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!

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

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.

 

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?

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

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

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?

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.

Wildly Inappropriate December 5, 2011

Hello Readers!

Last post I alluded to why I am no longer a participant in parades.  Today, I shall share why. As I began writing this, I realized that the story involved you knowing the boss.  So, I am inspired to share…as I always have wanted to and never was able to until the freedom of an anonymous blog.  Next up, I swear, will be the parade drama.

Meet My Wildly Inappropriate Boss

I worked for a family entertainment center as the head of marketing for years.  This, to my bosses, meant I was responsible for anything and everything they did not want to do….my job duties included but were not limited to hanging out with a big dog, dressing as an elf, attending really bad birthday parties, working every single holiday, smelling like pizza for several years, pulling small children out of precarious situations…. and taking advice from a trifecta of men, all of whom were eventually fired.

Fantabulous ideas were usually the brainchild of my wildly inappropriate boss.  A few things to note: 1) my boss, Bernie, thought he was smarter than every single person on the planet, and took credit for every invention and good idea on said planet, 2) I’m using poor grammar for authenticity, because that’s how he actually spoke and 3) I realized early on that professionalism did not exist in this workplace… and I had to dish it out hard if I didn’t want to be steamrolled.

Yes. I worked for the equivalent of a caveman here….but less classy and more furry. Incidentally? I met PIC here…..most redeeming thing about that job.

Coffee mugs are exciting.

Bernie: Why aren’t we selling these coffee mugs?!

Me: How many of those did you buy?

Bernie: 5000

Me: choked on my coffee – WHY!?

Bernie: Because they are sport themed. And, if I was a mom, I would totally use em for my kids!! You need to get it together and sell, sell, sell!

Me:Yes sir.  However, please don’t buy any more coffee mugs….

Bernie: Why not!? I LIKE em. We should let folks use em all over the diner for morning juice.

Me: Because that’s exactly what mom’s love letting their kids drink juice from every morning…. no lid, breakable cups that are too big for small hands to manage.

Bernie: You aren’t a Mom. How in hell do you know?

Me: blink blink blink.  Well that was wildly inappropriate. And incidentally Bernie, you are not a mom either.

I’m A Biscuit God

Bernie: You need to sell more food, not just attractions.

Me: Ok.

Bernie: You know I worked with ***** food chain for ten years as the front end manager right?

Me: Yes.

Bernie: I held the record for most raisin biscuits sold in my district during the late 80s and early 90s.  You know why? I’m a Biscuit GOD. chuckles because he thinks he is funny No….I marketed them.  I gave away free coffee with every biscuit sold.  People come back every week, buy them a biscuit, and I give em a free coffee.  Every time.  For every biscuit.  You could take a page out of the ol’ Bernie playbook.  Free = people come back. You just stick with me kid and I’ll teach you the ways of marketing that actually get ROI.

Me:  Bernie, with all due respect, I understand you have food industry experience, but I don’t think it’s applicable in this scenario.

Bernie: You just get huffy cause you gots you a fancy degree and still can’t market like the master Bernie can!

Me: Bernie – you are right.  I DO have a degree.  I graduated top of the class.  And, I also have years of experience working in six states for a large corporate company.

Bernie: Yep. But where’ve you been the last five years missy? I gots stats!

Me: Me?  I won four major marketing awards, handled events that were $5000 a head and branded our company from the ground up. So, not only do I have a “fancy degree” as you call it, I know my way around the marketing block…and incidentally, I too have figures to show that. Last I checked, sales were up 15% from last month.

Bernie: laughing. Uh-oh…someone’s got their monthly visitor! You and your fancy pants words and fancy pants degrees. You just can’t handle it because you paid good money to learn stuff that comes naturally to me. My numbers don’t lie. Best biscuit sales… in my district!

Me: Bernie, first, that was wildly inappropriate. Second. Allow me to share a story with you.

Bernie: still laughing. Oh yeah, this should be good.

Me: I lived in your district while you were peddling biscuits. And you are right – I totally came in there – rather, I drug my mom in there because I couldn’t drive yet.

Bernie: interrupting me as always. See! YOU even fell prey to Bernie-Marketing!

Me: Full stop.  No. I didn’t.  What I did fall prey to? Toys.  You remember the California Raisin figures that came out in the late 80s, early 90s? Well, to get the toy, I had to make mom buy a biscuit.  What’s more? I hated raisins.  I would spend an hour picking them out of my biscuit.  Why? Because I wanted the toy and mom would make me eat the biscuit if she bought the toy. Although I fully acknowledge your gift of coffee as a way to make parents come in for more biscuits, I would wager that they were also buying California Raisin toys….and that, sir, was why people kept coming back in.  Not for the free coffee.

Bernie: No. It was the coffee.  I didn’t care about toy sales. I never even checked them.

Me: blink blink blink. 

Bernie: I’m a Biscuit GOD.

Me: ok. (because honestly….you can’t argue stupid.)

Next up: Parade Debacle