I was robbed at Wendy's...

Will and I were out and about today, even though it was foolish to venture out on the day after Christmas.  None the less, we were in the thick of it.  We fought bad driving, crowds and general post Christmas sale hysteria, and survived. 

I noticed on the way home that Will had some coupons for free Jr. Frosty's at Wendy's.  After our day, I thought we deserved a little treat.  I asked Will if he just found these coupons or what.  He said he had made a donation to some sort of children's charity and got these coupons.  Sweet.  We went through the drive-thru and some scowly faced girl gave us our two Frosty's.  I mean, we must have been the most horrible people ever to just get our free stuff and nothing else.  We should have felt dirty, I suppose. 

Anyway, I don't know what the scowly girl's problem was since the Frosty's were so small I thought they were key chains at first. It's not like Wendy's lost any money there.  That Wendy is a stingy ice cream hoarder, if you ask me.  Then, I took the lid off and realized the size of the Frosty cup was so small, my spoon barely fit in there.  If they were smart they would give you super small spoons so that you would really think you were getting a big serving.  I know flies that would have starved to death on one of these things.  I mean, I don't know what flies eat, aside from crap, but it seems like a directly proportionate amount. 

I posted my outrage on my Facebook account tonight about the size of the Frosty and I was advised  two things.  First, I was advised that this could be directly related to childhood obesity.  Well, America, you are a day late and a dollar short on that one, so give me a REAL sized Frosty.  Then I was told, "it's free, what are you complaining about?"  To which I said, "I don't care if it was free, I still feel robbed."  And  besides, Will gave money to the children's fund, where is OUR love?  If Wendy's really cared about the children, they wouldn't scrimp on their free Jr. Frosty's.  I mean, who is going to be motivated to save those children at this point? 

I took a picture of the Frosty next to a water bottle and a little stuffed pound pony to show actual size. My pound pony could kick that Frosty's ass.

I broke the bra sales lady

Shopping. I hate it. In addition to being attacked by a toddler at Applebees last night, I was also accosted by a sales lady. But, unlike the unfinished business I had with the toddler, I took care of the sales lady. I like to think I broke her.

I was looking for a new bra.  Now, I will preface this with the normal self-hatred of my body.  You see, a lot of chubby girls get to have big boobs.  Not me. Everything else is big, but not my hooters.  I'm a little bitter about this, but I like to think I have  adjusted.  Finding a bra that fits is an impossibility because the makers of all clothes think if you are a size whatever around the middle, your hooters must be volumptuous. I speak for all small boobed fat girls when I say, "American designers and child labor of third world countries, this is not true!" I have learned to adjust and "alter" my bras and make it work without looking like I have inverted boobs. Now, if Victoria Secret wasn't a bunch of skinny, big-boobed angel freaks, they might make something that would "lift and separate," on me, but no, they cater to model sizes ranging all the way up to average sizes...and babycakes, I am  above average. Anyway, that is the preamble to my story.

First off, our perky sales girl had already approached me several times trying to push her ugly sweaters.  They were, afterall, on sale for $12.99.  I don't care if they were free, I didn't want them. The perky sales girl also asked me if I wanted a bra fitting, it appeared she was an expert.  I declined.  I did try on a couple of shirts and looked as ridiculous as I thought I might. Finally, I gave up, went over and picked a bra that I thought would give me the least amount of trouble.  I brought it up front and my Mom says, "did you try it on?"  I said, "no, I don't need to."  Mom had now alarmed the perky sales girl.  Perky said, "Now, you better go try it on!"  I said, "I don't need to, it will be fine."  Perky said, "how do you know, what if it doesn't work?"  I said, "it will work."  She wasn't buying my story.  I said, "look, there isn't a bra made that fits this body."  She says, "That's not true, I can work miracles."  I said, "not on this body you can't.  Look, I've got a big girth and little boobs, YOU can't help me."  She said, "oh, but I have tricks that can help!"  I told her, "oh, like buying a size smaller and using extender things so it fits around the middle and so the cups aren't so big? I already do that."  She was not deterred, she still felt she had the secret to my happiness.  She says, "have you tried those inserts?"  "Yes, I've not only tried them, I wear them daily and my boobs still rattle around in there like marbles in a cup."  I shook my shoulders for effect and shimmied a little. "See?" I said.  I finally told her, "Look, I promise I will buy this bra and no matter how much it sucks, I will never bring it back to you for return and I will suck it up and live with the reality that I will never own a bra that fits."  You could see it in her eyes...I was the one that got away.  I like to call it a victory, she was perky, and I broke her.

I sported the bra all day today.  It pinches a little on the side, but I'll live.  I wonder if Perky has a cure for that?

WARNING: Hoodie sweatshirts hazardous at Applebees

Life has been pretty stressful and pretty crazy the last couple of weeks.  There have been many rants in my head and many reasons to blog my Angry Pony rants, but none of them seemed appropriate since many of them revolved around my father's stay in the hospital and his passing.  Even in death we must find some sort of humor in order to survive and keep from crying all the time, but I held back none the less. 

I have missed some work in light of the situation.  I missed an open house hiring event, screening, interviews, making more snowflakes and many other "fun" adventures that would have been good blog fodder.  I've had a bit of a dry spell, you might say.  Tonight I would like to just have a small rant to get back into the swing of things.

Mom and I spent some time together this afternoon and then decided to go to Applebees for dinner.  Now, I wasn't looking super hot.  I was wearing a red hoodie sweatshirt and my hair was a bit scraggly, but not in a homeless way, just in a "I don't give a crap" way.  Mom and I were immediately sat down in a spacious booth. It wasn't too crowded and it was relaxing.  Hotter than the hubs of hell, but relaxing.  Then, a woman-child shows up with her year and half year old daughter and was sat in the booth directly behind me.  I think the little girls name was Kaitlyn and she had a pony tail sticking straight up on the top of her head.  She was trouble.  Kaitlyn immediately decided that she was going to face my mom and I and wave.  Isn't that cute? Why yes, it was.  Mom waved back.  The people in the other booths waved to her.  Isn't she precious?
Mom said, "She is really cute, and she is really quiet too."  I said, "for now."

I was sitting there minding my own business when Kaitlyn decided to throw her little baggie of juice and snacks right next to me in my purse.  Her mother was very apologetic and I returned the childs stuff and smiled sweetly, "that's ok."  I'd now like to talk about what is NOT okay.  I was sitting there eating my dinner when all of the sudden, my hood was grabbed and yanked...hard...three times.  Isn't she precious?  My Mom almost shot pop out her nose as my eyes got big and my head jerked backwards. I then scootched over so she couldn't reach me, but apparently Kaitlyn had some sort of monkey training because she was all over the place.  Just when I thought they were leaving and I was safe, I sat back up straight.  Kaitlyn apparently really liked me because she grabbed a chunk of my hair and gave it a good jerk.  I don't really know what the appropriate way to handle that situation, but thanks to all the cold medication I have been taking, my cat-like reflexes were dulled.  As it stands, Kaitlyn lived.  It was her lucky day.

So, I say to you, my friends, let this be a lesson.  Do not wear hoodie sweatshirts to Applebees...or any other place where booths and children are allowed to mix.  It's a serious hazard. And, if your child is Kaitlyn, give her a spanking every once in a while, eh?

Wednesday - good vs. bad

Will asks me each night, "How was your day today?"  I either tell him it sucks, or it was fine.  He often presses me, "so nothing special happened today, you didn't take hostages?"  I usually say, "no."  Today nothing special happened, but I thought I would break it down anyway.  We will compare the good vs. the bad points, just to be fair.

Good - My hair looked good when I left the house.
Bad - By the time I got to work, hair not so great.  My pal Cassie at work has super short hair that she wears all spikey every single day and she uses a product called "Sticky Gum" in her hair.  Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is going to ruin her hair day.  We call her hair orgasmic for a reason. She  tells me I am too critical of my hair, but again, she could sky dive and still not have a hair out of place.

Good - The fly that was in the process of dying in the light fixture over my desk yesterday, driving me nuts with the "zzzzzt....zzzzzzt........zzzzzzt,"  seems to have finally died.
Bad - Now I have that stupid Christmas song, "....There's something up the chimney and I don't know what it is, but it's been there since last Christmas..." stuck in my head.  The fly in agony would have been a refreshing change.  See, be careful what you wish for. (to be clear, I haven't heard that song in a long time, so why it is there now, no one knows)

Good - Gretchen brought Kiss Cookies and I ate two.
Bad - Gretchen brought Kiss Cookies and I ate two.

Good - I didn't have to tell anyone to go to hell today.
Bad - This unused, bottled up energy is going to compound and gain strength like a hurricane.  By Friday, I could end up telling someone to "F - off."

Good - I didn't cry today.
Bad - I ate a lot of chocolate, possibly as a direct result.  I'm now out of chocolate.  This is a problem.

Good - I asked the VP for a credit limit increase on my corporate card up to $25K.
Bad - I don't think she is on board with this plan.

Bad - Traffic sucked on the way home and I didn't pee before leaving.
Good - First, I didn't pee my pants.  Second, I listened to Enya so the dumb-asses were less annoying. Third, when traffic did finally break up, it was really good the car directly behind me was not a cop, because I went 70mph in a 60mph.

Good - Will is making dinner.
Bad - It's something with hamburger and potato chips.  Like Mom always said, "if you got hamburger and you got potato chips...you got a meal!"

Good - Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit at work.
Bad - Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit at work.  Within a few days it is going to look like Christmas threw up all over the place in there and I am powerless to stop it. My boss still wants enough snowflakes made for everyone in the center.  Can we fast forward to January, please?

Good - One of my bosses is out of the office all this week.  The other boss is out tomorrow and Friday.
Bad - I'm probably going to be making more of those freakin snowflakes the rest of the week in their absence instead of doing something fun, like Jib Jab.

So, that sums it up, not earth shattering, but my day in a nutshell.  So, next time I say my day was "fine" maybe we can leave it at that.

Good -  Time to go feed the ponies...they are waiting.  Bad - Will has the remote.  Bad - He is watching Family Guy. 

Outside I go....

Toilet Paper, it's important

It was a long weekend. We travelled over to Will's parents, which is about a 5-6 hour drive in the winter.  We arrived no worse for the wear and had a nice time.  I made peanut butter balls for the in-laws since last year I didn't make them any and this has not been forgotten.  In my defense, I did make them last year...Will and I just ate them before I could get them packaged up and mailed. So, I have now fulfilled this year's obligation.  I also left my Mother-in-law a special gift.  I won't comment on it now since I don't know if she has found the gift yet, or if she will read this before she does, but let's just not talk about it.  I will say it isn't the kind of gift that my dog leaves me when I leave him loose in the house, but she may or may not enjoy this gift.

In other news, on the way home, in Wenatchee, at Jack-in-the-Box, I had a rather annoying experience.  I'm so going to call that customer service survey hotline.  I go into the bathroom and first of all, having to get greased up to get in the stall is demerit number one.  I mean, what the hell is a matter with these places, you are serving fattening, fast food.  Your clientele is not the contestants on America's Next Top Model.  Your clientele is from the Biggest Loser. Then, demerit number two, I almost got bucked off the toilet seat because they believe in a loose fit on the seats in there.  I'm a freakin rodeo champion, I rode it out for more than eight seconds. Demerit number three, toilet paper.  Thank goodness I wasn't having the problems of the gal in the handi-capped stall, because the toilet paper was so thin, everytime I grabbed it, it ripped.  I've seen spider webs that were thicker than that toilet paper.  I was having an all out rodeo with the toilet paper dispenser trying to get a full sheet off that freakin roll. I finally got a few squares off and took care of things.  I don't know what that gal was going to do in the handi-capped stall.  There was no way she was ever going to get enough paper off to take care of that problem. I think this is why public bathrooms are a mess.  I think this is why I look at them and think, "what the hell happened in here?"  What happened in there is that some poor soul couldn't get enough paper and had to wipe their ass all over the seat and the wall.  This is why hand sanitizer...and hazmat suits are so vital to survival in this day and age.

I am exhausted.  Time to start another work week.  Tomorrow is another new hire day at work.  Time for badge pictures and general chaos.  Hip hip hooray.

A little something about nothing

It's been a long day. I'm not going to go over the details of the day as it wasn't anything exciting enough to blog about really.  I mean, there were some moments when my head almost spun around, but this is pretty standard.  Par for the course, as they say. I put out some fires, made some snowflakes, passed out some gift cards, had to run to Target to purchase more gift cards....blah, blah, blah. 

They are rotating in a new side-kick for me for the month of December.  She is very nice. I've been told she is shy and that this will be a good opportunity to bring her out of her shell.  I told her today, "I'll just treat you like a turtle...you know, if a turtle's head gets stuck in the shell, we'll just poke our thumb up your butt and your head will pop out."  I don't really know if she appreciated this analogy, but if nothing else, I am an eloquent communicator. I told her by the end of the month she would be tougher.  She says she has a high tolerance for whining and stupidity.  We shall see my young apprentice...we shall see.

Had to go the long way home tonight since the little town I drive through is flooded thanks the bleepity, bleep, bleepin rain.  I'm finally here, relaxed, decompressing while browsing FB, and I look over at the couch and there is my beloved, passed out, snoring.  Now, Will and I have a rule, no blackmail pictures, no posting without permission, no sneak attacks on Facebook with photo's.  Because of this, let me describe to you the vision on my couch.  It's my man.  He is sporting his brown lounge pants with a large salmon print, a Big Dog shirt with some saying about how he isn't a freakin' people person, thick socks and camo-print slippers.  His legs are all sprawled out, kind of in sitting position, his body is slumped to the side, his head is in an unnatural position, mouth is open and he has a pile of wiener dogs on his crotch.  He's snoring.  He is a vision of all I fell in love with. Some Redneck Rocket Scientist show is on TV in the background.  If I touch the remote, he will wake up.  Afterall, he's watching that. I would just like to say, as a disclaimer, I am no sleeping beauty when found in my natural habitat of fleece sheets and pony pj's in a semi comatose state, but right now, I'm the one taking in the scene and I have to say to myself...thank goodness this image was not his profile picture when we met on-line over 7 years ago.  If he would just let me post the occasional picture, I wouldn't have to have these kinds of dialogs.

I think it's time to pull the plug on how to make a rocket airplane thing and get sleeping beauty to bed.  Here's to hoping tomorrow has something more exciting in store.

Bleepity Bleep Bleepin Rain...

It's 4:30AM and I'm up.  This is unfortunate, because this guarantees crabbiness.  Why are you up, you may ask?  Well, this damn, driving, pounding, unrelenting rain has made me toss and turn all night long. How am I supposed to sleep when the rain is so loud on the roof?  How am I supposed to sleep when I heard gushing water all night. It makes me have to pee, and then when I am not making a trip to the bathroom, I'm having some sort of psychotic dreams.

I can't see Angry Pony from the road anymore when I drive by, but I am sure he is standing in his pen pissed off.  And with good reason.  This rain is B.S.

At this point, I hope someone is building an ark.  My poor dogs have probably not pee'd in 3 days.  I force them out in the driving  rain, their backs hunched up, they look at me like I am Cruella De Ville  and walk a few steps, then stare at me with their heads down, glaring.  They can't pee in these conditions.  Don't even talk about pooping. And, while my horses do have a barn, I'm going to have to go purchase floaties for them.  Where their pasture once was is now an "open swim" area. 

I don't want to have to drive in this rain either.  People cannot function in these conditions. They either drive 45mph on the freeway, or they drive like a Nascar champion.  No winning there.  I'm watching the news, so far, no idiots have caused major catastrophes, but it is early....

I'm not doing my hair today either. Why bother. I may drag out my pink pony rubber boots today...if only they came in hip waders...anyway, this is apparently becoming a bitch fest, so maybe I need to go chew on some cereal...

To my work friends...don't. poke. the. bear.  You have been warned.

When Snowflakes make people attack...

Today a lot of people irritated me.  No, let me just come out and say it, they pissed me off.  For example, I'm at my desk, eating my lunch, with my pal, Val.  Now, my bad for eating at my desk, but, I was taking a quick lunch, so figured I could get away with it.  I'm sitting there, eating, and this guy comes up and says, "hi."  I look at him in utter annoyance and say, "is there something I can help you with?"  He says, "well, I can see you are eating, so I guess I won't bother you."  I looked at him and said, "good plan."  I thought this would take care of the little problem...and by little problem, I mean him.  Nope, he just stands there with this stupid look on his face and stares at me.  I stare back.  I blink.  I take another bite of my burger.  He is unaffected by the mental telepathy I am sending to him that says, "drop dead."  Now, I ask you, why would anyone interfere with a fat girl eating her lunch?  Why? If you add the word "bitchy" to the sentence, it makes it even more unfathomable.  Finally, I say, with irritation and exasperation, "is it just a quick question?"  He then asked me a series of dumb questions, to which, he already had the answers to.  Because of this, I felt the need to be semi-snotty, yet still PC, in my responses.  It was the equivalent to walking up to someone and saying, "I see your shirt is blue, can you confirm that?"  I don't have time for this kind of stupidity.  Finally, he left.

Now, I'd like to turn my attention to the afternoon festivities.  Someone at work, who shall remain nameless, has decided we need to make these paper snowflakes for everyone in the center...about 250 of them.  We did this last year and it did look really cool, but a few folks worked on them after hours and in between projects.  This year, it has been decided, that we need to make them before Thanksgiving, which is the day after tomorrow.  Now, these snowflakes take about 5-10 minutes or more, per snowflake, to make.  It's time consuming.  No worries, we'll do them at the staff meeting today.  I"m sure the managers won't mind making them, right?

Let me just tell you how a room full of adults can make a class of grade-schoolers look skilled....and mature.  Give the adults paper, scissors, staplers and tape.  Show them how to make the snowflakes and then wait for it....wait for it....THERE IT IS...the whining has begun.  "I don't know how to do this."  "Why are we doing this?" "Oh sure, we are on a budget and can't order supplies, but we can make paper snowflakes."  "I can't figure this out."  "This stapler doesn't work."  "These scissors are hurting my hand." "I don't have any tape, how come there isn't enough tape for everyone?"  In the meantime, over all the paper wrestling, rustling, and whining, a staff meeting is being attempted.  The only saving grace was that I had an appointment and needed to leave.  I grabbed my stapler, because, no one was going to steal my stapler, and left.  I wanted to slap half of them tell some of the others to go sniff some glue. 

I wait and wait for the elevator to come.  There are two, but only one works.  The building guy insists the other one works, but no one has seen it open for months, so we have to wait forever for the one that does. The building guy can also go sniff some glue for all I care.  I get out of the elevator, where I am  greeted by employees with Nerf guns sitting on hay bales (which I brought in from home) shooting at turkeys that my "sales coordinator" assistant spent over half a day making.  Yes, I do work in a corporate environment.


I just have to say, it's good that my appointment was to see a therapist because, I really needed to talk to someone that wasn't wasting my time, whining or trying to shoot me with Nerf bullets. But wait, more good news, tomorrow....tomorrow, I will be making snowflakes all day.  Sing it with me, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around...98 bottles of beer on the wall....

Where is my intern when I need her?

Heat Leaches

Sometimes when Will leaves for work on Saturdays he likes to put the dogs in bed with me.  Spanky, of course, is already there because he has the ability to get up on the bed himself, but the other two clowns need assistance.  Since it was 27 degrees this morning, Will decided it was a good opportunity for the dogs to "snuggle" with me. 

Usually, I sleep on my side, so Spanky attaches himself to my belly and Chip and Lilly attach themselves to either side of my legs.  This is great, we are one organism.  I,  being the pre-warmed heat provider, and the little wiener dogs being the heat sucking leaches. This little co-existence is fine until the leaches reach full heat.  Then they begin to cook me like bacon on a hot skillet. I try to roll over, but I can't, I have dead weight surrounding me and they are unaffected by my needs.  I finally manage to roll to my back and do a scissor maneuver with my legs to get the leaches off of me.  I begin to relax and cool down just a smidge, when I realize it is time to rotate back over on my side.  I go to do so, but the leaches have moved back in and are once again affixed to my body.  I roll over, the dogs reposition.  Now, I still have Spanky at my belly and one of the others has decided to take up residency just under my ass.  I pause to wonder if I passed some sort of really bad gas, if it would run the dogs out from under the covers like it runs me out of the room when they do it.  Sadly, my stomach isn't in any sort of distress, so I have no ammo in the chamber.

And so the cycle goes on until the baby leach, Spanky, decides it's time to get up, at which point, he pops out of the covers, walks to the end of the bed, climbs on my feet and walks his way up my body until he is laying on my chest just nano fractions from my face.  He is staring at me and wagging his tail.  I hear the "thump, thump, thump" of his happy tail on my belly.  Then Chip climbs out and sits next to my shoulder and stares at me like he is trying to hypnotize me with his bulgy eye stare.  He is also shaking for affect.  Exactly how does one sleep through the little leaches when they do this?  Lilly is no where to be found because she is at the bottom of the bed under the covers hoping to not be detected.  She would sleep in that bed all day if allowed.

And so, it's time to get up.  Sleeping in too long on the weekends is over-rated anyway, I guess. I wouldn't know, for sure, thanks to the leaches.

TGIF! Adventures of the love wand and pink unicorns

The phrase TGIF could not be more true than it was today.  Thank goodness it's Friday.  Why, I woke up giddy and excited for the day! (insert the sound of a needle dragging across a record)  If you know me, you know that statement is a bunch of capital B, capital S.

Let's cut through the crap, I had to get up extra early and be at the doctor for a "girlie" ultrasound.  That's right, by 6:15am, I was to have consumed 32 oz of water and then drive my merry ass to the clinic, by 7am, to have some woman I didn't know get the "love wand" out and have her way with me. Never mind, I had to pee,  she couldn't find my left ovary.  Apparently it was hiding. Duh, I'm fat, it could be anywhere in there. For all I know, the sheer weight of my stomach could have pushed it down into the layers of fat in my ass. I'm not so sure Madam Technician didn't shove the love wand down there. Why don't we send Jaques Cousteau down there in a submarine for crying out loud.  It's just my uterus, don't mind me.  TGIF indeed.

Fortunately, from there the day looked up.  I mean, how could it have gotten any worse?  When you start the day like that, seriously, barring a colonoscopy appointment, I don't see how it could have gotten worse.  Anyhoosle, both my bosses were out of the office and several other key players had the day off, so it was quiet.  I actually got some stuff done.

My day really started to look up when I ran to Display and Costume to purchase butcher paper for the bulletin boards.  I found what I needed and rang the little bell really loud, just like the sign said to, and some blonde girl comes back and asks me what I need.  I tell her I need two 14 foot pieces of the red paper and then two eight foot pieces of the blue paper.  She seemed overwhelmed.  "Do you have more shopping to do?" she asked nervously.  I told her I could browse a bit while she cut it, no problem.  I wandered and wandered and then I hear her say, "She said she wants TWO 14 foot pieces of the red...." her voice sounded stressed.  I continued to walk around, taking in all the stuff the store had to offer.  It was taking forever, so I found myself really taking in every corner of the store.  And then it was as if heaven above shown down upon me.  I saw the light, I heard the angels...right in front of me were pink unicorn bandages. It was the mother-load.  I had to have some.  I don't know how much they cost, and I don't care. I have pink pony band-aids and you don't!  HA!  Then, as if my day had not been blessed enough, there it was, a two pack of white pony heads with pink manes.  They were key toppers.  With the recent loss of my pony key chain, I could not believe my luck.  It was as if I had been healed. Like, life might not suck that bad afterall.  I bought them too.  Then I spotted French Fry flavored lip gloss.  Good Lord, where was I?  I felt dirty.  It was like I was in fat-girl-pony-loving heaven and then french fries showed up.  I started to feel faint.  I needed to get out of there.

What the heck was that paper cutting girl doing? Was she measuring with a Fischer Price tape measure from Toys R Us that only measures out 6 inches? I wandered back there again.  She had someone helping her and I heard her make some comment about how it was cutting. The red was finally done and now she was on the blue.  I had no idea cutting butcher paper was so complex.  Thank goodness my job isn't that stressful.  I don't think I could take it.

I wandered some more.  I almost bought a Christmas card with a pug dog humping Santa's leg, but then opted not to.  I mean, as amusing as that was, I needed to stay focused.  I finally spied "the cutter" walking towards me with her arms full of my paper.  About time.  I looked at the two rolled up pieces and almost dropped my mouth open, but recovered.  If my dog had gnawed on that butcher paper for an hour, it would have looked better.  If she had not used scissors at all, it would have looked better.  What happened back there?  Was she possessed? Did she have a seizure? Is she legally blind? Was she cutting while jogging on a treadmill?  Nervous twitch?  My word, it was horrifying.  None the less, I paid for my paper and then really freaked out the cashier when I said, "And I want to purchase this separately" as I pointed to my pony essentials.  The girl behind me glared at me.  Quite frankly, I didn't care because nothing, and I do mean nothing, could have stopped me from buying those unicorn bandages and those pony key topper things.  I couldn't exactly put that on the company credit card.  I can imagine explaining how that was helpful to our call center on my expense report.  As essential as it was for me, I doubt the VP would agree.  Anyway, I finished with my second transaction and the hag behind me with her Mickey Mouse ears almost pushes me out of the way as I'm grabbing my stuff.  If I hadn't been on a pink pony high, that bitch would have been permanently wearing the magical world of Disney up her ass.

I returned to work with the goods, did some more work and then decided I'd had enough.  I had already put 40+ hours in this week, I was leaving while the sun was still out and while I could make it home before dark. It was at this point, it truly was, TGIF.

My underwear is in training for the Boston Marathon

I don't think the average guy has any idea what women go through when they get dressed in the morning.  Even if you are one of the girls that puts on holey jeans, a sweatshirt and some slippers, some sort of thought went into that.  If you are a girl that is not blessed with a model body, you have even more of a challenge ahead.  Today was a challenging day for me.  And, if you are a guy reading this, I'm just going to come out and tell you, everything you read beyond this point will be an over-share.

I decided to wear a skirt today.  It's a long skirt, so it covers my chubby legs. I wore these legging things underneath the skirt and then my boots that go to just under my knee.  My upper body ensemble wasn't too bad, just a sparkly top and a simple blazer.  It seems simple, yes? The problem with this little ensemble begins with the undergarments.  When you are a fat girl, you need some serious foundation.  This is where the FCD comes in (for those of you unfamiliar with this term it is the Fat Controlling Device, aka, a girdle thingy).  The FCD is kind of spandex-y and looks like a tank top.  Today, when I paired this with the legging thingys, tragedy followed.  You see, the geniuses at Lane Bryant that made the leggings bank on the fact that if you are fat, you are also an amazon woman, like your torso is approximately five feet in length.  So, I've got the waist band of my leggings up under my boobs and  I've got the FCD over that.  It seemed like a viable plan. Turns out, this was bad.  The leggings slid down, taking my underwear with it, the FCD shifted up and the waistband of my skirt didn't know where in the hell to go.  Now, to add insult to injury, the top of my boots kept sliding down (the top of my boots are a mixture of thin leather and some sort of strappy things). 

Early on, I told Valerie, "I'm going to the bathroom, I'm getting everything locked down and then I am not drinking any water today, so I don't have to go through this again."  It seemed like a plan.  I was wrong.  I walked around tugging, pulling and begging my clothes to stay put all day. I looked like I had some sort of nervous twitch that involved pulling at my underwear constantly. My clothes didn't care, they were going to drive me crazy all day.  My underwear ran more miles up and down my ass than someone preparing for the Boston marathon. By the afternoon, I thought I might cry.  I headed to the bathroom to try one more time to get things under control. By the time I was walking back to my desk, everything was already on the move again.  I spotted Valerie walking towards me. She said, "I was just coming to look for you, I was worried that your clothes got the best of you in there!"  They had.  I gave up. 

My lessons from today are as follows: Boots are not sexy...on me.  Leggings seem like a good idea...for other people. That skirt...needs a belt.  The FCD...is not my friend.  Days like today are the reason why fat girls give in and buy a mu-mu...and Crocs.

Tomorrow I am not going to try and do anything fancy.  I'm too exhausted.

My magical ride to work...

It's a Monday. Not happy about it, but gotta do what I gotta do.  I got ready for work and headed out to my truck.  I decided to check out my old collection of CD's to see if I had anything worth listening to.  I pulled out Enya.  I haven't listened to that in forever. Why not?  Maybe some relaxing music is just what I need.

As I'm driving along, I feel myself visibly relax.  This is good stuff. In my head, everything is going in slow motion. I'm in an open field, riding my unicorn effortlessly through a field of daisies and wild flowers.  I'm barefoot. My long, blonde, softly curled hair is flowing down my back and I have a circle of daisies on my head.  My boobs look amazing, my waist is small, I am a goddess (hey, shut up, if I can ride a unicorn, I can damn well be a goddess).  My unicorn, Enya, and I make our way through a beautiful countryside.  I stop and pick gum drops off the gum drop tree.  Then the Care Bears come out and hand me a fat-free, sugar-free cupcake that tastes like heaven.  A slight breeze is playing in my hair and the warm sun is on my face.  It's magical.

It's then I spy some asshat riding up on my tailgate and then darting around me.  I am unaffected.  That poor soul must be late for work and I am sure they don't mean to be an asshat.  I go back to my adventure with Enya.  Just then, I smell the turd laundry, but in my magical place, it smells like roses and once again, all is right with the world.  I take a big whiff.  Mmmmmmm, flowers. 

I'm nearing "the glass palace" now and find myself slowing down.  What's the rush?  Afterall, Enya doesn't go 65mph.  I pull in the parking lot and the breeze kicks up and Enya snorts and stamps his foot.  Fear in his eyes.  There is a darkness that is falling upon us.  I turn the truck off, my soothing CD stops.  I walk into the glass palace and go to my desk.  I open my email.  Just then, my paradise collapses.  Thunder claps, rain starts, Enya rears up in fear as the "unicorn poop" in my email oozes out.  Then suddenly there is a landslide and Enya and I fall down the hillside into the river.  When I reach the bottom, Enya's leg is broken, my dress is torn, my pot belly is sticking out, my boobs went flat, my hair has sticks in it and what I believe to be a pissed off squirrel.  Now, I am going to have to shoot my unicorn to put it out of it's misery and, in all probability, will get rabies from that damn squirrel fighting for it's life in my hair.

I stand up to go get water and my knee screams out in pain  Stupid rainstorm. Stupid hill. Stupid unicorn. I over-estimated the power of the Enya CD.  Tomorrow I'd better try AC/DC.  I think a little Back in Black might be more suitable to prepare me for my work day...or maybe Hells Bells.

Cookies, Unicorn Poop and the best resume - ever

I didn't want to get out of bed today.  I knew nothing good could come from an "Open House" day at work where we try and lure the best of the worst to come work at our company.  I'm not trying to be mean about this, but I understand that someone actually wore a T-shirt that had a rainbow on it  with a pile of poop under it and it said "Unicorn Poop."  Personally, I haven't had to look for a job recently, but I am pretty sure wearing a Unicorn Poop shirt is probably not what I would wear to a perspective employers open house.

At any rate, I got out of bed and got ready for work.  My first stop was Wal-mart.  I had to purchase approx 12 dozen cookies and a bunch of water.  As I checked out the gal looked at me like I was on some sort of cookie cleansing diet, or that possibly, I was creating a new reality show called "Fat Girls Gone Wild."  I explained we were having an open house at my work.  She seemed skeptical. Whatever.  Then my boss informs me that I also need to stop and get some special cupcakes for this little recognition thing at work. Now it would appear I am store hopping for junk food.  I'm innocent.  Framed, really.

My day continues on. Craziness consumes most of my day prepping for the open house and then navigating through the screening process.  Being a "screener" is interesting.  I learn all kinds of things about people.  Most times I keep a straight face and behave...and then there are moments when my inside voice escapes.  Case in point: this gal comes in that I think I have seen before. I asked her if she was here last time.  She said she had been.  I said, "oh, that must be where I know you from."  Then I started asking her questions and she informs me that she worked at Lane Bryant.  For those of you skinny people, Lane Bryant is a clothing store for "plus size" girls.  So, I say to her, "oh, I bet that is where I know you from."  She says, "well, I haven't worked there since 2004."  I said, "Well, I've been fat for a really long time, so that doesn't mean anything."  Perhaps that was an over-share. She seemed semi-amused.  I feel like we bonded, however, really, what I did was just call her out for being fat for a long time too because Lane Bryant usually only hires "chubby" girls.  Awkward.

People kept coming through and I found myself being less able to cope with reality as my tights were really chaffing. I wore a long skirt, which was probably not my best choice for an action packed day. Not to over-share, but I had issues. In order to save myself from any further agitation, thusly leading to further inappropriate comments to potential candidates, I decided the tights needed to come off.  I whined to Valerie one more time and she was like, "GO TAKE THEM OFF."  The problem is that I was wearing these cute boots.  This was a big project to get them off and I sure as hell wasn't taking my shoes off in the women's bathroom. Don't make me go on a rant about that again (read previous bathroom blog for full detail).  I decided the best action to take was to find a pair of scissors.  The scissors and I went in the bathroom and what happened next could only be described as pantyhose mutilation.  The good news is, I didn't have to take my boots off.  The bad news is, the janitor is going to wonder what in the hell happened in there.  No, wait, she won't.  At this point, nothing could possibly surprise her in there.

I finished my tour of duty as a screener and then the best resume of the day came across my desk.  It is a resume that I could only dream of writing.  It was six pages.  The bold heading across the top was "Untitled."  Immediately, I knew... this was solid gold, baby.  This person went on  to describe every job they ever had and listed IN DETAIL the reason they left the company.  I've never seen anything so honest, so pure, so bitter, so angry and I ate it up like candy!  This person left one job due to the boss allegedly scamming them.  Left one job because the boss was breathing down their neck all day. Another job because of a sick family member and my one of my favorite reasons was being let go due their focus on professional wrestling school.  It is the best resume - ever.  I love it when someone is bitter and unafraid to show it.  It sure makes screening easier.

My second favorite resume of the day was the pink one that was sprayed with perfume.  This person is clearly a fan of Legally Blonde.  I am definitely going to do this for my next job.  I mean, that resume got passed around to everyone.  She definitely got noticed.  How about a round of snaps for her?  I'd put a compliment in the snap cup for her.

At 7:20pm, I finally dragged my butt out of there.  The joy from the best resume ever had me on some sort of high.  I called my husband to let him know I was on the way home.  I then kept him on the phone and asked him in depth questions about his feelings and then interrogated him about why he does what he does.  He didn't seem to have answers and quite frankly, didn't like my questions.  I told him I was just curious and then asked him why he was never curious about me.  I mean didn't he find me interesting?  Should I be offended? Am I boring?  He was also unable to answer those questions.  I was actually smiling as I knowingly made him uncomfortable.  I then asked him if he would feed the horses before I got home so that I could just relax when I got there.  He jumped on doing that for me and quickly got off the phone.  He has never been so happy to agree to something and get off the phone as he was tonight.  I smiled.  I'm a little bit evil.  I'm a little bit smart. Maybe next time he will see it coming, but I don't think so.  When I got home the horses were fed.  Mission accomplished.

Can't wait for tomorrow.  I get to go through another open house.  I'm super excited.  You never know who's gonna come in there.  What I do know is, I won't be wearing tights.

Gotta go, Will's watching another episode of American Hogger. I think it's time to have another in-depth conversation....

An Open Letter to Chocolate

The following is an open letter to chocolate.

Dear Chocolate,
You bastard.  I hate you and I want you out of my life. I am sick and tired of you seducing me with your smooth chocolate exterior and inner goodness. You think you are clever hiding nuts inside, but I'm on to your games.  All you ever do is adhere yourself to my butt, thighs and stomach and I'm sick of it.  You call to me from the drawer, from candy dishes, from the freezer.  I hear you.  Your cries have never gone unanswered, but I must break the cycle.  I know you will fight me on this, but this break-up is for real.  We are over.

I know I've tried to say good-bye before. You've wrapped yourself seductively in shiny foil wrappers.  You've even partnered with the frickin' Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, St. Valentine and, you S.O.B., you have partnered with the most evil of all holiday's, Halloween.  This is crap.  I can't fight this.  And you know it.  You think you are all cute in the shape of a bunny, like you know I can't resist your solid milk chocolate goodness as I gleefully bite your ears off.  You barbarian.  I even got a chocolate "man part" on a stick at a party once.  Pull yourself together Chocolate, stop the madness!

Like all that isn't enough, you've even enlisted the help of your friends.  You're all innocent, like, "oh your chocolate got in my peanut butter, no your peanut butter got in my chocolate!"  That is, by far, the cruelest thing you have ever done.  Go ahead, make yourself a Reeces peanut butter egg, Christmas tree or heart, hit me where I live.  This time though, this time I will be stronger.  Oh, and just go ahead and try your mint Hershey's kisses or Ghiradeli carmel filled squares.  I will not be seduced by your friends.  And, stay the hell away from my ice cream.  I'm not even kidding here.  You tell Ben & Jerry to stop calling me.  Call off your dogs!

And then, your lowest point, prostituting little girls.  That's right, those little Campfire sluts pushing their mint cookies.  They sit out front of every grocery store with their sad little eyes in their cute little outfits in the rain begging for your support.  If you don't buy any, their Mothers look at you with their judging eyes, like, "come on fat girl, don't tell me you don't eat cookies..."

Chocolate, you are the worst.  You are horrible.  You're smothering me.  Dare I say, you're killing me.  I'm defriending you on Facebook.  I'm not buying your propaganda, I don't care if you do claim to be healthier in your darkest form.  You clearly can't be trusted.

That's right, as soon as those chocolate chips are gone from the freezer (one more batch of cookies for old times sake), as soon as those M&M's are gone from Will's truck, as soon as those Riesen's are gone from my bosses secret stash, IT'S O.V.E.R.  You won't win this time.  Move on, find yourself some gym bunny that needs the extra padding so she won't freeze when she is out jogging.  Don't call. Don't show up in my cart at the store and do not even think about talking me into a hot chocolate from some random espresso stand on a cold day.  I said no.  NO means NO.

Sincerely,
Angry Pony

Parking, it seems so simple...and yet...

Why do the asshats and jackholes always park by me at work?  Why?  Today I was assaulted by a silver Nissan.  This person, in their infinite wisdom, decided to back in.  By backing in, this person put their driver door against my driver door.  They backed crooked, so their back tire was just inches from my front tire.  When this person got out of their vehicle, I am quite certain that they had to have touched my door with their door.  I know when I got into my truck, I certainly let my door touch their door.  Fat girls need room to maneuver.  I don't know if I have been clear about that in any of my other blog entries, but it is true. 

Was this person blind in one eye? Were they unconscious? Were they eating an egg mcmuffin? Was their spirit guide driving the vehicle on their behalf?  What possesses people to do this?  I mean, surely when they went to get out they realized their parking job was less than ideal.  They are lucky I was not driving some old beater, because I assure you, had I been,  I would have left a mark on that car.  Stupidity should be painful.  There should be consequences for bad parking and bad driving.  I would like to form a group to rise against these offenders.  I'm going to call it, B.A.A.D. - Bitches Against Asshat Drivers.  Our mission statement would be something like, "To create a world of spacious parking spots, uneventful freeway merging and bass free living."  B.A.A.D. members would be responsible for calling out and marking asshats and jackholes cars so that others would know to be wary of them.  We could come up with a symbol that represents what it means to be an asshat and then mark each car or truck on the hood.  You know, like the sign of Zorro, but maybe just leave some sort of big B or something.  I don't know, I just think these people should have their own parking lots and lanes on the freeway so the rest of us can navigate without trauma and near death experiences. 

It's either that, or I'm going to start carrying a baseball bat, in the name of justice, and leaving "love dents" in their doors.  We'll chalk it up to education.

Where is MY spirit guide?

Spent the a good part of the day with Mom today, which is fun because we don't get to do that very often due to Dad's illness.  Mom's a fun gal.  After all, she raised me, didn't she?  Who doesn't have a sense of humor after that ordeal? Anyway, Mom "needed" to go to the fabric store today since she is trying to become this sewing expert or something.  We went through the store and found all the pony fabric in the store and bought some, plus some lace stuff.  I'm pretty sure the fabric cutter girl thinks we're nuts. "What are you going to make?" she asks. Mom and I look at each other, "I don't know."  Buying pony stuff, it's what we do, we can't help ourselves.  I don't even sew and I buy fabric that I will allegedly someday do something with.  Mom and I have what Will calls, "pony eyes."  Pony eyes are what allow me to go into any store and locate something of a horse like nature.  It has amazed Will more than once.  I have found pony items at Sportsman's Warehouse, Cabela's, the grocery store, gas stations, mini-mart's, those Toy Shoppe vending machines.  I'll see an ear or a color and sure enough, it's a pony.  It's a skill. It can even be a curse.

The day progresses and we run a-muck accordingly, finally returning to my parent's house.  Mom decides to make dinner and we find ourselves hanging out in the family room while Dad watches back to back football games in the living room.  Dad is in and out of slumber due to recovering from his last chemo treatment and being under the influence of a variety of drugs. My sister comes in and informs us that Dad is talking in his sleep.  Mom says, "I wonder if he is talking to his Mom."  (side note: his Mom is no longer alive)  I ask Mom what would make her say that and she says, "Doesn't anyone ever talk to you?"  Um....no...not dead people. Haven't had one conversation with a dead person lately.  My sister and I exchanged looks.  Ok, I'll bite, "Mom, does anyone talk to you?"  She informs me that yes, quite frequently.  I said, "While you are awake or while you are sleeping?"  Mom says it happens when she is awake.  Again, I look at my sister, "Does anyone talk to YOU?"  Nope, no one talks to my sister.  So, then I ask, "Who talks to you?"  Mom informs me she thinks it is her spirit guide.  She says everyone has one.  She looks at me as if in disbelief, "Really? You've never heard anyone call your name?"  No, can't say as I have.  This is what happens when you start reading a lot of Sylvia Browne books, I think.  Now, I'm not saying my Mom is crazy, she isn't.  I believe her. Apparently she has had ghost interactions in the house as well.  My sister and brother have also confirmed odd goings on in the house from time to time, so it is possible.  Mom used to fall asleep on the couch and then say weird things in her sleep like one time she said, "Duct tape."  Another time she said, "Um...Bird."  And then, yet another time she said, "I wouldn't have said anything."  Were these musings with her spirit guide? If so, what in the hell were they talking about?  Sounds like hers is pretty random.

Here's my thing, I'm pissed off.  I have a spirit guide and he/she says nothing?  I want a new one then.  I have a lazy spirit guide.  This is crap.  How did I draw the short straw?  Is this what makes me eat ice cream when I shouldn't?  Is this my spirit guide trying to live out some sort of spirit fantasy? What is my spirit guide doing now?  I mean, I can't sleep, so I am down here writing this blog, where is my spirit guide now?  Will is sleeping upstairs, this would be a perfect time to clue me in on some things or give me some guidance. It isn't like I don't need any.  Does my spirit guide watch me?  I mean, like when I am in the shower or having sex? Is he/she/it here now?  I don't hear anything except the refrigerator. Is it possible my spirit guide is in Spanky's body? I mean that dog climbs up, gets like an inch from my face and stares at me..for long periods of time...is this the spirit guide trying to communicate?  If that is the case, maybe my spirit guide never talks to me because it is spending too much time chewing on Spanky's toenails, licking or scratching.  Just a thought.

Well, I guess I am going to try and go back to bed and get some sleep...unless my spirit guide has anything to say....last chance....Bueller?  Bueller?  Anyone? .......eh, screw it.

Gym bunnies are annoying

So I went to the gym on Monday right after all the skinny girls finished Zumba.  Nothing like getting undressed and into your gym clothes in front of Barbie and friends, but whatever, I got over that phobia in 6th grade phys. ed. Mostly what I learned is that it is never a good idea to run out of the shower to hurry back to your little locker to hide while you are buck naked with a towel the size of a dish cloth.  Fat girls fall hard and they make a slapping sound on the floor.  How do I know this?  It happened to me in 6th grade.  So, I owned it from there.  If you want to stare at the fat girl in her undies that have the day of the week printed on the back and training bra, go ahead.  And why did they use such small towels?  Buncha bull if you ask me.

Anyway, today, I go to the gym a little later to avoid gym bunnies.  I walk into the locker room and the place is empty.  Yes!  I pick the spot in the corner where I could have some privacy if others came in there.  I mean, I need room, do you know how hard it is to get back into your fat controlling device (FCD) after you have worked out and are damp either from sweat or a shower?  I need room to move around to get that accomplished.  Arms flail, bending happens, it is a separate workout all together.  So, I have the perfect spot for that.  I leave my stuff there so it is clear I have marked my territory.  It couldn't have been anymore clear if I had pee'd on the bench.

I go out into the gym and do all the stuff the trainer showed me on Monday.  At least, I think I was doing what he told me.  I'm not going to lie, while I was balancing on that ball with my hands and was in push-up position, I was trying to remember to breathe and tuck my butt and focus on my core, but it wasn't pretty.  I might as well been trying to ride a unicycle and juggle.  None the less, I got 'er done.  Meanwhile, in the midst of my extremely athletic performance on the balance ball, Barbie and friend enter the gym. Skinny bitches. Hate em.  I continue my circuit on the bike and then the eliptical and then back in for some work on my legs.  My muscles were screaming.  They warned me not to go to the gym, but I went anyway.  After Monday, they were not amused.  It was good though.  I was breathing good and sweating. I was a cardio machine.  Nothing could ruin my buzz, not even catching a glimpse of myself doing this stretchy thing with my hands up and my belly peeking out from under my shirt as I raised my arms.  I was a work-out goddess and a vision.  I was sporting a bright pink Hanes Her Way t-shirt and some black sweat pants with red and white racing stripes down the side.  Those gym bunnies could only dream of looking THIS COOL while working out.  I owned it.

Ok, so show is over.  I walk into the rather spacious locker room and what do I see?  Barbie and Buffy had set up shop on both sides of me.  One of them had their bag next to mine on the bench and then the other one had it on the floor next to mine.  Why would they do this?  Were they making a fat girl sandwich?  I was so irritated.  I wanted to kick their stuff or sit with my naked sweaty butt on the bench.  That would show them.  But then I started thinking, I know what these girls do in the bathroom, who is to say someone else hasn't sat their sweaty ass on the bench?  I decided to take the high road.  I got cleaned up and left. 

These gym bunnies will learn, if they are going to crowd me, they are going to see a lot of cellulite.  I'll walk around the locker room naked if need be.  I bet they start working out in the morning instead of on their lunch then.  My next attempt at athletic excellence is Friday.  I'll keep you posted on if I had to resort to any unsavory acts to claim my FCD dressing area.

I'm not friendly, I keep telling you people...

I've never made it a secret that I am not an extrovert.. I am friendly and social in situations that I choose to put myself in.  I do not view the grocery store as a social situation.  I view it as a necessary evil.  I go in, get what I need and get out.  I don't want to make small talk with strangers in the aisles or in the check-out line.  I don't talk to you, don't talk to me.  That is just how I feel. 

Today, I was "violated" at the grocery store.  I had to run to Safeway at lunch to get some gift cards for work.  As luck would have it, the ones I wanted were not out on the display.  I went to customer service to see if they had any more.  I told the lady at customer service what I needed and her reply was, "They should be out there." Well, genius, they aren't, I looked.  Apparently my word was not good enough, so she headed off to go check out the display.  While I was waiting for her return, a young girl/woman walked up to me with her little 3 year old son.  She was the picture of youth.  She was wearing some dark gray sweats with big jewels all over the legs, a bright pink sweatshirt with some bold image and her hair was shoved up in a scraggly half ponytail, and if memory serves me correctly, she was wearing slippers.  She sparkled like glitter in the gutter after a parade.  She looked to be about 16, but I suspect she was older because she had produced this small child and, as I would come to learn, she had an 18 month old at home.

Let's call this girl "Gidget."  Gidget asked me where the customer service lady went.  I told her she was looking for something for me. Gidget then told me that she needed change to do laundry because her really sick 18 month at home was really sick and vomiting and had a snotty nose and pooping everywhere so she really needed to do laundry.  I took a step back, clearly this girl was infectious. Gidget continued on about how bad this flu was because the vomiting happened first and then the snotty nose and then it just ran and ran, and then the fever came and isn't it weird how the fever came after?  Didn't I think that was odd?  I just nodded politely and faced the counter.  Gidget didn't stop.  Apparently she had more to tell me about vomit, snot and fever and so continued on about every step of her childs influenza journey.  I had about enough. I was giving off all of my best bitchy/aloof body language.  Gidget was immune.  Where the hell is that customer service lady? Checking for gift cards in the produce department?

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, this other lady comes walking up and pushes Gidget out of the way, she needed to check her Lotto ticket.  Let's call this lady, "Hilda."  Hilda had really short, odd hair that was kind of yellowish greenish and the top was in a pony tail. Honestly, she looked like a Teletubby. Hilda was instantly irritated that the customer service lady wasn't there, she had just broke even and won a dollar and she needed it put on her debit card.  Hilda asks, "Are you two in line? Where is the customer service person?"  Well, Hilda, we are not congregating here for our health, that is for damn sure, I'm probably going to need a flu shot after this.  I explained to Hilda that yes, we were waiting and that she was, in fact, third in line and that customer service lady was helping me. Hilda backed up.

Finally, the customer service lady comes back empty handed and informs me that it appears they are out of the gift cards I need.  Thank goodness she checked for me, I mean, I just wasn't sure if there was any or not SINCE THERE WEREN'T ANY ON THE RACK!!!  Now I need some hand sanitizer, some sort of haz-mat suit and a flu shot thanks to her thorough investigation. 

Now, I know that I, too, over-share at times.  I mean, I do go on about probiotic side-effects, bathroom behavior, nudity and boob placement, but people can stop reading whenever they want.  No one has to read this.  And if you are reading this, you probably know me and know that I will say just about anything. Except sex, Will says I can't talk about that, even though there have been some blog-worthy events in that department.  Nonetheless, I am hardly Carie Bradshaw from Sex in the City, so I spare you all.

Today Gidget went too far and I just want to go on record that I didn't appreciate it. And, her sweats were dumb, who  wears that?  I asked my friend why these things happen to me and she said I just have one of those faces that makes people want to tell me things.  I looked at her with that look that says, "are you for real?" and then she looked back.  I said, "I do not have a face that makes people want to open up.  I've seen my face, that isn't what it is saying."  She agreed and then we both laughed about the absurdity of my alleged friendliness. 

Anyway, just another day in the life of an extrovert.

The women's bathroom, a tragic tale...

I'm sick of crap.  And today, I mean that literally.  And I am not talking about probiotics and the side affects of them.  I'm talking about the women's bathroom at work.  I don't know what happens in there, but apparently, it ranks up there with what happens on the front-line in a war.

Yesterday, I went in to use the bathroom and I notice water all over the floor.  I soon knew why as I pushed open the stall door.  I quickly jumped back and turned my head as if I had just seen a wolverine chewing the ass out of a gimpy gazelle.  It's always the gimpy one that dies, she was probably just gimping along and then BAM! wolverine is eating her ass, but anyway, I digress. My glance into the stall was a brief one, but what I noticed was a ton of toilet paper and evidence that someone had completely cleansed their system of waste.  I don't like to think about these things, but what lead to the circumstance where that girl needed to use enough toilet paper to completely clean up an elephants ass?  My word, the girl probably needed a shower after what I saw.

Today, again, I make my trek in to use the "ladies" room and I open the stall and there is crap all over the side of the seat.  Now, stop right there. What the hell happened?  Was it an explosion of such monumental proportion that she got bucked off the seat?  Was she restless and needed to move around? Was she hovering and lost her balance? Was there not enough toilet paper so she just started rubbing on things?  I don't get it.  Do we need to install handle bars in there and maybe some foot brackets like the ones on skis or snowboards? Maybe seat belts?  I mean, at this point, this could be a safety hazard and I am passionate about safety.  I mean, as employer, are we bound by any sort of law to provide a harness for someone that can't crap in the toilets provided?  It's not really funny if it was, say, a seizure, so maybe we should install some extra precautions.  All I know is, I just needed to pee and one stall was already out of commission due to Polly Poops A Lot and her toilet paper debacle and now I can't use this other stall either.

Look, I know shit happens, but do I have to witness the aftermath?  I've seen cow pastures that were more sanitary and cows just walk and shoot poop out of there butt.  I'm concerned some of my co-workers should just switch right over to Depends because I don't know if they are fully potty trained.  Maybe I should put a note up in the stalls suggesting possible options, like, "if you have used an amount of toilet paper equal to the length of your arms and legs, please flush frequently to avoid back-ups."  Or, "If you think you may get bucked off the toilet, please use the safety belt provided."

And don't even get me started about the other stuff that happens in there, or people that don't wash their hands.  I'm about ready to start using the men's room.  I've heard it is way nicer in there, well, except I heard there is a booger collection on the wall and the janitor is taking a stand and refuses to clean it.  I can't blame her, I mean, my word, the poor girl has to be exhausted after cleaning the women's room.

Anyway, sorry this was so graphic, but when one gets ganged up on by figurative as well as literal shit, well, something's got to give. And, while I applaud all of you that use seat covers, I don't really appreciate it when you leave your butt pressed covers on the seat because you are too precious to touch your own butt scum. Seriously, people, clean up after yourselves, and if that requires a fire hose, well, there is a lever out in the hall you can pull for that to happen.

All I have to say is, if you use the women's restroom:  lather, rinse, repeat.

I don't want to be 40

So, I have been thinking a lot about turning 40 in November. I'm just going to come out and say it, it isn't going to be pretty. I think it is going to hit me hard.  I've been thinking, if I am going to hold on to any sort of youth, I need to fulfill some sort of young people bucket list. 

Let's start with a tattoo. I am thinking a picture of an angry little pony on my ass.  I don't want a tramp stamp on my back or anything on my ankle, so, I think my ass is the best place.  Then again, what if I am a victim of a fire and my face is severely burned and they need to take a skin graph from my ass?  That could be problematic if I had a slightly melted angry pony on my face or neck.  Maybe the tattoo is a bad idea, but tempting.

I guess if I don't get a tattoo, I could get some other part of my body (other than my ears) pierced.  Let's start with something sensible, yet sexy, like my belly button.  I mean, no one sees it, but if I am getting older and trying to relive my youth, I may need to start dressing trampy, so maybe people would see it.  I could put a little string on it and then I could pull it when I get out of the shower and it would drain my belly button.  I might be on to something here.

Now let's talk about my wardrobe.  I'm going to need some sparkly clothes, possibly a short dress or skirt.  And my shirts need to be low-cut.  Let's be real, it will have to be low cut if anyone is going to see anything, that's where the girls are hanging out lately...low.  That reminds me, I'm going to need a boob job.  Maybe Will can finance one for my birthday.  I'll start a fund, maybe add a link on my FB or blog where people can donate to the cause.  I'm going to need some hair extensions and more make-up.  I'm also going to need to have the kind of sex Cosmo talks about.  I need to get Will an appointment at the doctor to make sure he is healthy enough for this type of activity.  I will go ahead and add a few "supplements" into his normal vitamin routine.

I guess I'm not having kids at this ripe old age, so I also need a purse for my little dog to fit in when I go shopping.  Spanky will have to start wearing sweaters.  This will be an adjustment for him, but I can't have him looking ghetto.  Since it's all about image, what about botox?  There is no reason to be wrinkly or let my lips go down the drain. Plus, then there is no pressure to smile because people understand that I can't anyway, or I could say, "I AM smiling!" and they would never know the difference.  I'm also going to need some adventure, like a cruise, and a red convertible car.  Oh, and more diamonds. And a stable boy...I mean, I don't have a swimming pool, so I will need to improvise.

I don't know that any of these things will really make me feel younger, but they sure might distract me. I think it is worth trying my plan before we resort to anything dramatic like counseling, anti-depressants, or God forbid, acceptance that I am middle-aged. Let's not get carried away.

Yes, 40 is going to be tough....I will need to think more on this bucket list....

Love thy neighbor as you would love yourself...

Ever have one of those days where you wake up and look in the mirror and say, "Damn, what happened over night?"  Suddenly my hair looks shorter, but I didn't cut it, so that leaves one possibility, my face got fatter.  It's possible I'm retaining water in my face, but it is also possible I am retaining cellulite in my face...and some new wrinkles...and don't get me started on my right eye that has been watering for a week.  I'm a vision of enchantment for sure.  I'm a little over a month away from turning 40, so my self loathing is on high alert lately. I'm checking for all the signs that I am now officially old....and fatter. 

After coming to terms with the fact that I am one day closer to receiving the AARP pamphlets, I get ready for work and proceed with the day.  I pack left-over homemade chili for lunch, saying a little prayer the probiotics don't freak out over this decision.  I stop for a hot chocolate on the way in, knowing I shouldn't, but since I need to start considering wearing Depends and orthopedic shoes by Dr. Scholls, I figure, why not?

I arrive at work and within moments I just know this day is going to suck. At this point, I don't like to consider it pessimism, I consider it an educated guess.  I'm not psychic, I'm just open to what the universe has to offer, and clearly, today it's offering shit in a shot glass. I had no intention of doing shots today, but I have people, right off the bat sending me emails with words like "URGENT"  or "Must be completed by noon EST."  Do these people realize that piss poor planning on their part does not constitute an emergency on my part?  They may realize it, but they don't care, so I take care of business accordingly.  Then I open my bosses email. A life decision I wish I could take back.  I have been arguing with one of our departments.  I won't say which one to protect the idiots that run it.  I have been telling them I cannot get this one system to work for my boss.  They keep giving me scripted answers.  It's like they aren't even reading my emails.  After calling the "Help" desk and sending numerous emails, I am getting no where.  I was actually pretty snotty in the last email sending them screen shots of what was occurring.  I figured this would settle it.  Finally, they would see what the problem was.  This "Who's on First" Three Stooges routine would finally end.  I opened the response to the email and my mouth dropped open. It was the same scripted answer. My boss and one other manager was standing at my desk.  I stuttered, I stammered, my blood pressure was at an all time high.  I used elaborate hand gestures and the screeching monkey voice.  I dropped the MF bomb.  I looked at my boss and said, "those idiots just made me drop the mother f.... bomb."  I took a deep cleansing breath and calmed down...for about 15 seconds and then went on another tirade.  Then my other boss came up and I explained to him, pointing my finger at him, "I'm telling you right now...if I don't get paid....there will be HELL to pay."  He is a pretty calm guy.  He said, "what do you need me to do? You need me to get involved?"  Do you think asking him to bust some knee caps was going too far? 

Anyway, a variety of other issues came up, most of which I handled.  After all, it was another new hire day.  I do love a day when we start a new class of employees.  Seeing people with hope and a gleam in their eyes.  It's so cute when they are new.  It's always fun for me to see how long it takes for the gleam to dissipate and for reality to set in.  I also like to predict who the problem children will be.  I'm a pretty good guess at this. Oh, and I never tire of hearing people whine about their badge pictures.  One girl almost threw up on my shoe after I had taken two pictures of her, apparently she wasn't feeling well.  I looked at the camera and had to giggle at the two different pictures I had to chose from, but I wasn't getting puked on, so I said, "looks good" and smiled sweetly.  I felt a little bad because she kinda looks like she is jacked up on something, but then I remembered, it wasn't my badge, so what do I care? On a side note, I would also like to say, I don't like it when I talk to people and I don't know what eye to look at because they are all googly and going two different directions.  I'm not saying that happened today, but if it did, I wouldn't have liked it. You know, biblically speaking, I know you should love your neighbor as you love yourself, but if you read my first paragraph again, I think it is pretty clear I am loving my neighbor just like I love myself.  I think this is a biblical loop hole where I may still be able to get into heaven.

Here's hoping tomorrow my hair looks longer again.

Perky people, I don't get it...and I don't want to.

It is safe to say I am not a perky person.  Not in the morning, not at noon and not at night.  As a matter of fact, people have come to depend on my ever present sarcasm and catty demeanor.  It scares people when I try and force perkiness and pretend.  They don't like it.  Nonetheless, people still enjoy saying, "Good Morning, Sunshine!" like it is some sort of game, some sort of poke the bear and run maneuver.  So the question is, why do people "poke the bear?"

Most people I can break.  They try and blow sunshine up my butt and I give them the what for, or grumble at them and eventually, they learn.  They take their perkiness elsewhere.  There is one person I have not been able to break.  To protect the innocent, let's call her Curly Sue.  Curly Sue is cute. She has curly hair, freckles cute perky boobs, cute little waist, little butt....just overall cute. She is just the kind of person I hate.  And she is super perky.  It doesn't matter if she has been yelled at by customers all day, if her cat died, if you kick her in the gut (ok, so I haven't tried this, but seriously considering it), or if it is raining outside.  She walks past my desk every morning with her cute little smile and her sing-song voice saying, "Good Morning, Sunshine!!!" She almost sings it and then giggles as she scampers by.  I shoot her the death glare every morning, she is unaffected.  One time I was on a full on tirade at my desk at someone else and she walked up.  I told her to go away.  She was like, "I know what you mean....blah, blah, blah...." I looked at her and said, "Shut. Up. And, go away."  She giggled.  I looked at the other person I was talking to and they had to say to her, "No, Curly Sue, she is serious....now run...."

What is wrong with perky people?  Do they have some sort of deflector mechanism that prevents them from feeling the affects of darkness and evil?  I mean, what has transpired in that person's life that has caused them this sense of happiness, this sense of joy, this sense that everything is peachy-keen?  I don't get it.  It must be a gene I'm missing.  Have they just had a triple shot mocha?  Have they just had amazing sex the night before, or maybe this morning or both?  Did they win the lotto?  Did they get on the scale to weigh themselves and the scale gave them a round of applause? Did they get a kiss from a puppy and then have bird land on their finger while they sang a brief operetta about a woman who is blissfully happy on a mountain top?  Did they just get touched on the shoulder by God?  What is happening inside these people?  I doubt I'll ever know. I know I have at least one woman praying for me.  She told me so once.  She doesn't say good morning anymore, but she does occasionally stand up and smile at me.  That is a respectful amount of perkiness.  Still uncalled for, but tolerable.

I have one person that passes me at work and says, "I almost saw a smile Cassondra."  "Hey, was that laughter I heard Cassondra?  I heard that!"  Hmpf.  So, let me just tell you what it would take to make me perky, so if you see it, you won't have to wonder too hard. Reason 1- got a new pony. Reason 2 - new diamond (s). Reason 3 - sex afterglow.  Reason 4 - I don't have to go to work. Reason 5 - I never have to go to work again.  Those things pretty much sum it up.

As I left today, I saw Curly Sue's car that was parked next to my truck.  The license plate cover says, and I quote, "SUNSHINE."  I threw up in my mouth a little bit.  That is just going too far.

A Warning about Probiotics....could be TMI

I was at Costco this weekend stocking up on random stuff.  I came across the vitamin section and stopped to look.  I mean, you never know what they will have that will change your life.  A lot of promises out there, more energy, losing weight, better eyesight, better skin, higher sex drive, and the list goes on.  I have been taking some vitamins, but thought maybe a multi-vitamin would be the way to go.  And, as if the Costco gods were shining upon me, there it was, the answer to all my needs.  It was a Triple Probiotic.  It claims to have all the vitamins, minerals and probiotics a person could need.  And, it is a "smart release triple layer" pill.  That's right, it knows what to release, and to where.  It's genius really.  Now, I don't really have major stomach problems, but what could be healthier than a probiotic? Even though I don't have a problem now, isn't taking care of your colon a good idea for the future?  Are you on board yet?  Let's be healthy!

I read the box and purchased this little miracle in pill form. Seems like a no-brainer, just take it once a day with a glass of water, preferably with food.  No side effects mentioned.  It's a vitamin, after all.  I took it Monday morning with my protein shake, life was good....for about an hour.  I started to feel kinda yucky.  Weird.  By lunch time, nothing really sounded good.  My stomach was making all sorts of gurgly noises and I thought, wow, what did I get into?  I don't mean to over share here, but I had a sense of urgency to get to the ladies room.  What transpired cannot and will not be discussed.  I was hoping this would pass.  I had a sandwich for lunch and still felt kinda yucky.  My boss came over to talk to me and I had to pretend I wasn't hearing all the noise from down under.  It sounded like a fat kid at Wild Waves coming down the turbo slide with a few of his best friends, like a freight train, like Jacques Cousteau on a deep sea adventure.  I just pretended it wasn't happening.  Pretending that I wasn't about to crap my pants. I didn't want to blame this on the probiotics, surely it was a coincidence.

Today, took my pill again and sat at my desk feeling yucky again.  My friend came up and started talking to me. I told her about the probiotics and wondered if that was it.  She started laughing and said, "oh yeah, my boyfriend took those and for two weeks, it was BAD."  I said, well, all I have had is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and this trail mix and I feel horrible.  She then informed me that nuts was the absolute wrong thing to be eating in this situation.  I didn't get the memo about nuts making you crap your pants.  No one ever told me.  I did, however, put them away.

I came home tonight and read the box again.  No where on this box does it say it's going to be a Disneyland water park in your intestines, no where does it say you will crap your pants at your desk if you eat nuts.  I'm actually pretty mad.  I just want healthy guts and that is what the box says I'll get.  I didn't realize I had to go through some sort of vitamin hazing ritual.  It just says if taken daily it helps maintain wellness and vitality.  Well, all I have to say is you better be well and vital enough to move and move fast.  Maybe the B12 helps your energy level while you run to the can.

I guess this is all TMI, but I say this to you as a friend, just go with some sort of Flinstone chewables. Fred and Wilma never caused this kind of grief.

Spider-Bob Scare Pants

I have battled the slugs all summer.  I have feared for my life, wondering if they were going to put me in a slug slime cocoon, but lately, they have been quiet and today I know why.  They have enlisted the spider minions to torture me while they regroup.  I don't mean to be "over-dramatic" but I was almost killed by a spider this morning.  I was minding my own business, just taking a shower.  I step out, grab my towel off the hook and step over in front of the sink.  I'm rubbing my face, looking in the mirror thinking my hair is looking pretty rough all wet and tangled, and then I look down and see a spider.  Not just any spider, but a spider of size and stature that he could have picked me up by my big toe and body slammed me to the ground.  He was that big, that ferocious. I screamed and backed up.  Where the hell did he come from, I didn't see him when I first got out of the shower. That means, he was probably on my towel and I could have easily wiped his spider body all over my body.  I felt like I was going to throw up. Will came in to assess the situation after I screamed.  Even he had to admit, that was a damn big spider.  I am screaming at him, "Kill him, kill him!!! Don't let him get under the washing machine! HURRY!!!"  Will didn't share my sense of urgency so I continued to act like a hysterical sissy until he handled it.  He calmly grabs toilet paper, picks him up and puts him in the toilet and flushes. In Will's mind, problem solved.

Now, I don't mean to be paranoid, but do we really know that spider is dead?  I mean, who is to say he isn't a good swimmer?  I didn't see spider guts, so in my mind, he could have made it.  I could be sitting there, peeing, minding my own business and I could feel a tickle and it is the spider on my butt.  We don't know that isn't going to happen.  We don't know that he isn't going to crawl out of that toilet like Bruce Willis in Die Hard and come seek revenge on me. "Yippe-ki-ya Mutha F....r's!"  And, he is a spider, he has family, he has friends, I've seen them with their spidey webs all over.  I know they could take me.  They could wrap me up and have a celebration like the Ewoks in Star Wars with Han Solo hanging over a fire.  We don't know that the danger isn't real.  I'm not even joking around here. 

What really pisses me off here is that there is plenty of room UNDER the house.  It's all creepy and just the way spiders like.  Why they gotta come in here?  Why they gotta scare me?  Was it some sort of spider frat party and this was his challenge?  Let's call him Spider-Bob Scare Pants.  Spider Bob is hanging out with his buddies (literally hanging from his web) and they were like, "Hey, Spider-Bob, if you think you're so cool, why don't you go scare the 'ol lady upstairs?"  And then, Spider-Bob is all, like, "you think I can't?  Look at these legs, I'll make her pee herself."  And the other spiders were like, "Yeah, but you could get killed, that lady is a psycho."  Spider-Bob is unafraid and makes the journey, which leads us to this morning.

What all this means now is that I am going to have to do a complete bathroom scan before I get in the shower again and I am going to have to shake my towel to make sure I am alone.  And, I'm going to have to start hovering over the toilet instead of sitting, just to be safe.  Tomorrow I will have to go to the gym and start working on my calf muscles.  Maybe have Will install some sort of handle bars for balance.  I'm just trying to be smart about this.  I realize there are people that have to worry about being eaten by bears or lions or tigers or something, but people underestimate spiders.  They are evil and I know it. I will remain alert and vigilant, and might I suggest you do the same.  It's every man for themselves.

Poor Cindy....

The catalogs are starting to take over around here, so thought I would go through some and then throw them away.  Will can't be separated from all his Cabela's catalogs, so it is my job to slim down the ones under my control.  Never mind that many of his catalogs have the same stuff in them, just a different cover.  You throw in all his Rifleman, Nascar, fishing and hunting catalogs and we've got a situation.  However, we won't talk about that today.  He looks so peaceful looking through his catalogs, sipping his coffee and half watching some sort of truck show on how to max out the horsepower in your engine.  I don't want to poke the bear and make it crabby, so let's just leave this alone for now.

What I am more perplexed by, is some of the magazines I receive. This one in particular kind of irritates me. I've never ordered from them, but somehow, they got the memo I'm plus sized, so they are sending me their catalog. My first complaint is that they use skinny models to showcase their clothes.  My second complaint is that the clothes are kind of hideous.  This must be a harsh day for a model when you get the call to come to a photo shoot for ugly fat clothes. Tyra doesn't talk about that on America's Next Top Model.  I mean, how does a girl prepare for the inevitable,  "Hey, Cindy, I know things have been slow lately, but I think I finally have a gig for you...."  Cindy shows up on the scene and she is going to be sporting high waist jeans with elastic around the waist and big sewn in pockets that go half way down her legs. I can hear the photographer now, "Come on, Cindy, work it...show how playful the jeans are...." On top of the jeans, she is wearing a shirt that could double as a tent if she ever gets lost in the woods.  "Make it flow, Cindy...get ready for the wind machine...BAM! Money shot!"  Now it is time for lingerie.  Cindy changes into a lovely pajama set with cats all over it.  Fat  girls love cats, apparently, so there are several different sets with cats on them.  I don't know if I could chose just one, so lucky for me, they are having a sale on buy one, get a discount on the second one.

The hits keep coming for our model Cindy, because now it is time for bras.  Yes, it's true, Cindy is rocking a bra that has sexy straps that are probably 3 inches wide and are padded.  The lovely lace cone shaped cups are also a delightful look for her. Cindy continues to model all the "hottest" looks in plus size fashion.  She has rocked corduroy, she as shown whimsy in her floral mu-mu and shown athleticism in her fleece sweat pants. She has shown high fashion in her business casual wear with the elastic waist skirts and matching blazers that go down to her knees.  I can't wait to see Cindy's portfolio after this shoot.  She really showed that she has what it takes to make it to fashion week. My guess is, after this, Cindy becomes an actual plus size model because she goes home and eats Ho-Ho's and ice cream realizing her glory days are over.  I'm sorry, Cindy.

I guess it's safe to throw this catalog away.

Bat signal activated...

I was bossless today.  Both bosses gone. I had tons of work to do and thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get things done. I was wrong. Instead, it was the perfect storm for distraction. What usually happens when I am bossless, is that somehow some sort of bat signal goes out into the universe and everyone knows it is a free for all on my time.  Today was no exception.

I tried to start my day strong, but from the moment my day started, people were needy.  My screen was lit up like Christmas.  Everyone was instant messaging me everything from "Happy Friday" to "Do you have a copy of our compensation plan?"  "Do you know why so and so's access card doesn't work?"  "Can you check the list of T-shirt sizes for accuracy?"  "Don't let anyone in this office, my pants will be down while I fix my hem."  And so it went.  In the midst of the assault, I had random people bugging me that apparently didn't have 10 expense reports to do like I did.  Thank you, JR, for getting the song, "Runaway" stuck in my head..."and I ran....ran so far away....got to get away..."  Then add in my pal, "CAP" sending me a link of snotty cat blowing snot out of it's nose and then licking it back into it's mouth and you have a regular mardi gras of entertainment. Could I get some peace and quiet, please?

If that wasn't enough, my pal, let's call him "Lewis" to protect his identity, stopped by to revisit the toe discussion from the other day.  Anyone that follows my Facebook knows that the other day I was on one of those mind numbing conference calls that had me staring at my feet and then, next thing you know, I'm wondering about them.  About the length of toes, etc.  Turns out my second toe is just a little longer than my first toe.  Well, you throw something like this out there, it's going to cause some discussion.  At my work, you could discuss just what a flea farting really sounds like for hours without growing tired of it.  I mean, it is a think tank at my desk, ask anyone.  Anyway, Lewis shares with me, and the world of FB, that he is missing a joint in his toes, so they are all short.  Weird.  Well, Lewis stops by my desk today, takes off his shoe and shows me, Ambular and the intern his toes.  I've never seen anything like it.  They are, in fact, the shortest little toes I've ever seen.  They are cute...even if they are on a size 12 (or so) foot.  You put nail polish on there and it is possibly the cutest toes I've ever seen. I tell you this, though, if Lewis loses his fingers or arms, he is not going to be able to feed himself, play the piano or drive with those little toe nubbins.  He's screwed.  Let's all keep positive thoughts for Lewis.

Then, as if having nubby toes isn't enough, Lewis informs me his legs are hairless.  I guess he used to have hair, but now, not so much.  They are mostly smooth, maybe some really soft baby fine fuzz, but that's it.  So, let me get this straight, I'm a girl.  I shave my legs and within two days, if you rub up against me, I will cut you. It's like curling up with a cactus.  But this guy, this nubby toe, no leg hair guy, he gets to be soft and smooth as can be.  It just isn't fair. Lewis asked if I wanted  to see his legs.  I declined. 

After the toe viewing, I was trying to get back to work when, an angel, a call center angel, brought me a little cup of ice cream.  She had read my lunchtime post about needing ice cream, and then there she was, with ice cream. It was like Lewis' toes, it was a cute and small little cup. Probably what a "real" serving size is, if I was like, a skinny girl.  I ate it.  It made me smile. Thank you, Dawn.

So, yeah, about those expense reports.  Then some random guy comes to talk to me about coming over to our department and grilling me about what it is going to be like.  Poker face? Not me. I looked at him as if his prize cat just died and tried to pretend I wasn't driving the truck that just hit it.  If nothing else, I am honest.  After some time, he finally left my desk.  He wasn't walking as sparky as when he had originally arrived, but rather, he had the slump of acceptance.  I knew it was a job well done.  He was ready to transfer to my department.  I'd taken his hopes and dreams away.  I like to think of it as a public service.

Anyway, another successful day at the office.

Bathroom lockdown

In order to complete our holiday weekend with all of the zest it deserved, we decided to clean the carpet.  Thanks to our naughty dogs, there had been a few "accidents" and a few left over reminders from garbage incidents.  Oh, and let's not forget about the time Will tracked dog crap in the house and walked all around before he noticed.  Oh and the time I opened the door and there was dog crap and I didn't see it and I walked it around the house.  It was time.

So, like a trooper, Will gets up, showers, gets dressed and starts vacuuming.  I say, "ok, I'm going to hit the shower real quick, then I will help you."  Apparently, while I was enjoying tepid temperatures in the shower thanks to Will's lengthy shower beforehand, all hell was breaking loose beyond the bathroom door.  I get out of the shower and I hear a lot of banging around, concerned, I open the door, but Will was right behind it and it smacked him in the ass and he almost headbutted the dog kennel.  Woops.  I apologized, but Will told me to get back into the bathroom.  So I did, I mean, I still needed to brush my teeth, no biggie.  Again, I hear more banging around.  I cautiously open the door and I see Will just finishing man-handling something out onto the porch.  I just stare at him as it would seem he has lost his mind.  His eyes are big and he looks at me and says, in a controlled, quiet, angry voice, "Just go back into the bathroom and stay there."  I hesitated. He said, "GO." and waved his hand at me.  I shut the door.  I mean, I could put some lotion on and maybe work on my eyebrows, I guess.  I don't know what is going on out there, but it would seem I am being held hostage in the bathroom.  Finally, out of things to do, I crack the door open and peek out.  Will says calmly, "you may come out now.  It's safe."  I looked around and he had cleared much of the furniture out and had already cleaned a patch of the carpet.  I asked him if he wanted me to help and he said I could if I wanted.  I took over until the smell of the cleaner was making my nose go crazy.  I went outside and watered plants and magically, when I came back, Will had finished.

We didn't talk about what led to my bathroom lock-down.  Our day went on as planned and Will seemed calm.  We came home late this afternoon and opened up the kitchen door to help air out the room.  This was fine until Will needed to close it.  It was stuck on the carpet for some reason.  Will pushed it and "SNAP, CRACK, POP!" The threshold snapped off the bottom of the door.  I saw the crazy eyes again as Will expressed his thoughts about our landlord. There is now about a one inch gap between the bottom of the door and the door jam.  This is concerning. Slugs, spiders, bugs....it's an open invitation.  Will assures me we will get this fixed. I'm putting salt around the bed tonight.  Those sonsabitchin slugs are not taking me without a fight!  After that one made it to my ankle the other day, I really can't believe I am safe here. I will not die in a slug slime cocoon. I'll roll in rock salt before bed if I need to.

Will regained his composure and is now working on dinner. He is doing so mostly because we haven't eaten a decent meal for three days because we couldn't decide on what we should have for dinner, and I took a stand, so we had nothing. I put the burden on him tonight. As I watch him working in the kitchen, with glee, I notice the computer chair is all funky.  I mean, it is out of whack and the handle adjuster thingys are missing.  You would think I might let this go, not poke the bear, just be silent, but alas, I cannot.  "Will, why is the computer chair all funky?  And why are the handle things missing?"  He turned around slowly and looked at me, crazy eyes are back.  "Maybe because I tripped and fell on it when I was trying to wrestle it outside on the deck this morning."  Ok, so maybe I'm a bad wife, but I just started laughing.  No wonder I was on bathroom lock-down.  If that had happened to me, honest to God, this computer chair would be in the middle of the yard...in pieces.  So, as I sit here with the seat tilted forward and the back forcing me into the keyboard, I'll just suck it up and smile. I keep replaying what the scene probably looked like with Will going down with this chair and becoming tangled in it and the chair winning and Will kicking it and I am not going to lie, I am sorry I missed it.  I love that guy, but damn, that would have been funny.

As I wrap this blog entry up, Will just comes in and says the barbeque is falling apart.  This just isn't his day. Will informs me for my birthday, I am getting a barbeque.  We will just let that slide for now.