Life’s Frogs May 21, 2012

You know how you sit there mindlessly watching a tv show (aka doing laundry and making dinner while it plays in the background), and then all of a sudden you are like, “Hold up DVR! Rewind that…..were you totally just talking to me?  Did I for real just complete that sentence without knowing it?”  This was the case for your blogger here as I watched Glee on their quest for Nationals.

Yes.  I’m a Gleek.  I am almost freely admitting that these days.  Mostly because I know it’s a high school show, but they deal with some issues that are very much adult and very much my reality. (And, come on, who doesn’t love a good smash up medley?) Before you read on, know this is not a sad-sack post.  It’s a really happy post, just bare with me because it may not sound that way at the beginning.

Coach Beiste is a strong ass woman on the outside, but has a tender soul.  She’s married to a son of a bitch who goes by the name Cooter.  And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he is the lowest form of male – he takes his anger out on her in all sorts of bad ways.  I was in the midst of cutting tomatoes and hear this:

Cooter: Don’t leave me! You can’t hate me more than I already hate myself.
Coach Beiste: I don’t hate you! That’s the awful part of it, I love you! But what does that say about what I think of me?
Cooter: What are you going to do, huh? Just walk out on me?!
Cooter: Who’s going to the love you the way I loved you! Who’s going to love you now?!

At this point, without hesitation or thought, I looked up from my cutting board and said, in unison with Coach Beiste, Me.

I hit pause, rewound the scene, pumped my fist in the air to my new heroine Coach Beiste, and smiled.  I’ve been in quite the introspective mood lately, likely due to long hours at work and getting to hold my brand new nephew that weighs a whole 4 pounds, 3 ounces.It’s amazing what looking into the clean slate of a newborn’s eyes will do to you.

I realized tonight that I played that exact scenario out hundreds of times with a different ending.  But now?  I DO love me.  And that’s actually more than enough.  Confetti, glitter……..whatever.  I have myself and my PIC.  And that, above all the other perks in my life?  That is better than any boyfriend or job ever could be.  I love myself enough to walk away from bad relationships, be they friends, boyfriends or professional.  I have a PIC to pick me up when I’m broken and put me back together in way better shape than she found me, without hesitation or “I told you so” ever coming in to play.  I swear that girl is an angel…

So, I’m just really grateful tonight.  Sure.  I could be sad, Lord knows I have my reasons why – we all do.  But why be sad when I have SO much to be grateful for?  Sure.  I’ve kissed a lot of frogs.  Well, maybe more than a lot……but that’s neither here nor there.  And sure, I make less money now than I did when I got out of college over a decade ago.  (AND OH GOD did I just say I graduated from college over a decade ago?) But, at the end of the day, I’ve found myself.  I couldn’t have done that without the frogs of life (and of course help from my PIC.)

Now, as I pop open a bottle of wine, I toast to the frogs – boys, bosses and otherwise – that have made me who I am today: A damn fine lady.  All this time I thought I was supposed to turn frogs into princes.  Who knew those frogs, warts and all, would actually turn ME into a princess?

Love to you all,

Me

Confetti May 16, 2012

I’m swamped at work, but here’s a quicky from PIC and I.  Remember the glitter story?  If not, read it.  You’ll appreciate this much more after.  Go ahead…. you know you want to.

Ok.  Hope you laughed at remembering that post and/or reading it.  And now, enjoy!

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Me: I’m so tired of this BS!!!  He’s not even good enough to be glittery!!  He’s like… hell… I don’t know… sequins.

PIC: I’m sorry honey.  Sequins suck.

Me: No! Not even sequins.  Confetti. Damn paper confetti that gets everywhere and you can’t get it off of you. You think it’s gone, then you turn around and you find it again.

PIC: No-no-no.  You don’t DO confetti.

Me: And that’s blog of the day.  I don’t DO confetti.

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

And so it is.

 

The Sprout, Bianca, Bryce and Me April 28, 2012

Hello Blogland!  I did not get taken by gangster squirrels or the Eat Me lady.  No, I’m currently in the hospital waiting to become an aunt for the first time!  Sprout is early, 34 weeks, but he is strong.

So, to pass the time – we are on day three of actual labor right now – I have pulled out an old draft post.  After the birth of Sprout, I promise to blog more.  I swear you won’t believe what all has happened. And, I’m relatively sure PIC and I are going to create a lynch mob to handle it.  It’s a terrifying fun fact we came up with last night….we actually can create a lynch mob at a moments notice.  We have several people in our lives that love us enough to respond without question or hesitation to “bring a weapon and meet me at the bridge at midnight”. 

So Beast, all you men that glitter….best beware.  Piss off PIC and I?  A lynch mob will ensue.

Now, without further ado, here is the post from before all hell broke loose.  Love to you all!  Please bring me vodka in a water bottle.  I need it.

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Bianca is Brain Dead

Bianca struck again.  For reals y’all!

Me: Hey Bianca- what’s wrong?

Bianca: Um. Why do you always answer the phone like that? Nothing’s wrong.

Me: Because it’s work.  During my busy time.  You know this.  We discussed…do you seriously not remember???

Bianca: Well, yeah but I just miss you and I’m totally bored at work. And I thought you were just having a hormonal moment.

Me: silence…

Bianca: Um. Hello! I said I missed you.  And really, why don’t you ever call me back?

Me: Bianca. Sweetie.  I need you to listen closely to me. Get in your car and drive to the ER immediately.  When you get there, have them put you to the front of the line because Bianca, I’m relatively sure you are brain dead.

Bianca: What?

Me:  Last time I said you are either completely stupid or completely selfish…and I didn’t know which.  Now? I know.  Because you called back.  In my busy work day. To say you are bored.

Bianca: So.

Me: Wow Bianca.   Do not EVER call me again while I’m at work.  I simply will not answer….emergency or not.

Then I hung up on her….again.  You think it’ll stick this time?  Was I too mean? Maybe.  But she kinda deserved it.

Baby Shower from Hell

I didn’t imagine a baby shower could be bad, but here’s how it went down.

1) I got sunburned.  On an overcast day.  I was supposed to be there to referee the two pregnant and due within a day of each other sisters, so I was relegated beside the 100 year old neighbor invited out of pity because she was midway between them both.  She smelled like bourbon and mothballs.  Between silent gags, I would smile and nod at her.  Turns out?  She wasn’t talking, rather she makes noises that SOUND like talking in her sleep.  I looked insane.  Thanks for the heads up people.

2) Bryce.  Bryce is three and is a special kind of child.  He requires a lot of attention.  I’m pretty sure he may be a serial killer one day and I can be interviewed by the show Dateline and tell this story.  Sister 1 goes storming into the house during the shower.  I go in to do damage control.  I find Bryce.  In the back room.  With matches.  Bryce is, with the dexterity of someone at least double his age, striking matches and throwing them in the floor.  The floor is carpet.  It’s beginning to smoke.  His eyes are alive with excitement until he sees me.  Then Bryce proceeds to dash like a freaking gazelle into the bathroom and slam the door.  I put out the fire, it smells like singed fur, I put all flame producing materials in a shoebox in the top of the closet….and I go to get Bryce.  Bryce is in the tub, pouring stuff down the drain.  I’m not sure what all he found, but it smelled like eggs. Again with the defeated look, Bryce sees me and tries to flee.  This time I’m on to him.  I pick him up football style and haul him to the basement with the other kids.  I put him in his play crib thing and he proceeds to squall like I’ve removed his left leg.  This brings in mom, finally.  He points to me and says quite definitively, MEAN.  Nothing like being called mean by a potential serial killer to bring down your whole damn day.  Note:  Other things Bryce did that day?  Pulled a girl’s hair out….in a tuft.  Bit a dog on its back leg. Attempted to stab the old neighbor woman’s arm with his spoon.

3) Feathers.  I’m allergic.  I think I mentioned that once.  Romantic encounter at a fancy hotel turns almost deadly?  Yeah, that’s me on my first grown up Valentine’s Day with a guy one year.  Apparently, that fact skipped the mind of the sisters I stayed with during the shower.  I was so exhausted from leaving my house at 3:30am, chasing planes and children and refereeing the sisters all day that all I could do was crawl into the bed and fall over…on to what I learned soon was a feather pillow with a feather comforter.  I admit.  Part of that is my fault.  It felt suspect, but I was so tired – and had such faith in my friends that of COURSE they would remember – that I just fell over.  In about half an hour, I woke up to the choking sadly familiar feeling….I couldn’t breathe and it was probably due to feathers.  I lived, thanks to some handy epi pen work and a shower.  But, I didn’t sleep for crap the rest of the day….and I had to be at the airport heading home way too early.

Delay Delay Delay

I was supposed to be home the afternoon of Sunday.  I got back early Monday morning. Why? I had the layover from hell at the world’s busiest airport. Along the way, I met the world’s most boring man. I really tried to find him interesting, but I just didn’t.  And when you’ve been sitting in the airport for eight hours, and you STILL find someone boring?  That’s bad.

After the boring guy, and after exhausting all contacts on my phone, I had to go find power.  Turns out? Power outlets in the airport are like freaking GOLD.  I was relegated to sitting outside a magazine store like a homeless person, huddled up with my knees under my chin, duffel bag, purse and neck roll beside me, stealing power from the outlet on the side of the store, whist trying not to get trampled from people running to their gates in, as I said, the world’s busiest airport.  I was met with looks of disgust, pity and eventually, hatred.

I don’t think I’ll ever fly again….. anytime soon.

So that concludes my fun weekend.  Hopefully yours was better, or at least didn’t involve potential serial killing children and a brush with death.

All that Glitters isn’t……Gold. April 9, 2012

PIC and I hung out over the weekend.  Here, she imparted wisdom that I had to share.  To appreciate the conversation, here’s a back story if you didn’t already know.

Y’all know I’m a girly girl.  I love anything sparkly.  Y’all also know, maybe?, that I typically date really pretty boys.  Assholes, but really pretty to look at boys.

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

Me: I don’t know what’s up with *insert boy name here*….I really like him a lot.

PIC: I know you do sweetie.  I wanted to like him too.

Me: Yeah…maybe he’ll come around.

PIC: Or he’s just dipped in glitter.

Me: Huh?

PIC: Sweetie.  Sometimes, especially for you, they are just shit dipped in glitter.

Me: Holy crap…. you are so right!!!

PIC:  You get distracted by glittery things.  It’s ok.. but that’s why if I say ‘it’s dipped in glitter’, you better run.  It’ll be our code.

Me: All that glitters is not gold!  I totally get that now….

PIC: I know you love sparkly things honey, but we gotta find you something that’s sparkly all the way through, not just the outside shell.

Me: Heard.  I really thought he was different though.

PIC: Verdict is still out, but it’s possible he’s just dunked in glitter.

Me: *sighs*  Lots of glitter.

PIC: *shakes her head*  Drink your wine.

HGN with PIC April 4, 2012

PIC and I have girl nights, dubbed HGN.  Do you know why? If not, here’s the cliff note version.  PIC’s phone auto-corrected “Hurray Girls Night” into “Horny Girls Night”; thus our outings are now dubbed HGN, which is WAY cooler than GNO (Girl’s Night Out).

Epic as always, here are the events of our HGN Saturday….and something from Sunday.

Adventures in Dog Grooming

PIC has two big dogs.  These two big dogs are usually very well behaved.  Usually, they listen.  Usually, being the operative word.  We planned on having a ten minute visit to the groomer.  That did not happen.  I’ll keep this short… but the cone of shame, big dogs and first day on the job groomers do not mix well.   It was traumatic for all of us – dogs and people.

Psychic …Psycho… Dining

PIC and I had some much needed wine, then went to our favorite restaurant for dinner.  Here, the adventure ensued.

It started the moment we sat down beside two eccentric ladies.  The music was a little too loud for PIC and I to converse, so we resorted to texting because… that’s how we roll.

PIC: These women next to us are talking about what their psychic said they did in a former life….  The hell?

Me: The hell?? Did they say **insert name of small town I grew up in**? Since when did that place get a psychic? And they must be friends of my boss since she gets that done at work all the time.

PIC and I listen in and learn one of the ladies was told she was a blacksmith in a past life.  I don’t know about you, but really? Couldn’t that psychic have come up with something more fun? How about…Dragon Slayer.

After we stopped listening to them, we began to notice a plethora of plaid to our other side.  A throng of men were gathered, all wearing stinky, wadded up plaid and/or flannel.   PIC and I exchanged looks and began texting again.

PIC:  But I pulled my best flannel out of the clothes pile and it smelled ok…

To this, I begin laughing.  That high pitched laugh where I begin to wheeze and cry.  This makes PIC begin to giggle.  Now we are both wheezing. And then we full stop.

PIC text: He just called him Mr. Clean…really?!

The irony was not lost on us.  He was balding, not bald, but badamn if he was anything clean.  He was the smelliest one of all.  We are almost falling out of our chairs laughing and the waiter comes over.

Waiter: Can I damage you any further tonight?

PIC and I exchange glances and say no.  He leaves and we both give a WTF look. Damage us? We decide its time to exit stage right or else be cut into tiny pieces and served to the flannel Mr. Clean.  I’ve never seen two girls scurry so quickly.

No Shoes No Shirt But We Still Get Service (Kinda)...Wa!

At the next bar, you’ll have to understand what I was wearing to appreciate it all.  I had on a very low cut silk shirt that shows off (in a classy way) my attributes. This is usually my “prompt service”, “free drinks” and/or “no cover charge” shirt.  Tonight?  Not the case.  We couldn’t get a bartender’s attention for a drink to save our lives! As PIC and I are attempting service, my shirt gains the attention of a young man.

Perhaps it was the wine from the first bar.  Perhaps it’s because after a long week at work, I just don’t even attempt to be subtle.  But the first thing out of my mouth?

Me: What happened to your face?

PIC looked at me and gave me the same eyebrow raise she did the night I exclaimed “starving children from China”.

In my defense, the boy had one eyebrow. He had some sort of bandage thing over his missing brow and on his chin.

To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat.

Eyebrow Boy: Car accident.  But I’m still cute aren’t I?

Me: *give him my own PIC eyebrow raise*

Apparently, I was distracted at this point.  Here is what PIC endured from Eyebrow Boy.

EB: pokes PIC’s arm repeatedly – Does your friend have a boyfriend?

PIC: eyebrow raise

EB: Do you have a pen?

PIC: Do I LOOK like her receptionist?!

**two minutes pass**

EB: They are so pretty…. are they real?

PIC: *PIC shoots him a look with wide eyes and an eyebrow raise that says ‘Boy you best be speaking about her eyes or I’m going to smack you.’*

EB: Her eyes are so green! Are they real?

PIC: *relived eyebrow raise* No. She got ‘em on Ebay.

EB: Do you have a pen?

PIC: If you want her number, grow a pair and ask her.

EB: *nods like he’s been given the key that unlocks the secrets of the world*

Side note: Eyebrow boy did give me his number.  Then he fled the scene like he was on fire.  Bless.

You Did What?

PIC and I migrate to the next bar, hoping that we will have better luck.  We hit the restroom and here’s what we hear.

Girl 1: I rub it in my hair.  Is that gross?

Girl 2: No! Not at all!

Girl 1: haha I just wondered if it was weird.

Girl 2: Nope! You look fabulous.

PIC: The hell is she rubbing in her hair???

Me: I have no idea??

PIC: What kind of friend lets her girl rub things in her hair that could potentially be considered gross and/or weird?

Me: A bad friend – not a PIC.

The rest of the night included men who wore fedoras;  me blurting out the word CHUNG (I tend to read random labels out loud when I am tipsy) in the middle of the grocery store – and PIC subsequently falling over laughing at me because it made absolutely no sense to her why I exclaimed CHUNG.

The next morning PIC and I went to visit my mom. The trip was lovely, but we made a very important discovery.

Squirrel Butts

After lunch, PIC and I were in the glider watching the wild life around Mom’s house.

PIC: Tree rats

Me: Where?

PIC: OH MY GOD.  That is the FATTEST squirrel I have ever seen!

PIC and I do the RCA dog look, heads cocked sideways.  We see the squirrel do an amazing hold and twist on a bird feeder to grab his grub.

Then we both say: THAT SQUIRREL HAS AN ASS!

Me: Like. He has literal BUTT CHEEKS.

PIC: I have never seen such! It has an ass! It’s so fat it has an actual ass.  With cheeks.

Me: My mom overfeeds everything, even the squirrels.

PIC: Now I feel bad because my squirrels don’t have asses.  I clearly don’t feed them enough.

PIC and I watched not just the one squirrel with ass; but all the squirrels with protruding, baby-got-back style booty. I wished desperately that I’d had a camera…. And I really want to pit the booty squirrels against the gangster squirrels that infest my office.  I think the booty squirrels would win.  They would probably sit on the gangsters and smother them.  What do you think?

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I hope you all had a great weekend.  Cheers and happy hump day! :0)

Beware the Ideas of March March 15, 2012

Yes.  You read that correctly.  Beware the IDEAS, not ides of March.  Today is March 15, which is my busiest day of the year at work.  It’s the deadline for a million projects I handle all year long. Today, as of course it would be in my life, every idea is…let’s just say….horrible.

1) Coworker, not Beast, brought me breakfast this morning because she knows it is my day from hell.  It gets cold.  She goes to re-heat it for me in the microwave.  She forgets that said breakfast item is in a foil lined package. Fire in kitchen before 9:30am.  Bad idea to put foil in the microwave.

2) I just had a text conversation with PIC.  I asked her to  join me for pee drinks at my place on Friday before our outing.  I meant pre drinks.  Then I was talking about doing a phone interview as a maiming specialist.  That’s clearly not the job.  It’s marketing.  Not maiming.  Svetlana is just a bitch, though perhaps you could make an argument for marketing and maiming.  Regardless, it’s a bad idea to send incognito texts whilst trying to work and answer the phone.

3) Beast attempted to make fun of me and step kick broadway style through the office with her one crutch as a cane (she has a sprained ankle) as she delivered my mail.  She planted face first and now her chin is gushing blood.  Bad idea to make fun of me when you are clearly a bitch…because karma is too.

4) No lie.  I have to use the real last name here because it’s truly important.  Email reply to me from burnt biscuit coworker:

Her last name is Bangasser? Wow.  That must be rough….but I bet she gets a lot of dates.

Why was this a bad idea?  Because coworker hit reply all.  That wasn’t sent just to me, it was sent to Bangasser, my boss and a professor at Bangasser’s school.  Really bad idea not to watch your reply and reply all buttons.

5) I had a retching incident.  I walked into The Smelly One’s office after lunch.  He smelled so rank that I really did throw up in my mouth when I had to shimmy behind him to get into the files.  But I was so closed in that I had to hold it in until he rolled out of my way and I could jump up and run.  Bad idea to eat a big lunch, then go to the smelly guy’s office on the warmest day of the year thus far.

I declare today a mis-fire.  Can I go back to bed and start over?  Oh hell, that won’t work…if I have to do all this again I may cry.  I guess I’ll just lead by example and remind you all to beware the ideas of March… and the ides too, just in case.

To Infect or Not to Infect…. February 29, 2012

PIC and I do pretty much everything together.  Unfortunately for her hubby, and whatever man decides he’s brave enough to veer into my crazy life, that means we also get sick together.

Beginning Friday, our assent into the depths of what honest to God is the worst head-cold-flu-oh-god-now-its-in-my-chest-please-kill-me-now I’ve ever had.  We were supposed to have a wild weekend and spend Sunday night having an Oscar party.  The plague had other plans for us.  PIC and I did rally. In fact we managed to put on tiaras and throw out our best fashionista advice, albeit laced with cold meds, coughing and tissues.

On Monday, I came to work because I’m loyal stupid.  By Tuesday, I sounded like the crypt keeper on a really bad day.  My sweetheart of a boss proceeded to reprimand me on the etiquette of sneezing and coughing.  I just nodded.

Yes, that’s how sick I am.  I have no fight left in me.

PIC’s day was even worse.  She had to do CPR certification while not being able to breathe.  Pray tell how you do that?  PIC figured it out best she could.  But then she had to do Heimlich maneuver training. She turned to the person and said, “If you squeeze me, I’ll wheeze.”  This sent me into my own wheezing fit of laughter….and then spawned an idea.

I should totally infect my boss - AND beast!

PIC agreed with me, because she is truly my bestie and partner in all crimes.

So, I confess.  I did it.  I came in early and hacked, sneezed and any other gross germ spreader I could think of in their respective office areas.

I realize that means I am going to hell.  I realize that my karma took a massive hit.  But…. I also realize that this will at least provide me some satisfaction while PIC and I develop our plan to Gaslight the hell out of my boss.

Thank God this blog is anonymous.   I feel like I just hit the confessional and I’m now absolved.

Cold Med Induced Advice of the Day: This year, specifically today, is a bonus day.  Do something fun.  Do something memorable.  So far all I did was infect my boss and coworker with the plague.  I should probably aim higher for the rest of the day…..

Happy Leap Day!

Sushi and Rum Don’t Mix February 24, 2012

Happy Friday!

PIC and I had an outing last night where I embarrassed the hell out of myself, had a mental run in with a celebrity and PIC almost had an out of body experience.  Enjoy.

Yesterday I saved all my calories for dinner.  That means I ate a banana and two saltine crackers all day.  I know that’s bad.  Please don’t lecture me…I am only telling you because it is imperative for the rest of the story.

Per usual, when I arrive at PICs house, we have a beverage.  This time we decided in lieu of our wine, we’d try rum.  It was delightful, and more rum than coke.  Nevertheless, I was certainly more tipsy than I should have been off one beverage.  I needed food.  At this point we go in search of sushi.

At the sushi restaurant, I order one of pretty much everything I love.  And I ate shoveled the food in my face.

PIC: Um sweetie, you should probably breathe between bites.

Me: You are right.  I’m eating like a starving child from China.

It was one of those moments where you HEAR the words coming out of your face, but you can’t pull them back in. If the soundtrack of my life was playing, this would have  been a point where you hear that needle dragging across the record sound…vrrrrp….then complete silence.

I was wide eyed even before I completed my horribly offensive statement…especially since I’m usually a very genteel, southern sweetheart. (Note: this is a favorite place of mine and PIC.  All of the employees? They are all related and all from China.)

I turn about ten shades of red.  PIC looks at me wide-eyed.  I am mortified and I realize the sushi chef is RIGHT UP on me.  What do you do? There is no coming back from that! You do not want to piss off a sushi chef.  They wield sharp knives with amazing precision.  Plus, have you been even semi-ill off sushi?  It’s the worst….we’ll get back to that.

Me: Um. I. Ah shoot! I didn’t mean that!!! Um. I meant Africa!

PIC looked at me like that was no better (she raised her eyebrow at me…just the one…her eyebrows say more than most people- uber talent) because there was an African American couple sitting nearby.

Me: Um. SHIT. I. I BLAME THE RUM!!!

PIC laughs at me and continues to eat.  I shovel in silence.

After my mortification, I decided to go to the bathroom.  There, I run into a celebrity that has relocated to my town.  She’s randomly relevant so I won’t use her name.  Mostly because one of you may love her and I don’t wish to offend.  The problem is that I can’t stand her.

I’ve known her for years, running the same circles, hanging out… I even know her kids.  The problem?  The bitch pretends she doesn’t know me EVERY time.  Seriously y’all.  It’s not like I met her once and think she should remember.  I’ve met her more times than I can count.  I’ve been to her house.  I’ve been drunk with her…seriously.  I wish I had been less ethical because TMZ would have loved that stuff….  I’ve shared a car with her ALONE.  I’ve addressed envelopes to a charity benefit with her and one other person for eight hours straight.  Her kids? They know me.  They say hi.  But the mom? No.  Can’t. Stand. Her.

So Miss High and Mighty is at the sushi place with her kids.  I smile, wave.  The kids wave.  The mom? She sees me, starts to smile, then looks away like I just completely wasted her time.  Flew all over me.  I scowled and envisioned the news:

Crazy lady attacks celebrity after offending sushi chef.  News at 11.

I decide to compose myself and I huff and puff back to PIC, where I flop down and rehash the story.

PIC: She’s just jealous cause you are younger.

Me: I love you.

See.  With one phrase, PIC defuses my mental time bomb.

Then PIC had to go to the bathroom.  She comes back and tells the following.  Note: PIC is in the early stages of kicking off some bug/virus.

PIC: OMG. Someone has E.D.

Me: OMG! Is it you? We ride! I grab the purse and start to rise.

PIC: pulls me down NO!!!  It’s a kid.  I walked into the bathroom and he was very much in the midst of E.D.

Me: EWWWWW.

PIC: He was explicitly explaining it to his mom. He said it looks like…

Me: Oh gross no!

PIC goes on to share what he said, but I will spare you.  I was violently ill and all I kept thinking was, “What did that kid do to piss off the chef?  Whatever he did, I did way worse.”

PIC: I think I left my body for a moment.  I couldn’t leave  fast enough. Thank God I can’t smell a thing….but my ears work just fine.

Me: give her that ew, gross, I might die look.

The checks come, we eat our mints.  Then, the sushi chef gives us each an orange thing with a toothpick.  After insulting him, I can’t refuse.  So I bite big.

You know how bad it is to drink OJ after you brush your teeth?  Well, this was worse.  Immediately my eyes fill with tears, my cheeks turn inside out and I feel a little nauseous.  I quickly look at PIC who is doing the same.

PIC: Oh. Dear. God. she says under her breath

Me: Just shovel it in. We have to.

PIC: looks wary Well, ok then.

We cringe and eat and cry a little, but we get it all down.  Later, when my stomach was doing flip flops, I would have bet my life that the sushi chef did something to that orange. I don’t blame him.  But I do worry about PIC since she was an innocent bystander.  I have to call her and see if she how she is.

Moral: Don’t drink rum on an empty stomach.  It leads to chaos.

It Is Totally Worth It February 23, 2012

I am probably going to get fired.  And you know what….it will totally be worth it.  I’m going to need your help though.

My boss is, shall we just say, special.  This week’s conversations have been to add an entirely new job onto my plate; tell me I need to plan on being oncall 24/7 for two months in the immediate future; then to inform me that I would not be getting a raise….nor added time off…and that I should help out Beast because, she’s overwhelmed.

A little vein exploded in my head and all I could think was OVERWHELMED?!!  MY ASS.  Since when does online shopping constitute overwhelmed? Perks of being the boss’ kid….I’M OUT!!!!

Have you seen the movie Gaslight?  Well.  If you haven’t, check this out: click here to read up on the movie Gaslight.  I’m twisted, I know.

Here’s the part where I’m pretty sure I’m at the very least going to hell over, if I’m not fired.  My boss has lost her husband.  I wish I could tell you he was a lovely man.  I wish I could tell you we all miss him.  This is not the case.  In a post to come in the future, perhaps I can share the terrible things that he did to me which included:

1. throwing a muffin at my head
2. leaving me stranded at a Kinko’s
3. making a poor kid AT said Kinko’s wet his pants.  Seriously y’all.
4. telling me I was illiterate and incompetent
5. telling me he didn’t know why I was put on this earth because all I did was suck it dry

Yes.  As you can see, he’s a charmer.  Was.  Rest his soul.

So.  My boss has it in her head that she can communicate with him.  She has decided that they were connected on a spiritual plane in past lives, and will connect again.  Indeed, they communicate via telepath or some such person each month.  Everyone, all the upper staff included, think she’s bat-shit-bananas.  And…I’m totally going to exploit this.

I want to Gaslight her.  She’s either going to think she is crazy, or that she’s right and her dead husband CAN communicate with her….and then who knows.  At the least, I’m entertained and looking for a new job.  At best, she’s happier because she is reconnecting with her dead husband and PERHAPS I’ll get a raise because the powers that be have deemed I need to step in.

So….what do I do? I have no idea, but I know I have to shake it up here or go crazy.  Thank God it’s a PIC night.  I am sure we will plot.  And drink.  The best ideas come out of a wine slushie right?

Taylor February 14, 2012

Y’all know my PIC.  Well, she shares the same first name with my other good friend…which is wildly confusing to most of the men in my life for some reason…and my mom…but I think she’s just half listening to me…..maybe the men are too…. but I digress.

I guess I should probably introduce her to you guys because although not as epic as PIC outings…. we have had a few interesting, blogworthy moments.   For this blog, she shall forevermore be known as Taylor.

Taylor is one of those girls that is a little polly-pocket of sass.  You don’t mess with her….. she’s all of 5 feet tall, 115 lbs, but she’ll take you down – in her pearls and cardigan.  She is sweet and southern, with an accent to match.  She is the kind of lady who is quiet and reserved until she knows you….or has vodka…but that’s a whole other set of stories.

Taylor was one of my friends that I lost to the unfortunate debacle of speedbump.  (That’s what PIC calls Paul.  I’ll have to ask her if it’s ok to say why.  But yes.  He was a speedbump in my otherwise beautiful life. I’m over him and happily so.) I’m so very happy Taylor is back in my life.  And… I am happy we still wear the same size because she has fabulous taste and I’ve missed her closet as well.

Today, Taylor texted me to see if I had plans with anyone for Valentine’s Day.  Here’s what happened:

Taylor:  Do you have any V-day plans?

Me: IDK.  Maybe.  No one special though. You?

Taylor: Yes. My guy is cooking dinner for me.  Are you ok?

Me: Oh totally.  Regardless of what I do, it’ll be better than last year… or the year before where I was asked to leave the restaurant because speedbump acted like an asshole.

Taylor: He’s a turd.

Me: Yeah he is.

Taylor: And you know what they say about turds?

Me: Um….that if you act like a turd, you have to go lay in the backyard.

Taylor: That is SO much funnier than “they stink”.  hahaha

Me: I try.

Taylor: Paul is a turd, turds belong in the backyard…therefore Paul belongs in the backyard with the rest of the turds.

Me: Who isn’t cleaning up their turds? Why are there so many in my backyard? I don’t even own a dog!!!  I need a sign that says NO TURD DUMPING.  I HAVE PLENTY.

Taylor: hahahaha.  I’m dying…..

Me: I love you darlin.  Have a great v-day with the boy…. and I promise to stay turd free.

Taylor: Bout time!  But if the turd is pretty, I know you.  All bets are off.

Me: I’m rolling my eyes at you. I don’t know the emoticon for that.  I swear on my unborn child….no more turds.  If I falter, you and PIC and behead me.

Taylor: Harsh, but suitable punishment.

Me: bahahaha

So… my dearest readers….please be Turd Free.  And if you see what asshat keeps dumping unwanted turds in my backyard?  Tackle her and hold her til I get there.

Love,

Me