Small Town Adventure

Today we had to attend a funeral of someone that Shark Bait knew growing up.  She was one of his friends' mothers.  Shark Bait comes from a very small town with a graduating class of like, 35 or something like that.  So, on this rainy Sunday, we are off to catch the ferry and head over to the peninsula.  Now, it is important, whenever heading on such an adventure that you have a beverage and some sort of crackers because, to be honest, I'm delicate.  I get car sick or sea sick pretty easily.  We stop at 7-11 to get Shark Bait a Slurpee and me something that doesn't have enough sugar to jack up 10 school kids.  They had the straws with mustache's on them for 99 cents.  We were all over that.  Who doesn't want a straw with a mustache?  And, if you don't, you're dumb.  There, I said it.  You 'ol stick in the mud.  Live a little.  Like us.

Anyway, with provisions purchased, we continued on. We arrived at the ferry with time to spare, which was nice, since I had to pee.  Shark Bait says I have plenty of time to run over to the little restroom.  I go in there and it is a two-stall ghetto situation.  I almost run smack into this Asian lady wearing a purple ensemble.  She looked surprised and scampered past me.  I go in the stall and what I saw horrified me.  She had pissed everywhere.  It's like her vagina was a fire hose on a five alarm fire.  Ridiculous.  I was so grossed out and my eyes darted all over trying to find a place where there was no urine.  I contemplated how many seat covers it would take me to actually consider hovering anywhere in that stall.  It was just then I heard the announcement telling people to return to their cars.  I go running back out to the truck cussing like a sailor telling Shark Bait and really, anyone with their window down, about the purple-clad Asian pissing machine.  If I pissed my pants, it was going to be her fault.  I would have to wait until I was on the ferry. I saw her run past the truck and I pointed and yelled, "There she is!  The purple Asian bitch that pisses everywhere!"

Our adventure continued and we finally arrived at the little town where Shark Bait grew up. We went into a little cafe to grab some lunch.  As luck would have it, I had to pee again.  I head into the bathroom, another two-stall situation.  I open the door and instantly am horrified as I find a girl pulling her pants up.  "OMG, I'm so sorry!" I said as I shut the door.  She says, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't lock it.  It's a small town, I didn't think anyone else would be in here."  I said, "yeah, we are probably the only women in here."  I didn't get the memo about public peeing in small towns.  If it is a small town, we are all friends, we pee with the door open?  Whatever.  I've about had enough bathroom drama today.

Some of Shark Baits friends start to show up and introductions are made.  I'm  trying to remember faces and names.  I met a Heidi, another Heidi, a Katie, Lance and an Andrea.  I'd probably remember that.  I was informed that the one Heidi had already seen some of my posts on Shark Bait's FB page.  I believe she said she had seen the pink PJ video, or one of them had.  Great.  At least people's expectations of me should be low.  We then went to the church and sat down for the service.  One of Shark Bait's other friends, Short Bus, was already there with one of her friends, or cousin, or someone (I think her name was Carrie...dang, I didn't know there was going to be a test later).  I'm introduced to her and she says, "Oh yeah, I saw you in the PJ video."  Seriously? She says, "yeah, if my husband had done that, I'd probably have killed him."  I look at Shark Bait and say, "Oh, I just like to spread the torture out, I'm going to spend a lifetime killing him for that."  Just the other day, Shark Bait had a conversation going with someone he knows on FB saying how they had seen my PJ video.  Sweet Jesus. All I know is, you people don't understand the power of the pajamas.  Until you know...you don't know.  And you can't possibly understand, but I digress.

We attend the service and it is very nice.  I don't know the woman that passed, but from the stories told about her, I wish I had known her.  She seemed like one heck of a woman, kind, beautiful, feisty, funny and warm.  I can only hope when I pass that people will have such kind things to say about me.  And, of course, they should play the PJ video...sigh.

Right after the service it's time to walk around and say hello to Shark Bait's friends.  Some I have met previously at his high school reunion or at our wedding.  Everyone who sees me and has met me previously hugs me.  These small town people are huggy.  And, you know I put off that huggy vibe, so you know, people can't really help themselves.  I draw them in with my sweet nature and demeanor.  They are all open to my fuzziness, apparently.  One guy says to me, "did you enjoy your hamburger?"  I looked at him strangely, "...um, yes?"  He says, "I sat across from you at the cafe."  Oh, well, then, shit, I'd better get this guy on my Christmas card list, stat.  You know, I grew up in a small town myself, so I get it, but this town really can't be classified as small.  There has to be a word to indicate smaller than small.  Maybe like a micro-community.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy that kind of connection and sense of family, but dude, I don't even know that we made eye-contact in that cafe.  It's too soon for you to ask about my burger.  It's too new.  Maybe we could learn names first.  Anyway, we said some more good-byes and one one of Shark Bait's friends asked me how we had met.  We told her the story and I said, "Yeah, he lucked out, cuz the last guy I dated was a real rat-bastard, so it made Shark Bait look pretty nice."  She was like, "Rat Bastard?  I've never heard that word before."  Yes, not only am I huggy, I'm educational.  I felt inspired to leave my mark on this little  town, so I continued, "I also like the word, Asshat."  She hadn't heard that before either.  I didn't want to over-stimulate her with some of my other favorites, so I went easy.  Over time, maybe we can talk about how it is "hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock"  "hotter than a popcorn fart" "colder than a well-digger's ass" etc.  I might have some really good "nuggets" for her.  Maybe next time I see her. 

We finally finished hugging and bonding and Shark Bait and I headed back towards the ferry.  I was checking my Facebook updates and noticed one of my old friends, Cubie-B, said she had a candy shop by the ferry dock and we should stop by.  I haven't seen her in forever.  I heart Cubie-B.  We stopped and saw her, and yeah, more hugging took place. I'm on fire today, beating them off with a stick, practically. We reminisced a bit, I bought some taffy and off Shark Bait and I went back to the truck to catch the next ferry.  We get all loaded back on and, yeah, I have to pee again.  I head up there, do my thing, without incident, I might add, and come back out.  Where the heck is Shark Bait?  I finally hear him, even before I see him.  On the ferry there is this big map of the sound and the different routes the ferries take.  Shark Bait is over giving some sort of dissertation to the crowd about the route, other traveling and what are the best places to go.  Sweet Maryanne, that guy is like the freaking Ask Jeeves of the WA Ferry Dept.  He should be getting paid for this info session he is holding.  My word, how did I end up with a friendly guy?  I sat quietly waiting for the session to be over.  He sits down next to me and then instantly starts up a conversation with a toddler that is staring at us.  I had been successfully ignoring her.  Not Shark Bait.  He has to know what is all over her face, what she had for lunch, what is in her hand.  She is staring at him with these big eyes.  She's not talking to this weird bald guy, no way, but she is sure as hell not going to stop staring at him, which only encourages him to continue on his interrogation.  Friendly people, I don't understand them.

I had enough of looking at the water and getting seasick, so we headed down to the truck.  Shark Bait gets out his Kindle and is deep into a book.  I can't seem to stop seeing the water.  I needed a distraction.  I'm looking around and see a No Smoking sign.  I said, randomly, "so, do you think you can have sex in the back seat of your truck on the ferry?  Is there a law about that?"  Shark Bait said, "uh, yeah, pretty sure that is not allowed."  I countered, "I don't see a sign saying we can't...but then, I guess there are a lot of things people aren't allowed to do that are not on signs."  I mean, my mind boggles at all the things we shouldn't do.  Like, I don't recall seeing a sign that says we can't shoot Asians wearing purple that have a grand canyon for a vagina and can't control themselves.  Anyway, that is a whole other blog about what should be on a sign.  I'll spare you all the visual, however, Shark Bait and I did not have sex in the back of the truck.  I mean we might later or something, here at home...wait...is he upstairs snoring?  Scratch that.  Looks like I'll just be contemplating all the things that aren't on a sign that should be...but aren't.  I may even have time to make some signs...tonight.

Well, I guess that pretty accurately wraps up my Sunday adventures.  I'm probably going to go sit on my toilet with confidence that if anyone pissed on it, it was probably me, and I probably cleaned it up. I've got Shark Bait trained.  He's not a seat pisser.  Him and the dogs, they have pee under control.  If only everyone else could.  It's a crazy dream, I know.  Anyway, over and out.  I'm exhausted from all that hugging...and peeing.

G'night.

I Could Have Been Killed...

I woke up today feeling glad I didn't have to go to work, however, I was also sore as hell from yesterday's workout.  I managed to meander downstairs and got a hot shower.  My hip was still so sore that I could not get away from the pain.  I put one of those heat pad things on the upper part and then I found some Icy/Hot stuff that had a roller applicator on it so I didn't have to touch it.  I put that stuff down lower.  That should fix me up.  Satisfied I was good to go, I proceeded with my morning, putting on make-up.  I reached up to rub my eye and all the sudden, my vision was slightly blurring and my eye was strangely cool, but burning.  I don't exactly know how it happened, but somehow, I must have gotten some of that Icy/Hot on my hand.  For crying out loud.  I washed my hands really well and flushed my eye.  I seemed to have survived that trauma.  I carried on doing my make-up and hair.  I tried to get my hair to do this flippy thing in the back, but it turned out looking like I just got out of bed.  And not the kind of getting out of bed that indicates I just had a good time, but the kind of getting out of bed that indicates I've been in it for three days with a hang-over.  Well, not much I can do about it now, I guess I just have to "own it.

Satisfied I was ready for the day, I hobbled into the kitchen to make my protein shake and to take my vitamins. I'm still walking like an old man in need of an enema, but the hip pain has subsided a little.  I go to get my vitamins, but one of them was new and in a sealed container.  I got the kitchen knife out and was really working to get that safety seal off when the knife slipped and jabbed into my hand.  Now, yes, I do know that was stupid, I do know you aren't supposed to direct the knife towards your body.  I thought I had this handled.  I am a trained professional.  The problem is, I'm not sure what I am a professional at.  I looked down at my hand, anticipating the worst, but luckily, just a little blood, no major trauma.  My digits still intact and no meaty flesh protruding.

I decided maybe it wasn't safe to be at home, so I ventured out to get some errands done.  One of them  being shopping for baby stuff. I have a couple of friends having baby showers, so off to the outlet mall I go.  Shopping for baby stuff is always a big old trainwreck of emotions for me.  The part of me that wanted a baby so badly, but was not blessed with one, starts to go into maternal mode.  "ooooo...look at that...."  I'm always drawn to the girl stuff. And this time, I have two friends actually having girls.  SQUEEEE!  So excited.  I have already purchased a couple of things on-line that I could not resist.  Today, I find myself standing in the middle of Carter's, tears welling up in my eyes holding up this little pink onesie, with little pink hearts on it.  It's possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen.  Then, look, there is one with little yellow duckies...omg.  OOOOHHHH, look at the little, itty, bitty jean jacket. O...M...G.  You can make a complete ensemble!!!  Oh man, now I just found a little cardigan for a newborn.  It's so tiny, so delicate.  I hold it, touch it, pet it.  I match it up with the perfect summer dress.  I can't take it, it's too cute.  Soon I realize my little basket is full.  Exactly how many people am I shopping for?  I need an intervention. It is at this moment Valerina texts me for something, I don't remember what.  I tell her I'm standing in Carter's crying over baby clothes.  She responds back, "GET OUT."  I can't.  I'm too far gone.  I circle the store again.  Good Lord, here is a little set with seahorses on it.  It's a pony...kind of.  Oh geez, here are some outfits with little giraffes on them.  It's too much.  I'm over stimulated.  WHAT?  Sunglasses? Babies get sunglasses?  Oh, shit, look at the little socks?  So little...I can't take it.  And then, the find of all finds, Unicorn underwear!!! WHAT?!?  They were too big for anyone's baby, they were for potty trained kids.  And, sadly, far too small for me.  I loved them, but alas, I had to leave them behind.  I go to check out and the girl asks if I want to get coupons.  I decline.  She says, "are you sure, a shame to miss out...blah, blah blah."  Irritated, I say, "Look, I don't have kids, this is just a gift." She looks at me with sympathy, "I'm sorry."  I leave the store.  Oh, look, it's Osh Gosh....I cannot be stopped. Valerina again pleads with me to go home.  I can't.  I must see more baby stuff.  Cute duckies, zoo animals, lace, hearts, socks...little hats...I'm too far gone.

Cutest thing EVER.

OMG, Unicorn undies???

Eventually, I manage to leave the store.  I thought I would stop by Michael's and see what they had in there.  I have nothing but time to kill.  This was also a bad idea.  I was only part-way through the store and I had already considered making jewelry, painting, doing a scrapbook and maybe redecorating my house.  What the hell is a matter with me.  I got in this one aisle and saw something I wanted on the top shelf.  No one was around to help, so I took matters into my own hands.  This was not my first bad idea of the day (to recap, Icy/Hot and steak knife).  I get the one I want, and I've got it halfway down.  I had this handled.  Like I said, I'm a trained professional.  Then, the box that was on top of the box came crashing down and the corner of the box slams the top of my head before crashing to the ground.  Let's remain calm.  First, did anyone see?  Doesn't look like it.  Be casual, be breezy, it didn't hurt, right?  I picked up the box like it was a non-issue.  I fixed my crazy hair, felt for blood or loose skin fragments.  Nope, I'm good.  Somewhere this was picked up on a security camera, I'm sure, and I'm going to end up on one of those "Stupid People doing Stupid Stuff" montages on YouTube.  I get my box and carry on.  My head is starting to hurt.  I'm sure I'm fine.  It's nothing.

I managed to get out of the store without any major projects, but I did end up with some horse stickers and some ribbon that was white with pink hearts and horseshoes on it.  I really don't know what I will do with it, but I had to have it.  At one point, I had a baby-safe My Little Pony in my hand.  I put it back down.  I must find some control.  This isn't my child.  I wandered up to the check-out line and was waiting my turn when some stinky guy comes up behind me being an asshat to his daughter.  I don't know where he got his cologne or "Ode du Toilet" but it was probably at a gas station or in a dumpster.  Then, his daughter has this wooden circle thing she is flinging around and she loses control and it comes flying up and hits me.  I don't exactly know what the hell is going on today, but it is kind of like that movie Final Destination.  I keep avoiding death, but narrowly.  Okay, so maybe broadly, but still.  Death is out there.  It could happen in any number of ways.

I arrived home, and like any true shopping soldier, I am going to make one trip from the truck to the house.  Never mind that it isn't a long walk. One trip.  That's how we do it.  I have my arms full of bags and my purse and some other random stuff I decided to get out of my truck and then I realize, my keys are sandwiched in the middle of the madness.  I try and dig them out.  I cannot.  The key ring has now caught a bag handle and has threaded itself into the bag handle.  I'm wrestling with the damn thing  and almost have it free when everything falls to the ground.  Mother. Trucker.

Finally, I am now allegedly safe inside my home.  I'm waiting for Shark Bait to come home and protect me from any other thing that may possibly happen.  I have taken a photo shoot of my baby clothes and sent them to Valerina.  I have petted all the clothes and cried a little bit more.  I realize, all I really need to do is go to Target and spend some time walking around and I will once again be glad I don't actually have children and all will be right in the world again.  I'll snuggle with Spanky, dress him up in his doggles and uggs and a calmness will come over me.  It's survivable.  I don't know what will happen at the shower tomorrow, but I'll have tissue with me, just in case.  In the meantime, I'm just going to lay low and stay away from falling boxes, sharp objects and topical creams.  I'm sure I'll be fine...just fine. 

Old Men...Everywhere!

I'm just going to come out and say it.  If you are an old man, I need you to do a few things for me.  The very first thing is pull your head out of your ass.  Secondly, stop being an asshole.  Thirdly, don't you dare scowl at me, you old, cranky son-of-a-bitch.

All I wanted to do was come home after Therapy Thursday.  Sadly, I had to get gas first, since the little dinger light came on.  As I'm trying to get to the gas station, some old guy in a jeep is sitting at the light in front of me.  He's staring at me in his mirror with this nasty ass scowl on his face.  I'm kind of annoyed, but whatever.  The light turns and he speeds off like he is in the Daytona freaking 500.  Well, Asshat, the speed limit is 30 and sadly the guy in front of you is actually abiding by the law.  He then gets mad and passes the guy in the right hand lane.  Mind you, he had his left blinker on.  So, it isn't bad enough he thinks he's a freaking race car driver, but he doesn't know how to use his turn signal.  A turn signal which now stays on for about a half mile.  Damn that is irritating.

I finally get away from Scowly McGoo and get to the gas station.  It's pretty busy and I had to circle around to get the spot I wanted.  As I'm waiting for the dude at the pump to pull out, some cranky-ass old guy comes in and tries to steal my spot.  After the week I've had, I double dog freaking dare you to take my gas pump Mother Trucker.  I had nothing to lose and so took my rightful spot at the pump.  Asshole.  This is when injustice set in.  I couldn't find my debit card anywhere. I tore my purse apart, nothing. Shit.  I recently changed banks, so I still have my old debit card. I wonder if I left any money in there?  I haven't officially closed it yet.  I go through the motions and swipe my card. It authorizes the transaction.  Whew!  I'm on fumes here.  The pump starts going and then promptly stops at $2 and some odd cents.  I got .57 gallons of gas.  Today is not my day.  I get back in and hope that .57 gets me home. 

I make my way to Marysville and try and merge onto the freeway.  No one wants to let me over.  I have my blinker on, I'm up to the speed limit and the Mother Trucker in the slow lane will not let me over.  In my mirror we are making eye contact.  I mouth to him, "You gonna let me over Mother Fucker?"  He was going just fast enough to keep the front of his minivan even with the tailgate of my truck.  I was running out of room so I finally just started coming over.  Seriously?  Are all men assholes today?  So, now I'm in the slow lane trying to get to the middle lane.  Each time I want to start over, somebody merges over from the fast lane.  Dammit!  After waiting and waiting for my chance, I get an opening.  I put my blinker on, it's all clear, I start to edge over, as in two of my tires are in the lane.  This old rat bastard in a beat up VW bug that is a myriad of colors and probably older than me, comes into my lane from the fast lane.  I thought about moving back over and then I thought, "No, let him move over, he didn't even have his blinker on to indicate he wanted over, Fuck him."  I could see his face, he was cussing me out.  I didn't care.  He moved back over to the fast lane and drove up next to me and stared over.  The dude is like 150 years old and he is hunched over the steering wheel and he is giving me the furrowed brow and classic old man scowl.  Well, I upped the ante with my own scowl and a string of verbal abuse that would make him and his sailor buddies blush.  I'm sick of being pushed around by these asshats.

What the hell is the problem with old men today?  Did they all just run out of their Viagra, Preparation-H,  Fixodent and prune juice at the same time?  Holy crap.  Usually, it's a variety of asshats I encounter on the freeway, however today, it was every crotchety-assed fossil in the greater Snohomish County.  Look here, Barney Fife, I'm trying to get home on fumes right now, give a girl a break, will ya?

Thankfully, I did manage to get home safe and sound.  I walked through the door and promptly knocked the container of dog treats to the floor where they scattered everywhere.  I've had it.  Thursday is over.  NO more.  I do hope, however, that I can make it to the gas station tomorrow, so I can then get to the bank to get a new debit card.  Thank goodness my 'ol man has some cash on him. 

Well, that's a wrap.  If you are old and out of Viagra or prune juice, stay off the road, okay?  Middle-aged girls need to be able to travel in peace.

Poison Ivy

Ever fall into poison ivy?  Stinging nettles?  Well, I have.  It isn't pleasant.  Not in real life and not metaphorically speaking.  It would seem I have encountered some "poison ivy" recently.  At first,  I was angry I had fallen into the poison ivy.  I mean, I didn't really know it was poison ivy at first, until I fell into it.  The rash that followed was painful and I was angry I hadn't  recognized it for what it was.  I contemplated not exploring outside anymore because I didn't want to chance getting that rash again.  I was angry the poison ivy was making me feel this way.  After wrestling with my emotions, I finally decided, poison ivy was not going to stop me from playing outside.  As a matter of fact, as far as I am concerned, there is no reason to even discuss poison ivy again.  It exists in the shadows and it will always be there lurking to get you when you least expect it, but I'm not going to stop doing something I enjoy because poison ivy exists.

Most of you noticed my blog was on lock-down the last 24 hours.  I didn't discuss the reason and I'm not going to go into great detail now, other than to say, someone had issues with things I had written.  I contemplated not writing anymore, but honestly, that thought made me so sad.  Writing in my blog is my therapy, my escape, my release, my exploration of my feelings.  No one has a right to take that away from me.  There are many things in my blog that people tell me they relate to, or that make them laugh when they need a pick-me-up, or things that I say that they are not brave enough to say themselves.  People appreciate my honesty and realness.  I didn't realize how much so until I locked the blog down last night to take a step back and reconsider things.  I cannot express how much I appreciate everyone's support and encouragement.  Everyone wants to know what happened, or who was offended.  I have not said and I will not say.  Not here, not at work, not in a text.  I have gone through my blog history and deleted several blogs for the sake of escaping the drama.  I have also edited some.  I suppose it gives the person that had the issue a sense of power to know that I have done so, but if that is how one gets a feeling of power, by stifling others, then really, I have no energy for that behavior.  And, if this person continues to follow my blog to find fault in what I do, they probably will.  I can't stop that. I'm not going to add additional privacy settings, or have an exclusive list for those that want to follow me.  Screw that.  If poison wants to find it's way in, it will and I will deal with the ramifications as they arise.

I do want to clarify a few things, so we are all on the same page.

• If you earned a blog name, congratulations!  You affected my day in a way that was significant.
• I am sarcastic and have a dark sense of humor. If you can't handle that and take everything that seriously, then get off my blog, please.  I don't have time for your delicate nature.
• My blog is called Angry Pony, not Friendly Pony, Happy Pony, Positive Pony, Sunshine Pony.  It's ANGRY PONY.  That means, my perspective is not one of sunshine and hope and unicorns. If you want to go to a magical pony ride, go to front of freaking Safeway, put 50 cents in the electric pony ride and go wild. 
• I spend a lot of time talking through things so they make sense to me, or at least attempting to make sense of them.  You either enjoy the ride or you don't.  My journey isn't for everyone, so if you don't like it, jump ship and swim your ass back to shore.
• Yes, I say a lot of things about my mood or how people irritate me.  Sure they do.  But you know what, I would do anything for these people and I prove that every day by taking care of people.  If I choose to mock them a little bit for the pain and suffering I'm put through, so be it.  Get over it.
• I do like my job.  I do appreciate my job.  I do enjoy the people I work with.  I also enjoy letting off steam, as anyone does after a long day.  My job is full of challenges, hardships, disappointments, but also full of people that I truly value.  So what if you occasionally get called out for something stupid you did.  Really, lighten up.  I make fun of myself DAILY.
• I will talk about my body, my view of my body, my weight loss journey, my Pranx, my feelings, my hair, shark week, sex, dogs, ponies, bad drivers, bad people and LIFE AS I KNOW IT.  If you aren't interested, DO NOT READ IT.

If you can't understand any of the above clarifications, I don't even know why you are here.  To everyone else, thank you so much for your understanding, your loyalty, your ability to laugh and take things for what they are worth and also see the ridiculousness of life and wonder WTF? every once in a while.

Anyway, that's all I have to say about that. My life, my blog. No poison ivy.

We can now return to our regularly scheduled programming.  I'm sure I'll be pissed about something else soon enough.  Stay tuned.

The Spartan...an Epic Adventure

I have been very angry today.  Like really hostile. In my head, I was envisioning today may be my last day at the Glass Palace.  I say this, because I knew the filter that goes between my brain and my mouth was clogged.  Probably with chocolate, if we are being honest.  I felt strongly that I was going to tell someone to kiss my ass today and go take a jump off the roof.  The dark side was strong in this one today.

*** The portion of my blog that was here was removed due to someone having issue with it. My erased word does not erase the reality of the situation or who this person really is inside.  It is also noteworthy to say that when I express my feelings, they are mine.  I am allowed to have them.  The fact that I share them in a blog may be a bold choice, but anyone not liking what I write doesn't have to read it.  And, by attempting to stifle me will not change who you are and it certainly doesn't change who I am.  I will always be honest and be true to who I am.  To anyone who pretends or allows themselves to pretend, I'm sad for you.  I may struggle with who I am from time to time, but I don't make excuses for it.  I dig through my feelings all the time, trying to be better, trying to figure it out.  And, yes, I put it in a blog to vent my frustrations out. NO ONE gets to decide how I feel.  And, to those that pretend they don't ever have these thoughts, or don't ever make a mistake, or don't ever speak unkindly, I say to you, "Get Real. Who are you kidding?"  

Additionally, just because I talk about wanting to punch someone in the head or "kill" someone, it's just how I talk it out.  I'm not a violent person and anyone that knows me, knows that.  And, I may bitch about work, so what, doesn't everyone?  I know the person that was upset with my blog does.  I've heard them, many times.  Lie to others, like to me, but don't lie to yourself.  Overall, I enjoy the people I work with.  I like my job.  It has frustrations EVERY DAY.  That's life.  My blog isn't called, Happy Pony.  If you don't like what I have to say, don't come to this site, don't browse it, don't come looking for trouble.  That isn't what my blog is about and if you don't understand that or me, you don't belong here.  To all those that do, THANK YOU for your support, thank you for getting that I'm being real with you because that is the only way I know how to be.  Everyone else, don't come here and sensationalize what you don't understand.  And, if you are one of the "Asshats" on the freeway, or jerks in the grocery store line, or idiots on the other end of the phone when I call customer service, or any other person that I randomly and non specifically talk about in my blog that may have irritated me, so what?  Stop being irritating. It's not like people have never said anything bad about me.  I don't run and cry about it to your Mom.  And, if you are mentioned in my blog, you either are, or were worthy at one time, of me discussing you under the guise of a blog name or whatever.  ***


Unfortunately, even though I was pretty much riding the edge of "yippe ki ya mother fuckers!" there wasn't a lot of time to put on my dark face in the early hours of the day since we also had visitors here conducting a training.  In an effort to assist them, and be the perky admin that is bucking for actress of the year, I was running back and forth between floors.  I thought I'd take the elevator.  As I waited for the doors to open, I contemplated using the stairs, but thought, eh, fuck it.  The doors finally opened and a guy from another department came rushing out, fear in his eyes, hair on end, "You don't want to get in there, man, I was just stuck in there forever!!"  Clearly, it had been an ordeal for him.  Our elevators are kind of rogue.  They do what they want, and if that means stopping between floors, so be it.  I contemplated my options.  First, did I have to pee?  No.  Second, if I did get stuck in there, I wouldn't have to do anyone's bidding and I could potentially hide in there for hours before calling and saying I was stuck. Thirdly, how would I get chocolate dispersed to me if I got stuck in there?  This was a problem.  I took the freaking stairs.  As I did, I wondered, "just how long was that guy in there?"  I mean, was he having a That 70's Show moment where he was totally buggin' and it just seemed like two hours?  Or, was he in there, like, three minutes, which seemed like an eternity because he had a "peeker."  I don't know.  I'll never know.  I didn't even get his name.

I managed to successfully care for our visitors and navigate from floor to floor without entrapment. It was already time for the gym.  I had an appointment with Ass Kicker.  I got down there, suited up and did my warm up on the elliptical machine.  Ass Kicker comes walking over, big ol smile on his face, asking how I am.  I'm screwed.  When he is that perky, I'm screwed.  I followed him into the workout room.  He disappeared behind the mirrors and turned on some upbeat music, then he got a stepper thing out  (the kind you use to do step aerobics that you can adjust the height on) and stacked it three levels high.  Then he got the dumbbells out and informed me we were going to do a workout called "The Spartan." Seemed legit.  He hands me these five pound weights to start.  This is for babies, I don't use five pound weights.  I was just pressing 65 with one arm the other day.  It is noteworthy to say, nothing that happened beyond this point was for babies.  And the five pound weights were just for the "warm-up" part of the routine, which I shall henceforth refer to as the part where I sweated through my underwear and my sports bra and part of my shirt.  Then, shit got real.  My face was tomato red, my hair soaking wet, I was breathing hard, sweat rolling...no running...no STREAMING in a tsunami off my face.  It's possible the inside of my body was deplete of any moisture.  I felt myself starting to cry.  I don't cry when I workout...what the hell?  The tears were right there, I didn't think I could do one more thing, I started to whine.  I don't whine.  I always do one more than he asks me to, even if I am exhausted, that is how I roll. NOT today, I was one step away from a Biggest Loser meltdown!  I yelled at him, "I hate your guts!!!"  He was undeterred and unafraid, he pressed on.  At this point, I was about to lose it, I thought we were done.  We weren't. I dug deep.  I was in plank position with my body, but was bracing myself on the 12 pound weights which were on top of the step that was stacked three levels high.  I had to balance my weight on one hand, keep my core tight and then lift the other weight into my armpit with the other hand.  It's hard. It's really fucking hard.  I wanted to die.  But we weren't done yet.  Three more exercises. I think I can...I think I can...I think...I...can...survive... to kill Ass Kicker....  When we were all done, I collapsed onto the floor in one, big, wet, jelly-fish-like blob.  I would never walk again.  I told him, "you have never worked me that hard."  He said, "No, I haven't. This is by far our hardest workout to date.  Isn't it great?!"  When I think of things that are great, this moment, not really in my top ten. Ice cream is great, new ponies are great, orgasms are great, a new pink sweatshirt is great... And then he said, "A year ago, I could have never even attempted part of this workout with you.  I wouldn't even have ever considered it, and now look at you, you did really well today."  Damn it.  This was going to make the drama of my death on the workout floor a little less triumphant.  Turns out, I was supposed to survive this...and potentially do it again....someday.  As I laid there, face down, smelling the sweat of my people...the gym people...I said, "it's probably good you did this to me today, because I am really fed up with people today."  He agreed and said, "Yeah, now if anyone pisses you off, you won't have the energy to beat them up."  True story.  I could picture it, "hey, come over here and put your face down here by my hand and move around a little bit so I can feel like I'm kicking your ass...yeah, you like it like this?  Now, take my hand and put it on the back of your head, now face plant yourself into the desk.  Yeah, really do it hard, because I can't do it for you..."

I went into the locker room and knew I had to get out of there before the Gym Barbies came.  I took one look in the mirror and I knew that today was going to take some serious damage control.  I showered and managed to get back to my locker without busting my ass on the floor (it's like a fat girl tight rope walk on ice, if you need a visual on my walk from the shower to the locker area).  I got partway dressed when the Gym Barbies started to show up.  One of them seemed to be in distress.  She couldn't get her little dress off.  I ignored her.  First world problems for skinny girls.  Try putting Pranx on a sweaty body, now THAT will challenge you.  Gym Barbie #1 seemed to be in distress and now she was hovering around me.  I think it was trying to communicate.  Seems like its' zipper was stuck.  Finally, tired of watching her back up to me like a horse backs its ass up to it's favorite itching post, I said, "you need a hand?"  She did, and so, for one moment in time, Gym  Barbie and Gym Barbarian co-existed.  It was freaking magical.  It's like a unicorn had just shit a pile of Skittles right there in the locker room.

Anyway, back to the grind.  I got back up to my desk and before long, the anger was building up again.  Turns out, I wasn't too tired to be pissed.  The force is strong in the pony.  I kept reading emails and every time I saw the word assistance, my mind automatically translated it to "asshats."  I had to keep shaking my head and doing a double take.  I sat there trying to make sense of it all when someone from another department suddenly appeared at my desk.  He had left-over popcorn, donuts and cupcakes that he wanted to bring down and put by my desk for the peeps to eat.  Fanfuckingtastic.  I sat there watching person after person come over and take their share.  Pretty soon, Valerina comes over mumbling about someone being hungry because it was Shark Week for them.  Just then, over the wall, one of the "young bucks" pipes up and says, "it's Shark Week? Cool!"  I said, "Well, let's just say our definition of shark week and yours are probably different.  The only likeness is, there is still blood in the water. Ours just doesn't play out on the Discovery channel."  His face changed and he said, "oh, yeah....I get it."  And that was the end of that conversation.  Usually pretty effective in shutting the boys up, I've found anyway.

After Valerina left, I contemplated why I might be so volatile, I picked up my phone and checked good 'ol Period Tracker (an app every husband should have, for their own safety, by the way).  Shark Week is indeed looming in the near future, however, this can't be the only reason I'm a raging bitch. Yes, work is annoying right now, but this is normal.  I considered that I am also coming off the pills the fat doctor prescribed for me that have done nothing for me.  Or, so I thought.  I have been so tired for four days and my mood has been in the dumper.  They may have been doing more for me than I thought.  Regardless, they really didn't help me achieve any major goals.  While I admit, I am not blameless in the equation, I am still disappointed in myself.  It feels like another failure on the books.  And I don't say this so people will say, "oh, you are not."  I'm not fishing for that.  I am stating how I feel.  I'm not asking for validation, comfort or enforcement.  I'm simply stating, the inner pony is disappointed in herself.  The pony knows she can do better.  The pony knows she must do better.  Finding the balance in my life is a constant challenge and sometimes the pony gets tired and gives up for a while.  The Rug Doctor believes it is due to my father being an alcoholic and being abusive while growing up and into my adult life.  I was either safe, or not safe, there was no happy medium, no place to rest.  And so, I have struggled all these years being really good, or being really bad. My challenge is to find balance so that I don't swing so far off the mark.  Now, the fat doctor would have me being perfect all the time, because I need to be.  I get her point.  But, now I've disappointed her, too.  I've let her down, I've let me down and I feel like I've let others down that are pulling for me.  I know, I've said this so many times before, I feel like a broken record.  The thing is, this is hard fucking work.  To those that have lost the weight so easily, you are so lucky and I am so envious. But, my journey is like "The Spartan" workout.  It's tiring, it's challenging and you have to build up stamina, muscle and endurance over time. And you want to give up and you don't think you can finish it. I just have to believe I am Spartacus...minus the loincloth and tight abs and in yoga pants and an old Verizon t-shirt.  I have an army of people fighting behind me.  Some of them may want to bring me down, others want to push me into battle, others just want to look at my six-pack abs (okay, so I probably don't have those people in my army yet...just that one goofy bald guy that runs around giving everyone wet-willies).  I have to embrace Spartacus, but Angry Pony mostly wants to embrace chocolate.  It's an epic battle.  I'm thinking about calling HBO and seeing if they want to buy into this pitch.  The intense voice-over would be like:

"One Angry Pony...one mission...to Stop. Eating. Hay.  But then, the unthinkable happened.  A salad-eating She-Pony Rocked. Her. World.  They called her...Spartacus...destroyer of cellulite.  Coming...This Thanksgiving, to a theatre near you, see this epic battle unfold on the plains of uncertainty where eating hay will not be tolerated and Spartacus rules...WITH A VENGENCE!!!

I think this just got weird.  Clearly, I need sleep.  I gotta go now.  More deep thoughts by Angry Pony and Jack Handy to follow at a later date.

Thanks for reading my crazy rantings.

Big Girl Panties Don't Fail Me Now!

I always say, "time to put my big girl panties on and deal with it."  Well, today, I did just that, literally.  After, almost emptying the contents of my closet and trying about 15- 20 different outfits on.  At one point, I'm pretty sure I saw Peppermint Patty staring back at me in the mirror.  Big old hippie sandals and then this short skirt.  No nylons, of course, with the sandals.  Shudder.  Back to the drawing board. I finally decided on a dress.  The problem is, the underwear I had chosen said, "Hello Sexy" on the back.  You could see it slightly through my dress.  Damn it.  I didn't want to have to change my underwear too, but I didn't need people seeing the word "sexy" on my ass all day, either.  I rummaged around in my drawer and found some tan pranx-like underwear.  They went all the way up to my boobs.  I put them on over my underwear and laughed.  These were, indeed, big girl panties.  I sure hoped they would guide me through the day.

Upon arriving at work, I instantly knew my big girl panties and I were not completely aligned with the goal of the day.  I sat there in the parking lot, in my truck, engine running.  I considered putting it in reverse and getting the hell out of Dodge.  I sat there, listening to the radio considering my escape.  No, I couldn't do that, I have too much to do.  Okay, big girl panties were now engaged.  I walked into the office, and immediately encountered one of our important visitors, Babs.  Babs says, "I sent you a little love note...you don't mind taking notes on that one conference call do you?"  Sadly, my big girl panties were not able to communicate fast enough with my facial expression.  My shoulders slumped, my brows furrowed, my bottom lip came out a bit and I said, "awwww mannnnnnn...." Remembering myself, I recovered with, "Yes, of course I can, no problem."  I think I had a short in my panties, clearly I needed faster response time.  I proceeded to my desk to find my recorder that I use for the call so that I don't miss anything.  Can't find it.  Oh, that's right, Four Feet of Fury still has it.  Damn, oh well, no biggie, I have a back-up.  I pull it out and I can't get the damn thing to turn on.  I thought, no, it can't have dead batteries...I open up the back, they weren't just dead, they were gone. Mother. Trucker. High Heel Barbie strikes again! I'd take this matter up with her later, she was the last to have the recorder.  I went ahead and threw myself a temper tantrum right there.  Valerina, who had been witnessing the injustice, scampered away to find me batteries. I'm tearing my desk drawers apart trying to find the batteries.  My friend, Mama Chris, had given me a special button that says naughty things.  I had it hidden in the drawer I was looking in, but had forgotten about it. As I'm digging, all the sudden I hear, LOUDLY, "You're Shit out of Luck!"  I'm scampering to shoosh it, but also finding the irony of the phrase priceless.  I searched all through that drawer.  The only thing of use I found was one left over Christmas Hershey's Kiss.  I ate it.  There is one problem solved, it won't be tempting me to eat it later. Cross Fit Crazy came out of his office at that moment.  I don't even remember if he needed anything, but when he saw the fury on my face, he went right back in his office.  Good. Freaking. Morning. Mother Trucker.

Valerina soon returned with batteries in hand.  She's pretty resourceful, that girl, and she knows a meltdown in progress when she sees one.  She is a good friend.  With batteries properly installed, I took the conference call.  Luckily, it was an easy one and it was fairly short.  I no sooner finished the call when my phone rings.  I look at the number, no clue who it is, don't recognize it.  I answer the phone in my sweet-I-like-my-paycheck voice, "Glass Palace, this is Cassondra..."  All I hear is, "I bet your thinking, if one more GD person calls me, I'm going to lose my mind..."  or something to that effect.  It's a trap.  I know it.  And this voice sounds exactly like the voice of our regional presidents admin.  It's Undercover Admin, I know it...she continues, "You don't know who this is, do you?"  I'm like, "um...no, but you do sound familiar."  She let's me off the hook, "it's Short Bus."  This is one of Shark Bait's friends.  She had read my FB post about not wanting to be at work and decided to get my work number from Shark Bait and call me. Funny.  Very funny. Ha.

I now attempt to dig in to my day.  Sassy Pants comes over and asks if I am busy.  I'm pretty sure the look I gave her pretty much should have melted the skin off of her face, but she was undeterred.   She goes on about something, I don't know what, I'm tuning her out.  Then, as the phone shoved down in her bra started making a quacking noise alerting everyone her break was almost over, Smarty Pants Malone shows up.  "Hey Punkin..."  He needs a favor, I can tell.  He also asks if I'm busy.  What is wrong with you people?  Why do you keep asking me if I am busy?  Do I not LOOK busy?  What do I have to do, exactly, to look busy?  Do I need to be bent over a file cabinet with a bunch of papers in my hand?  Because, after all, if I'm just sitting there at my computer, CLEARLY, there can't be any work to be done ON MY COMPUTER.  Nope, I just stare at it and wait for some one to message me about how they got a hangnail or something and ask what form to fill out as a result of aforementioned hangnail and the sure to follow pesky FMLA paperwork they are going to need for the fungus they surely will contract from using the stinky soap in the dirty restroom.  Wait, where was I?  Oh yeah, Smarty Pants needed a favor.  Sigh.  I just did it.  Just got it over with.  Next thing I know, Valerina is back.  She is moving and it turns out her desk drawers are jammed and what should she do?  I looked over at her slowly and gave her the disapproving Mom look and said menancingly, "And what information do you think a person like me might need to assist you with this type of problem?"  She shrunk back a little bit and tried to appear as if she was a scared baby animal, "....my cube number?"  Bingo.  She provided me with her info and off she went.  I'll just make a call and get that handled.  Luckily, Building Manager Dude wasn't doing anything except waiting for my call, so he came right up.  Sigh, now what was I doing?

I turn back to my screen.  It appears I have a message.  People are too hot and they want me to put a ticket in.  Let me take care of that now.  I wasn't doing anything anyway.  As I'm trying to enter the frigging ticket, I overhear a rep leaning on the wall talking to his supervisor nearby.  I start to hassle him, because, correct me if I'm wrong, the pain has to go somewhere, and he starts giving me crap about the condition of the mens room and wants to know if I am going to put a ticket in for that.  What the hell is wrong in the bathroom NOW?  Apparently people are pissing on stuff in there.  Weak.  That's nothing.  The women's room has rogue hovering vigilantes that piss all over everything, crap on the floor and smear it on the wall.  And don't get me started on the blood.  A little piss is not going to even get me to consider a ticket.  Speaking of piss, I should take a bathroom break.  I go in there and use the bathroom and almost laugh out loud as I look in the mirror and see the necklace I am wearing today says "Love" on it.  That should throw people off the track, they'll never notice my hostility now.


I am attempting to return to my desk when I see one of the supervisors with a big armload of tickets.  There is a contest going on right now.  Reps have earned 6000 tickets.  They all need to be torn apart and put in the bin for the drawing.  You get one guess on who the lucky bitch is that gets to pull those fucking tickets apart.  No problem, it isn't like I had anything to do.  I sat there, my soul seeping out of my pores and escaping into the thick air of the Glass Palace.  It was a dark day.  I'm sitting there tearing them apart mindlessly when I notice the string I'm working on doesn't have any names on them.  What. The. Fuck?  I go marching over to the girl that was assisting to hand them out asking, WTF?  She doesn't know, woops.  I go back over to ticket duty.  Valerina walks over and says, ew, what is on your dress?  right on my boob, there it is, a stinky glob of something looking like a sauce of some sort.  I hadn't eaten anything...I'm immediately grossed out, where did it come from? Must have been off the ghetto cube wall.  I try and wipe it off, it stinks.  I grab my water bottle and go to pour a dab on.  Next thing I know, water is gushing out all over the front of me.  The stain, still there, still stinking.  I wiped the water off and got a Clorox wipe out and started scrubbing myself.  Thank God, Four Feet of Fury loved Clorox wipes.  I had a huge supply of them. Satisfied I smelled fresh as a freshly mopped bathroom floor, I look down and the water has left this faint whitish outline.  It looks like someone jizzed all of the front of me.  Nice.  Classy.  I give up.  Just then, I hear a ping noise.  I have a new message.  "Hey Cassondra, there is blood all over the floor in stall number three, can you have the janitor come clean it up?"  Enraged, I typed back, "Let me stop everything I'm doing right now and report that."  She responds back, "Thank you!"  I hate today.  Spooge on my dress, blood and piss in the bathrooms and I have one bazillion tickets to pull apart and 3 million other things to do!  Just then, Bratty Little Brother comes over and wants to know if I can leave and go get him gift cards...right now.  I said, "NO!  I've got shit to do!  Doesn't anyone care about how much shit I have to do?"  Unphased, he says, "no biggie, I didn't need them today anyway.  I'm just going to put them in the drawer until we need them."  How is it possible I have not taken hostages today?

As I sat there, soiled and boiled, a rep comes up and puts a paper in my inbox.  It's a contest I came up with yesterday and he was the first entry.  Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to hand those out to the center.  Cross Fit Crazy comes up just then and says, "oh good, the contest! Entries are coming in, that's cool!"  I said, "Yeah, that reminds me, I need to go do that.  I'll do it now."  Immediately concerned, he says, "NO! no no, don't worry about it, you don't need to do that..."  He looked panicked.  I said, "No, I'll do it now."  He nervously scampered back into his office and shut the door.  I passed them out and told people I had some crayons at my desk to decorate the picture (it sounds a little pre-K, but who doesn't like to color?).  First person, Guido the Bouncer, comes over, gets the crayons, then shortly thereafter returns, "What, are these budget crayons? Dude, I'll get my own."  Some days, a girl just can't win.  Back to ticket tearing.

I finally finished tearing the tickets and went over to the supervisor and said, "All done."  She looked at me sheepishly, "Um, no you're not..." and pointed at another pile.  If you look closely at the below picture, you can almost see my soul leaking out of my body.

A couple of hours later, with very little accomplished, I called it a day.  I don't know whether I should call it a big girl panty fail or success.  I mean, no one died.  I did put my time in.  I did get all the tickets pulled apart.  And really, my boss spent most of his day hiding.  We are going to call this one a win.  Tomorrow, I'm going to wear jeans and I'm going to get stuff done.  I'm not tearing anymore tickets apart.  I'm not telling anyone to clean the bathroom.  NO ONE and I repeat NO ONE is going to spooge on me.  Big girl panties or not, Friday is MY bitch.  Do you hear me, universe?  I mean it.  I'll wear my crown if I have to.  Believe it.