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.

People of Walmart...

Walmart.  I'm not a super fan of this store, but I guess it has it's purposes.  Today Will decided we needed to go there.  He needed to look for fishing stuff.  I said, "Well, what am I supposed to look for? You want to just go by yourself?"  As luck would have it, he wanted my companionship.  After all, this is our anniversary weekend, so we should celebrate by doing something exciting.  I decided I should probably dress appropriately if I was gonna go to Walmart.  I put on this halter top thing that went over one shoulder, but not the other, and some bedazzlement across the top part, some capri pants, some flip flops and some dangly earrings.  All set.

Upon arriving, I kept alert keeping an eye out for anyone shooting a picture of me to add to the People of Walmart website.  So far, so good.  I think I needed to add butt crack or cleavage to really make that happen, so I think I might be in the clear.  Anyway, Will headed off to the fishing aisles and I started looking through home decor and the like.  I could hear a child screaming in the distance and knew it was going to be one of those kinds of shopping experiences today.  I thought I would go check on Will to see how things were progressing.  I find him in the fishing aisle right next to the screaming child.  This child was over the top pissed off because he wanted a toy fishing pole.  His mother explained to him, at a volume equal to the screaming, that he already had a toy fishing pole at home.  The child didn't care, he wanted ANOTHER toy fishing pole.  I looked at Will, gave him "the look," dropped a couple things in the basket he had and took off.

A short while later, I was minding my own business in the magazine and book aisle when look who shows up, the screaming kid, oh and guess what...he is still PISSED OFF about that damn fishing pole.  They have the whole freaking store and they stop the screaming kid in the shopping cart right next to me.  I am instantly deciding whether I want to be rude and huffy, slam my magazine down and leave or just ride it out.  I mean, raising kids isn't easy, I should give the parents a break...right?  Yeah, well, my favorite part of this woman's parenting was when she screamed back at the still hysterical child and advised him that "you already have a toy fishing pole at home and you have only used it once so STOP YOUR DAMN CRYING!!!"  "But I want another one...." cried the child with big, ridiculous sobs.  The mother screams back, "Well you are not getting one, so shut your mouth."  Surprisingly enough, this tactic did not work.  The child continued to cry.  The mother seemed to have given up and moved on to other pressing matters as her and her husband had a very intense discussion about if either one of them had money in the bank and if his check had been deposited yet.  I didn't want to hear this.  I was not eavesdropping.  I was simply looking at a magazine about short haircuts and what is in and what is out (Jenny at the nail salon would be horrified) and the Manson family shows up on the scene.  I'd had enough, I shoved the magazine back into the rack and went to find Will. 

Luckily, Will was done with the fishing, but now he was in browsing mode.  This is a dangerous time.  It is especially dangerous because Walmart is notorious for having new stuff that you can't find in other places yet, or off the wall stuff, like specialty cereals that the grocery stores no longer carry.  Well, lucky us, today we go past this big 'ol Oreo cookie display and looky there, they have Creamcicle, Neapolitan and some sort of Berry Cream Oreos.  Well, Will's eyes lit up like a 7 year old getting his first Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. We came home with a package of Creamcicle and Neapolitan.  Just what the doctor ordered.  I managed to usher him past many of the other aisles.  We were able to successfully escape the store for about $50.

Just another day in the life...don't be jealous...

Can we just...not talk? Fun times at Pretty Nails...

Today I decided to treat myself to a manicure.  I wasn't spending big bucks on my vacation, unless you count the purchase of Sudafed, Kleenex and orange juice as major purchases, so I thought, why not go spread my cold to some unsuspecting nail salon person.  I arrive at the salon and there is only one customer in there, so  they were able to fit me in right away.  I think my girl's name was Jenny.  I can't be certain.  I told her my name approx three times and then she finally gave up.  In my defense, I wasn't the one trying to be friendly, she asked for my name first.  After introductions, we apparently became fast friends. She told me how wonderful I smelled and wanted to know what fragrance I was wearing.  I told her and she says, "Wow, that is really sexy and expensive. That cost 80 dollar, right?"  I told her it was something like that.  She was clearly already sizing up what her tip would be. Then she spotted my bracelet. It is Tiffany's.  Again, her eyes got big and she said, "Wow, that is NICE. Tiffany is really good.  That cost you 200 dollar, maybe 160?"  I told her I didn't know as it had been a gift.  Again, she looked me up and down, re-calculating the tip.  I just really was hoping to keep the conversation to, "you like?"  and I would say, "yes, that's nice."  That really was as much  conversation as I wanted, but Jenny was on a definite mission to shake down what my value was.

As the appointment went on, Jenny and I shared many an awkward moment as she tried to communicate with me.  I think my confidence in Jenny wavered just a bit as she asked me to tell her what the box said that the nail stuff came in.  I read it to her and she explained to me that her English is not good.  A startling revelation.
I think my favorite part of the appointment was when Jenny sat there and looked at me for a while and said, "You like short hair?" I told her that it was ok, but that I was growing mine out.  She says, and I quote, "Yeah, you like me. I had to cut my hair short and it look horrible. It not look good on me. Now nobody love me. My face just look fat. You grow your hair out long, then you curl it. It will look better."  Well, thank you, Jenny.  Now I was the one re-calculating Jenny's tip. 

Jenny was hell bent on up-selling me on her alleged nail design capabilities.  She kept telling me how nice designs would look on my nails and showing me pictures of nails she had designed.  I nodded politely and just stared at her.  This fat face girl was not buying any damn flower or glitter design on my nails today.  She also tried to up-sell me on a pedicure.  I said, "Well, I just painted them this morning, I probably didn't do a great job, but it's done."  She looked at my feet, and said, "They look nice with flowers on them."  Well, that may be true, but Jenny was not going to put flowers on my damn toenails. I don't care if it is "just extra 5 dollar."

I finally managed to get out without anymore observations or advice from Jenny. If anyone knows of a nail salon where the people running it are deaf, mute or completely communicate by interpretive dance, let me know.

Dear God, thanks for the fireman, you are hilarious...

It's been a stressful week. Long hours at work and I came down with a cold.  I've been griping about it all week because I have vacation days today and tomorrow, which makes it a 5 day weekend for me.  It is also Will and I's wedding anniversary tomorrow.  With all that said, I have been griping about my luck.  As often happens in my life, I feel like God is somewhere laughing at me.  I don't mean this in a malicious way, I mean, like I think our higher power has a sense of humor.  I think he likes to egg me on.  Today is another shining example.

I'm home. It's my vacation day and I am trying to sleep in. The following are a list of reasons why that is not possible. The horses are pissed they have not been fed at their normal time of 6:15AM, they have been whinnying at me for over an hour. Spanky is half on my chest, half on my arm with his face 2 inches (and that is being generous) away from my face just waiting for me to open my eyes so he can start licking me and wagging his tail.  I know he is there because I can feel him and I have opened my eyes just enough to look through my eyelashes and he has that "excited for the day" look on his face. Bless his little heart. In addition to those things, my nose has been running, specifically, the right nostril.  I have a Kleenex wedged up there hoping to stop the constant flow.  It seems to be working, but I don't know what will happen when I take it out.  I suspect flash flooding. Finally, I give up and get up. I shuffle downstairs in my flannel horsey pj's and my favorite tank top that says "Buy Me Diamonds" on it in glitter.  One side of my hair is stuck to my head, my eyes are just a wee bit swollen and don't get me started about my nose again.  I am a vision.  A vision of the run of the mill cold virus and bad styling.

I know things are not going to get better as I spy dog crap on the floor.  Those little SOBs were just outside two hours ago.  What could have possibly happened to cause this intestinal explosion.  This is uncalled for. I clean it up and decide that I might as well go outside and clean up the horse stalls as well.  No reason to get dressed, I live on a farm and who cares what I look like? Not the horses or dogs.

I shuffle outside and notice the dogs are tunneling out of the yard for some reason.  I found a couple of rocks and plugged the holes.  That's when I hear, "Hey, Good Morning!" from our perky neighbor.  My body starts hacking up some phlegm and I give him a froggy, "hey."  He gives me his condolences about my cold and I go along my merry way.  I'm cleaning the stalls, a little sweaty and hacking up a lung when I hear a motor running.  I walk out of the barn and there is the fire department. What. The. Hell???  Our local friendly fireman, named Curtis is checking addresses to make sure everyone is marked correctly.  As is my luck, our sign is not in a visible location.  As Curtis and I have a dialog about this, I am remembering, I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.  My tongue runs over the sweaters on my teeth.  I hoping Curtis has some sort of affliction where he can't smell, because with all of the certainty I possess, I am sure that I smell of death, day old pizza, horse crap and snot.  Like I said before, I am a vision. I tell Curtis to put the sign wherever he wants, whatever makes the fire department happy.  Curtis does so.  I go back to cleaning.  I have a sweaty forehead and am thinking about taking my sweatshirt off that I had over the Buy Me Diamonds tank top when Curtis appears again.  It's like he can't get enough of me.  Curtis  has more questions about the property and how everything is marked.  Finally satisfied, he leaves.

I would just like to say, to all the girls out there, one can never be too prepared.  You never know when the fire department is going to show up.  I'm not saying to lounge in your prom dress, but for crying out loud, get dressed before you go outside.  Shower, brush your teeth...even your hair.  I'm pretty sure Curtis has made some sort of note in his fireman's log that the woman at this address is yucky and should not be resuscitated.  I have no proof to back that up, just a theory at this point.

And, to God I say, "Good one.  Now, can you give it a rest already? "