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...
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
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? "
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? "
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The iPant...caffeine for your butt?
Some people might mock me for reading Cosmo magazine, but you know what, you really can learn some interesting things in there. Of course, a lot of it is total crap, but today I came across something that could be the answer to my prayers and every woman I know. It's called iPant Anti-Cellulite Shapewear. This product looks like Spanx, but get this, upon reading the fine print, this underwear doesn't just suck your fat in, it actually claims to have "embedded microcapsules containing caffeine to promote fat destruction; vitamin E to prevent the effects of aging; ceramides to restore and maintain the skin's smoothness; and retinol and aloe vera to moisturize and increase the firmness of the skin." Are you freaking kidding me? My ass and thighs are going to be so happy and energized, I won't be able to keep still! I'm thinking I am going to go buy a whole bunch of them and make a body suit. I could literally be MELTING the fat away by wearing this stuff! Of course the girl in the picture doesn't need the iPant, she is a freaking size 2....but wait, maybe she used to look just like me. Maybe the iPant SAVED HER LIFE. And damn if her thighs don't look smooth.
I looked the product up online and for just $60.00 and 100 washes the aloe vera stays right in the shapewear. This is amazing! And, if someone gets hurt, you can just rub your ass on them and the aloe vera can actually save someone else's life. I mean, it doesn't say that, but I can only imagine a product as amazing as this must have super powers. And another great thing is they actually have one that has gel in the tush so that you get that shape you want after these panties have diminished your ass to almost NOTHING.
I do have concerns about something that is getting my ass hopped up on caffeine. I mean, it's never been jittery or excitable before. Is it going to be like I have ants in the pants? It says the darn thing shapes and sculpts and releases ingredients as you walk around. Am I going to feel like I just crapped my pants? Are my pants going to fit in the morning, but by afternoon just fall off? Do I need to bring a change of clothes? And, if I don't make it into a body suit, will I have a fat belly, but a tiny ass and thighs?
In the end, no pun intended, I don't know if I am ready for something that is allegedly "releasing" things into my butt and thighs as I navigate through daily life. I might wait on this. If any of you try this out, let me know how that goes and if your butt and thighs really are lively and young looking after the fact.
Thanks for this informative advertising, Cosmo. Maybe tomorrow I will get to the article titled "What your Va-jay-jay is dying to tell you." I had no idea my va-jay-jay was trying to communicate....geez, and I always thought I was good listener. Go figure.
I looked the product up online and for just $60.00 and 100 washes the aloe vera stays right in the shapewear. This is amazing! And, if someone gets hurt, you can just rub your ass on them and the aloe vera can actually save someone else's life. I mean, it doesn't say that, but I can only imagine a product as amazing as this must have super powers. And another great thing is they actually have one that has gel in the tush so that you get that shape you want after these panties have diminished your ass to almost NOTHING.
I do have concerns about something that is getting my ass hopped up on caffeine. I mean, it's never been jittery or excitable before. Is it going to be like I have ants in the pants? It says the darn thing shapes and sculpts and releases ingredients as you walk around. Am I going to feel like I just crapped my pants? Are my pants going to fit in the morning, but by afternoon just fall off? Do I need to bring a change of clothes? And, if I don't make it into a body suit, will I have a fat belly, but a tiny ass and thighs?
In the end, no pun intended, I don't know if I am ready for something that is allegedly "releasing" things into my butt and thighs as I navigate through daily life. I might wait on this. If any of you try this out, let me know how that goes and if your butt and thighs really are lively and young looking after the fact.
Thanks for this informative advertising, Cosmo. Maybe tomorrow I will get to the article titled "What your Va-jay-jay is dying to tell you." I had no idea my va-jay-jay was trying to communicate....geez, and I always thought I was good listener. Go figure.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Olive Garden ruins romance with all you can eat pasta
Will and I's anniversary is coming up, which isn't really a big deal, we don't get all crazy about it. Don't get me wrong, we still love each other and actually still like each other, but then, it's only been 4 years, or it will be this Labor Day weekend. We saw a commercial on TV last night that brought all the memories back from our very first anniversary. It was an Olive Garden commercial talking about "All You Can Eat Pasta." Let me tell you how Olive Garden ruined my very special, first wedding anniversary.
We couldn't afford to do anything very extravagant due to life's events that depleted our money supply, but we could afford to go to Olive Garden with our good friends Chuck and Pete and their little boy, our adopted nephew, Brett. I knew immediately upon reading the menu that my anniversary was sunk. They were advertising all you can eat pasta. I could see the sparkle in his eye...I wasn't having sex tonight, this I knew with certainty. Will ate his pasta dish and then the waitress, his enabler, came over and asked him if he would like to try this other kind of pasta, after all it was free. Will could not resist free and it was yummy. As predicted, he patted his belly, clearly in agony and groaned. He had maxed out the stomach area.
We headed out to the parking lot to bid our friends adieu as they needed to go to a meeting. I said, "why don't you let me watch Brett for you while you go to your meeting." They declined saying that they could not do that to us on our first anniversary together. I assured them the following was about to occur. We would arrive home. Will would get in his pj's, turn on the TV and shortly thereafter be asleep. This was how it would play out, I was certain. Reluctantly, Chuck and Pete agreed to let me watch Brett. And yes, I said "me" watch Brett because Will was not part of the equation, he had digesting to do.
Brett was very happy to be at our house because, at 3 years old, his favorite thing to do at Auntie Cassondra's was to pile all of my stuffed ponies (which, my collection is large and plentiful, so it is A LOT of stuffed ponies) and pillows in the front room and strip down naked in the middle of them and watch TV. He, too, was predictable on this night. The ponies were piled high, his clothes came off and he was asking for "hi-cream" aka ice cream. I realized two things. First, this was the only naked man I was going to see on this special one year anniversary. Second, I really would like to try laying naked in those stuffed ponies and eat ice cream. It really did look like a good time. However, this was not something I wanted to do with Brett, that would be pervy. But someday, Will is going to come home and find me naked in the ponies. Timing is everything.
So, I guess what I am saying is, we are NOT going to Olive Garden for our four year anniversary. I saw Will's face light up last night when he saw that commercial. I'm saying no to pasta coma and yes to romantic evening, even if it means starving him and breaking out the stuffed ponies.
We couldn't afford to do anything very extravagant due to life's events that depleted our money supply, but we could afford to go to Olive Garden with our good friends Chuck and Pete and their little boy, our adopted nephew, Brett. I knew immediately upon reading the menu that my anniversary was sunk. They were advertising all you can eat pasta. I could see the sparkle in his eye...I wasn't having sex tonight, this I knew with certainty. Will ate his pasta dish and then the waitress, his enabler, came over and asked him if he would like to try this other kind of pasta, after all it was free. Will could not resist free and it was yummy. As predicted, he patted his belly, clearly in agony and groaned. He had maxed out the stomach area.
We headed out to the parking lot to bid our friends adieu as they needed to go to a meeting. I said, "why don't you let me watch Brett for you while you go to your meeting." They declined saying that they could not do that to us on our first anniversary together. I assured them the following was about to occur. We would arrive home. Will would get in his pj's, turn on the TV and shortly thereafter be asleep. This was how it would play out, I was certain. Reluctantly, Chuck and Pete agreed to let me watch Brett. And yes, I said "me" watch Brett because Will was not part of the equation, he had digesting to do.
Brett was very happy to be at our house because, at 3 years old, his favorite thing to do at Auntie Cassondra's was to pile all of my stuffed ponies (which, my collection is large and plentiful, so it is A LOT of stuffed ponies) and pillows in the front room and strip down naked in the middle of them and watch TV. He, too, was predictable on this night. The ponies were piled high, his clothes came off and he was asking for "hi-cream" aka ice cream. I realized two things. First, this was the only naked man I was going to see on this special one year anniversary. Second, I really would like to try laying naked in those stuffed ponies and eat ice cream. It really did look like a good time. However, this was not something I wanted to do with Brett, that would be pervy. But someday, Will is going to come home and find me naked in the ponies. Timing is everything.
So, I guess what I am saying is, we are NOT going to Olive Garden for our four year anniversary. I saw Will's face light up last night when he saw that commercial. I'm saying no to pasta coma and yes to romantic evening, even if it means starving him and breaking out the stuffed ponies.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
This could be TMI...
I think my insides have formed "An Extraordinary League of Organs" and are getting ready to tunnel out through the back. I've had this stabbing pain for a few days and I think what is happening is that my body is calling bullshit on the amount of cellulite that has come to settle in these vast lands. I picture angry villagers with their torches and spears. They are in The Core and they are headed to the Open Range where stretch marks and stressed out skin play. Not even my FCD (fat controlling device) can harness the rage. I think the gall bladder is spear heading this expedition and getting everyone else pissed off. My body has collected enough money to hire Billy the Spleen and the charge is on. I truly am afraid I will be sitting at work and I am going to explode like a watermelon that has a stick of dynamite in it. I'll be like ol faithful, and everything will just shoot out at high velocity.
I'm not saying it will happen, but I'm saying the chances are good. I try not to be a hypochondriac but the signs are there. To any of my co-workers, I wouldn't be wearing silk or any other delicate fabrics if you are going to be around me in the next week or so. Just to be safe. Will says I over dramatize these things, but I think it is best to be prepared for worst case scenario, don't you?
Or, do you ever see those little key chains at the party store or any random souvenir shop where it is a cute little animal, but you squish it and either the eyes pop out or some sort of gross poop bubble comes out of it's butt? Well, let's just say, no one should hug me very hard this week due to the impending geyser that is expected to come out of my back.
Consider this your warning. To those of you expecting more of me this evening, it's all I have. I can't focus with my organs in distress.
I'm not saying it will happen, but I'm saying the chances are good. I try not to be a hypochondriac but the signs are there. To any of my co-workers, I wouldn't be wearing silk or any other delicate fabrics if you are going to be around me in the next week or so. Just to be safe. Will says I over dramatize these things, but I think it is best to be prepared for worst case scenario, don't you?
Or, do you ever see those little key chains at the party store or any random souvenir shop where it is a cute little animal, but you squish it and either the eyes pop out or some sort of gross poop bubble comes out of it's butt? Well, let's just say, no one should hug me very hard this week due to the impending geyser that is expected to come out of my back.
Consider this your warning. To those of you expecting more of me this evening, it's all I have. I can't focus with my organs in distress.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Chicken sh*t, Angry Pony & Lucky Cat
Today as I drove to work, I passed a dead black cat on the road and then right after that passed the pasture that has a colossal pile of chicken shit in it. It was glorious, steam coming off, stench so bad you could taste it, and then, just two driveways past, there was Angry Pony's pasture. That poor little pony was going to have to smell that all day. Not a good day for Angry Pony. The only good news is, he wouldn't be able to smell the dead cat.
As luck would have it my day would mirror that of Angry Pony. Nonstop shit all day. When you work in a company that has done a lot of down-sizing, you become like the Lone Ranger, The last of the Mohicans, like a one-legged dog guiding a blind guy through the Iron Man competition, like a kindergarten teacher with 200 kids. I mean, we are talking broken crayon chaos, paste eating out of control, kids crapping their pants and people have been on recess for hours. The principal is eating Raisinettes and drinking a Slurpee for lunch. It's ugly. I am one person, I keep reminding myself of this and try and remain calm, but then things like a fax machine with an attitude can just break you.
Since it would seem other departments think I have nothing but time on my hands and because people trying to get a job at my company can't take their lazy asses down to Kinko's or maybe even the local AM/PM to send a fax, they dump this responsibility on me. Anything over like, say, two pages and my fax machine acts like a woman with PMS on the edge of a bridge waving a Ho-Ho in one hand and an empty Midol bottle in the other demanding someone extract her uterus and give her some ice cream (ok, so that was me and it was just one time and it was a long time ago...ok, not really, but it makes for a good story, I think...and it could happen), but I digress. Anyway, aforementioned loser left documents for me to fax, like, probably 15 pages. My fax machine almost crapped its pants. I cussed at it, it jammed, I cleared the jam and then it kept taking two pages at a time. I was borderline hysterical and the intern says, "oh, you are not letting that fax machine break you are you?" She said it in a compassionate way, but I had to admit, she had a point, that machine was breaking me. It was 4:30PM. I had reached my threshold for BS, dare I say, I had surpassed it. The machine did it again. I was almost crying. I eyed the area under my desk and wondered if I could hide under there and consider it a test of the Evacuation Warden to test the area to see if it could fit a hysterical fat girl under there. Who could question my commitment to safety? However, I remained strong and kept at the fax machine. It continued to toy with me. I wrinkled the pages, I threw them down, organized them and tried again. Fail. I started mumbling and did a laugh/cry combo. The intern tried to comfort me, but I was too far gone. The intern sent a secret SOS to one of the managers and said goodnight and slipped out before all hell broke loose. God must have known my next stop was the roof because suddenly the fax went through. There was a calm in the building, a miracle had occurred.
I'm gathering my belongings to go home when one of our managers comes over and asks me about some headsets I'm supposed to be ordering. Now, I don't know anything about these damn headsets and I am supposed to get them ordered ASAP. No one can give me definitive info on them, but I am supposed to order them and get the best price. Why don't I just order some parts for a Boeing 747? Seriously sick of the whole, "we got rid of the person that used to do this....so could you do it?" mentality. But this is my life. I lectured aforementioned manager about what I knew about the damn headsets and that yes, I would order something. I hope when they come they have those styro-foam balls on them on those bendy squiggly spiral wires that people wear for Halloween. That'll teach them.
Finally, I escape the building. I'm driving home and finally get close to home. As I approach Angry Pony's field, I think "that poor bastard had to smell shit all day and I had to deal with it all day, we are cosmically connected." The air still reeked of chicken shit. And then I came to the dead cat. He was just dead this morning, but now his intestines where stretched for quite some distance. I thought about my day, thought about Angry Pony and then I thought....lucky cat.
As luck would have it my day would mirror that of Angry Pony. Nonstop shit all day. When you work in a company that has done a lot of down-sizing, you become like the Lone Ranger, The last of the Mohicans, like a one-legged dog guiding a blind guy through the Iron Man competition, like a kindergarten teacher with 200 kids. I mean, we are talking broken crayon chaos, paste eating out of control, kids crapping their pants and people have been on recess for hours. The principal is eating Raisinettes and drinking a Slurpee for lunch. It's ugly. I am one person, I keep reminding myself of this and try and remain calm, but then things like a fax machine with an attitude can just break you.
Since it would seem other departments think I have nothing but time on my hands and because people trying to get a job at my company can't take their lazy asses down to Kinko's or maybe even the local AM/PM to send a fax, they dump this responsibility on me. Anything over like, say, two pages and my fax machine acts like a woman with PMS on the edge of a bridge waving a Ho-Ho in one hand and an empty Midol bottle in the other demanding someone extract her uterus and give her some ice cream (ok, so that was me and it was just one time and it was a long time ago...ok, not really, but it makes for a good story, I think...and it could happen), but I digress. Anyway, aforementioned loser left documents for me to fax, like, probably 15 pages. My fax machine almost crapped its pants. I cussed at it, it jammed, I cleared the jam and then it kept taking two pages at a time. I was borderline hysterical and the intern says, "oh, you are not letting that fax machine break you are you?" She said it in a compassionate way, but I had to admit, she had a point, that machine was breaking me. It was 4:30PM. I had reached my threshold for BS, dare I say, I had surpassed it. The machine did it again. I was almost crying. I eyed the area under my desk and wondered if I could hide under there and consider it a test of the Evacuation Warden to test the area to see if it could fit a hysterical fat girl under there. Who could question my commitment to safety? However, I remained strong and kept at the fax machine. It continued to toy with me. I wrinkled the pages, I threw them down, organized them and tried again. Fail. I started mumbling and did a laugh/cry combo. The intern tried to comfort me, but I was too far gone. The intern sent a secret SOS to one of the managers and said goodnight and slipped out before all hell broke loose. God must have known my next stop was the roof because suddenly the fax went through. There was a calm in the building, a miracle had occurred.
I'm gathering my belongings to go home when one of our managers comes over and asks me about some headsets I'm supposed to be ordering. Now, I don't know anything about these damn headsets and I am supposed to get them ordered ASAP. No one can give me definitive info on them, but I am supposed to order them and get the best price. Why don't I just order some parts for a Boeing 747? Seriously sick of the whole, "we got rid of the person that used to do this....so could you do it?" mentality. But this is my life. I lectured aforementioned manager about what I knew about the damn headsets and that yes, I would order something. I hope when they come they have those styro-foam balls on them on those bendy squiggly spiral wires that people wear for Halloween. That'll teach them.
Finally, I escape the building. I'm driving home and finally get close to home. As I approach Angry Pony's field, I think "that poor bastard had to smell shit all day and I had to deal with it all day, we are cosmically connected." The air still reeked of chicken shit. And then I came to the dead cat. He was just dead this morning, but now his intestines where stretched for quite some distance. I thought about my day, thought about Angry Pony and then I thought....lucky cat.
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Soul Work: Letter to my body
It's been a while since I have blogged. The downtime has been a time of learning, healing and accepting. Through the Ambassador prog...
