screen hoping for redemption – for a chance that I’d made it to the end.  Nay.  I hear that bastard say, “Bring your best or stop now.  Ten minutes left. No excuses!!”

How about I can’t move!?!  The hell you say??  I’d rather wait half an hour for a cardio machine in January than do that ever again.

I crawled into the shower, regrouped and poured myself a glass of wine.

Damn you January Gym…..Damn you for showing me you are the boss.

Cheers. Ouch.

PS – Daisy is fine.  Me? I’ll let you know.

Meet Marci….At Your Own Risk January 10, 2012

As promised, here is part 2 of the holidays with PIC .  The evening was great, but it was the antics of one party guest that really made for party stories to last the year.

Introducing….Marci

PIC has a neighbor who is…shall we just say…lewd and crass, and that’s before she crosses over her thinly veiled line between buzzed and hammered.  For the purpose of the blog, I will call her Marci.

Marci has E.D.

Ok.  I know what you are thinking.  E.D. is NOT something any woman could have.  Nay. This isn’t THAT. And, please note that I’ve met Marci exactly once before.

Observe:

PIC: Hey…how long has Marci been in the bathroom?

Me: Um…. at least two songs ago (we were singing karaoke) you think she is sick?

PIC: shrugs and keeps singing Poker Face.

Time elapses…..

Marci: WOW.  You guys! You know what! I have explosive diarrhea. Like….. (Ok. For your sake and mine, I’m going to stop here and leave the detail she gave out.  Suffice it to say she was descriptive and it made me hurl a little.)

PIC and Me: exchange mortified looks, stop singing mid Adele.

Marci: GOD that was awful. I mean….

Me: ROLLING IN THE DEEEEEEEPPPPPPP (trying to drown her out)

Marci: What. What’d I say?  Like you don’t have that happen to you!

Me: YOU HAD MY HEART AND SOOOOOOULLLLL

PIC to me later:  I don’t think I’ve ever used the words explosive diarrhea out loud, especially if the room contained people I’d met once.  It makes me uneasy.  Let’s just say E.D. instead.  I used an entire can of Febreeze in the bathroom.

Me: And that was the least intrusive part of the night….

Marci Hurt My Hand

Marci: POW! she smacks the crap out of PIC’s butt.

PIC: OWWWWW!!!!

Marci: You know you like it.  POW!!! Another smack that I could hear across the room

PIC retaliates by smacking Marci’s butt with a karaoke box set of cds.

PIC to me: Ow. I hurt my hand and wrist.

Marci: Oh nice one! Smack it!

I move between PIC and Marci, take a long drink of wine, grab the mike and sing.  Marci dives toward PIC and bites her arm.

Marci: You like it. You know it.

PIC and I exchange looks again. I was about to tackle Marci.  I didn’t care if she was 50 pounds larger than me.  Smack my PIC one more time….she must have read my look, because she settled down….for the moment.

Marci Bites…Again

From another room:

OWWWW! WHY GOD WHY?

Giggle

I turn to see what happened.  Marci has fled to the bathroom again.  I walk into the room and see a stunned PIC.

Me: What?

PIC: Marci bit me… ON THE ASS.

Me: WHAT?!  She already bit your arm!

PIC: I have a bruise from that one already.

Me: What is her problem?

PIC: (with a frown on her sweet face) I don’t know, but she has E.D.

Marci went home shortly after, accompanied by PIC and I.  I half drug, half pushed Marci up the hill to her house.  Once she was in and PIC and I could return to normal, we rang in the wee hours of 2012 with lots of singing, some more wine, dancing like mad and laughing until my abs hurt the next morning.

At the first breakfast of 2012, PIC and I discussed Marci, her E.D. and her biting problem.  And as we looked down at our lovely breakfast….and back up at each other…..we quickly vowed NOT to discuss or bring up the term E.D. again. Ever.

PIC and I resolved that 2012 will be fantastic – filled with epic moments, belly laughs, car dancing, karaoke, wine slushies and blogging.  Cheers to 2012 – may it bring you happiness on every level.

Love,

Me

Holiday Recap 1 January 9, 2012

Happy New Year Blogland!!!

I hope you all had a great holiday.  The holidays were spent with PIC of course!  I spent mine doing absolutely nothing but indulging my inner hedonist.  I ate too much, drank too much, laughed too much (is that possible?) and well… anything else that tickled my fancy.

I apologize for being absent of late, so this is a two part post to catch you up.

Holiday Shopping Godzilla Style

 

Fearless shopper I am, holiday time at the mall still kind of scares me.  And, for my PIC, holiday shopping at the mall is wholly unbearable.  She needed to buy some things from our mall though, and I volunteered quickly to help her out.

Our adventure started out innocently enough.  The true adventures didn’t begin until we were almost done shopping.  PIC’s mom wanted a toaster oven. After scouring many stores, we finally found one….at the store clear across the other end where we parked. This, to novice shoppers, would have deterred buying.  But nay. I make even shopping pros look like gangly beginners.  I mean, who else for added difficulty wears four inch heel boots, still outpaces flat-shoe wearing friends and never stops for a break once? Me. That’s who.

So, I convinced PIC that it was a bulky item, but I could carry all the other purchases if she could navigate the path in front with the toaster oven.  We made our way over screaming toddlers, the army of kiosk vendors (BACK OFF SEA SALT MAN!) and old ladies who stop mid stream to dig through their purses. I was so proud of PIC! She trudged through like a trooper!

Around the “vicky’s clearly out of secrets at this point” store, PIC stops short. Then I spy what she’s seen.  A woman, bless her heart, who weighed no less than 400 lbs. She was scarffing down Dippin’ Dots, yelling loudly that she wanted a chair. Her hair was matted up in long, greasy strands. She was clad in festive green tights…or maybe those were stretch pants?, tennis shoes and a white bejeweled and bedazzled shirt.

PIC: Son of a

Enter son child of said lady.

PIC: Blimp!

I began laughing so hard I cried. Son of a Blimp has become the new catch-phrase. Go ahead and use it – you’ll laugh ridiculously loud, or at least PIC and I do….or maybe you just had to be there.

We entered the last leg of our journey, and then this happened:

The escalator ascending to the final exit was stopped. PIC looked at me with an emotional mix of fear and anxiety. So, what did I do? The “fix it” part of me took over.  I snatch the toaster oven and go tromping. Tromping up the escalator, in the four inch boots, with bags lining up and down my arms.  PIC is yelling for me to stop, but by the time it registered that I was literally making like Godzilla, it was too late – I was already in too deep.  I had to finish.  Small apologetic look to the lady I almost decapitated, snarly look to the teenager who looked at me all haughty and self important…. and I was done. Up the stairs, all bags accounted for and my PIC behind me.

Me: And that’s how you shop Godzilla style.

PIC: Stay put, I’ll get the car.

Back in the car, PIC and I decided to celebrate with some dancing. If you’ve read long enough, you know PIC and I have a proclivity to dance at will, and car dancing is almost 100% guaranteed when we are together.  Today was a particularly beautiful day, so we had PIC’s t-tops out.

My happiest dance song EVER came one.  Moves like Jagger.  And baby, PIC and I do have the moves like Jagger!  Then my next favorite song came on: Sexy and I Know It. Around the lyric “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah”, PIC stops dancing.

I look over at her, she’s looking up.  I look up and see a woman in a big SUV peering into PICs car, giving us a wholly disapproving look.

Me: I forgot your windows weren’t tinted.

PIC: Yeah.  They aren’t and neither are the t-tops.

The woman in the SUV looks at us over the brim of her glasses and I felt instantly transported back to third grade.

Hands folded in lap, ankles crossed, looking sweet, I exclaim: Son of a Blimp!!!

PIC and I laughed….and danced….the rest of the way home.

Tomorrow’s post: Meet Marci.