Wednesday, December 21, 2011
My mother walks in the house last night and my father is wandering around turning on all the Christmas lights in the windows. She says he stops and says...
My Dad: The litter box was awful when I came in. Just filled with crap. I had to change it out, just too much.
My Mother: Oh, geeze. Thanks for doing that though!
My Dad: Yea, no biggie. I'm going to turn the rest of these lights on.
So he goes about doing so and then stops in the hallway and looks at her....
My Dad: I've gotta find that bag of crap.
My Mom: What?
My Dad: I cleaned out the cat crap and then I started turning on the lights. I had the bag of crap in my hand, but now I don't know what I did with it. Its got to be in this house somewhere.
My Mom: You lost the bag of cat crap?!?!
My Dad: I sure did. I've gotta find that bag of crap! Do you smell it anywhere?
My Mom: *laughing hysterically at this point* No, I don't smell the crap anywhere.
My Dad: Dadblammit, how did I lose a big gray bag of cat shit?!?!
Needless to say, my father found the bag in one of the bedrooms. He had apparently put it down when turning on the lights in the windows. Ahhh, my father. I love the man!!
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I Can't Whistle.
I've never been able to whistle. Last night in the car CM was just whistling away while we were listening to the Christmas station on the radidio. So I try to whistle, I explain I just can't. So CM provides me instructions that go a little something like this:
CM: You just need to make your mouth like a butthole.
CM: See look, my mouth looks like a butthole. You are trying to push air out your mouth butthole.
Me: Are you saying you can whistle out of your butthole?
CM: No, I WISH!! But if you make your mouth like a butthole I gaurantee you'll be able to whistle.
Me: *blink blink* followed by me SMDH
All those years I've been trying to whistle and all I had to do was make my mouth like a butthole. How could I not have know this great little tid bit??
I Consider Myself a Fairly Good Dancer.
CM is not so much a great dancer. He's the epitome of a white boy. Its almost sad how incapable his body is of moving the rhythm / beat of a song. While doing Dance Dance Central this exchange took place:
CM: How do you do that?
Me: Do what?
CM: Just pick up on those moves like that?
Me: I don't know, it just...I don't know it just happens.
CM: White people don't naturally move like that baby. Its a proven fact. I do think you have some black in your bloodline. Do you think it got mixed in with the Virginia Beach water? Because basically every person I've met from Virginia Beach can dance.
Me: *blink blink* followed by me SMDH
CM: What? Its a valid question!
Apparently white people, ALL white people, cannot dance. "Its a proven fact."
CM Loves to be Naked
Word on the street is that my husband used to cook in the nude. He apparently used to do everything nude. I don't doubt this for a minute because over the past 2 years I have found that he would much rather be naked than anything else. So one night I'm laying in bed while CM is in the shower. I have the covers pulled up and I'm drifting into sleep. CM busts out through the bathroom doors and...
CM: *yelling* Are you naked!?!?!
CM: I am! I'm ready to paaarrrr-taaaay! BALLS FLAPPIN' baby, BALLS FLLLAAAAAPIN'!!!! (yes, yes he was doing what you think he was doing)
Me: *blink blink* followed by me SMDH
Who says that?!?!?!?!
So you see, these are just a few of the instances over the past two weeks in which I've found myself utterly and completely amused by my husband. Fits of laughter usually take over after I'm done shaking my head (or while I'm shaking my head). The man ain't right I tell you, he ain't right!!!!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
I'm surprised by this man who had the world, not just American, wrapped around his pinkie. He was naive, I get that. Maybe we all were. But I really believed he could make some things happen in this nation that no one had ever accomplished before. I was wrong, so was he, but I thought anything was possible in this great nation, b/c that's what I was taught.
Friday, November 11, 2011
So I was listening to the radio on the way to work the other morning. Yes, I still listen to good ole' FM morning radio. I prefer to listen to the same 10 songs in rotation for free as opposed to paying to hear the same 10 songs over and over and over again. I don't know why I prefer the free route, I just do. Crazy right?
At any rate, I was listening to a popular morning radio show and they were discussing grooming for women and men. The started going through a list of "musts" for women and, of course, the show hosts were weighing in on the list of musts. They came upon the always popular topic of women's pubic hair.
I've always been a strong supporter of female grooming. Mostly b/c women don't really need that hair any longer. It was there to protect us from germs and infection prior to the creation of soap and the daily ritual of showering. That being said, goodbye pubes.
In college my suite mates and I decided to get rid of it all. The term "shaved kitten" became a running joke in our suite. But honestly, getting rid of it all is tremendously time consuming and irritating. Literally, irritating. It ain't pretty, its prickly, and ends up not hot at all. instead it looks like you have chicken pox. Foul.
So I stumbled upon the landing strip. Ahhh the landing strip. It leads the guy right into the homeland. I've been sporting it ever since. So while listening to this morning show the female host (who is about 25) says "Oh my God! The landing strip is so 1998. Its all about the pube cube now!" Doooo what? The pube cube? And how dare that bish call out 1998. 1998 was a great year! I graduated from high school and started college in 1998. Back the eff up youngin!
So I, being the inquisitive gal that I am began to google the term pube cube. It originally is from a chick who shaved and dyed her pubes to look like a rubix cube. Originally coined a pubix cube. Emmm no thank you. I'd rather not dye anything down there. I'm already dying my hair on my head (which is a 6 hour process). And its already a lot of work shaving 75% of my entire body, so getting my pubes dyed is last on the list.
However, I'm more than happy to try something new. And I clearly don't want Coal Miner to be out on the prowl for some up to date pubes. So I did it. Emmm its the landing strip, just shorter, like a cube. SMDH.
Friday, November 4, 2011
No, I'm not pregnant, but I always have the best discussions with Coal Miner about our future family. Last night was a prime example.
Coal Miner: Last time I was at his [his best friend] house that fucker [his bf's baby] cried the entire time. He was a pain in the ass.
Me: Umm wasn't he like a month or two old?
CM: Yea, so?
Me: So that's what babies do, they cry.
CM: Why? That's stupid. Do they all cry? Why do they cry? Do you think ours will cry?
Me: Yes, I do think ours will cry.
CM: Fuck that. Why is it going to cry? Kids are pain.
Me: B/c CM, that's how babies tell you when they are hungry, in pain, tired, want attention. Basically crying is how they tell you everything b/c they cant' talk.
CM: I hope our fucker doesn't cry.
Me: Can you please stop calling our unborn, not even created yet, child a fucker?
*without skipping a beat*
CM: OH! Did you know that babies don't drink water? How weird is that?
Me: Yes I did know that. And its not weird, they get all the water they need from milk & formula or breast feeding.
CM: Whaaaa? I get thirsty and I need water. So I think its weird that these babies don't get thirsty either.
Me: They do get thirsty. You give them milk.
CM: That's fucking weird. Why don't you give them water?
Me: B/c you're not supposed to CM. Like I said, if the baby is thirst, you give them milk or formula.
CM: If I was a baby, I'd be pissed. I mean I have like a steak and a potato and I need water to wash it down. Or I work out and I need water b/c I'm thirsty.
Me: Babies don't eat solid food or workout.
CM: Its still weird. I bet babies are really thirsty and need water.
So you all see what I'm dealing with right? And these are dead serious conversations. DEAD SERIOUS. My poor unborn, not even created yet, child. Pray for it. Pray hard.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
At any rate, while we were honeymooning we had some of the best discussions. One of my favorites was about his time as a single guy and how the ladies he met behaved within the first 4 hours of meeting him.
I hear time and time again that ladies in the DC area can't figure out why they can't find a good guy or why they are still single. After listening to Coal Miner's stories (and a new little gem of a story from one of his friends this weekend) it really isn't all that hard to understand. Young women these days are a skank fest. Let's begin with some examples (you KNOW I love providing real life examples).
Coal Miner used to frequent Union Jacks in ARL quite often. Apparently this place has been dubbed "the bar to find whores" (dubbed by me of course) due to the numerous stories I've been told about ladies shamelessly throwing themselves at men.
For instance, Coal Miner informed me that one time, while standing at the bar, minding his own business, a young lady walked up to him and grabbed his junk. She stood there with her hand over his junk, and asked him if he was going to buy her a drink. She then proceeded to rub his junk while she drank her beer and then asked Coal Miner if he was planning to take her home or what. He, of course, could not refuse such an easy offer so he obliged, took the young lady home, did the deed, and left. Wow.
Another story I was told was from this weekend. One of Coal Miner's friends was at Union Jacks (surprise!) and a young lady started chatting it up with him. She was all flirty and rubby McRubberson, dirty dancing, getting wasted, you know the deal. Then she introduced him to her roommate. Her roommate began to get tipsy and rub his friends junk and look over at her roommate and make all "yay" type faces. He was convinced he was getting a menag out of the situation. Closing time - the first girl invites him back to their place. He does the deed with the first girl, while the other girl is in the shower. He then exits the apartment, gets downstairs, and the other girl yells out the window for him to come back upstairs. When he does, she is there, naked, hops on him and starts making out with him, giving him a handy, doing a beejee. Wow.
So ladies, let me just give you a quick tip from the non-whore handbook. If you really do want to find someone to be with, and aren't interested in being a skank, stop acting like a skank. Stop sleeping with guys within the first 4 hours of meeting them. Stop giving them bj's within the first 4 hours of meeting them. For God's sake just stop! You give all of us a bad name. And quite honestly I would have no interest in having a relationship with you if you blew me on the first date or had sex with me on the first date. Stop being a skank and you may just find that guys want you even more. Worked on Coal Miner, and from what I hear, works on most other guys as well. True story, based on facts.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Why is it so hard to mail back an RSVP that was already addressed and stamped for you? I mean I gave you the envelope, with my address printed on it and a stamp. Additionally I gave you a nifty card to check yes or no as to whether or not you'd be attending the festivities. That seems fairly simple to me. If I get one more phone call that says "So and so is coming to the wedding. We just spoke to them on the phone." Ohhh really? You spoke to them on the phone and they confirmed their attendance did they? Could that be because its awkward to be on the phone with someone who is related to you and say "Why actually I don't really feel like driving 5 hours to see your kid get married. I'm really not all that interested."? I think that might be part of it. While you were talking to them did you happen to ask them why they were so busy and couldn't mail back that crazy simple RSVP?
This is me and Coal Miner's wedding. Its not a party. Also, in case you forgot, we're paying for this "party." This better be one great ferkin party b/c its the most expensive party I've ever hosted in my life (and probably will ever host). I mean this "party" is costing us more than the average American makes in one year. Sweet mother of all things holy!!! So stop inviting people we've never heard of, who are twice removed on the third side of the family, and who I haven't seen in 10 years b/c they fail to keep in touch with our family. That's another head count I could really do without paying for, jussayin.
I like my centerpieces. I really don't give a shit that you went to a wedding two weeks ago and they had the most amazing centerpieces. I saw a picture and I thought they were fuktarded. I'm sorry, I did. It ain't my steeze. So, stop bringing it up. And quite frankly it pretty much looks like every other wedding I've been to, and if you haven't notice I haven't exactly been planning/decorating my wedding like every other wedding you've attended. Additionally, I don't have an extra $2,000 to spend on flowers mostly b/c I'm already spending enough on stupid flowers that die the next day. And lastly, I have pretty awesome taste when it comes to decorating (you mention this to me each time you enter my home) so trust me, its going to look good even if you "can't really visualize what it is I am [you are] trying to accomplish."
I don't have the day-of agenda yet. My wedding is 37 days away. I really haven't quite had the chance to sit down and write an agenda for you yet. Don't worry, I will. But at 37 days I'm really trying to focus on getting everything together (meaning decorations and last minute preparation) before I have a nervous breakdown. So if you ask me one more time what time you have to be there, I'm going to kick you in your shins. Let's just plan on reserving those two days. Is that too much to ask?
Please don't be psycho, that's reserved for me as the bride. I thought I was the one who was supposed to go all postal on people during this time. Not anyone else from the family. WTF? Who gave you the green light to get all frak nasty and spew venom on a weekly basis? You chill the eff out, ain't no one here gonna get frak nasty except me. YOU HEAR THAT? Simma down now.
Just buy the shoes. I'm sorry you don't really wear 4 inch heels. Its for like 2 hours and I'm giving you flip flops. Deal with it. Plus you really should start wearing heels. They make your legs look sexy and we are fairly short people so they give us a little edge in the height department. Additionally women who wear big ass heels are also seen as power figures. So really, I'm doing you a favor. (you like that spin I just threw on that? BOOM!)
Word to the wise, should you be planning a wedding anytime soon (and I know a lot of you ladies are), prepare thyself for the family drama. Also, hire a wedding planner and have a destination wedding. Make your life easier and then let me live vicariously through you. Done and done.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
I like to tell stories about my fun times in my previous jobs. One of the places I worked, my first big girl job ever, has THE BEST stories. So I figured "Hey you know what, I'll chronicle them. Yea, that's what I'll do." Then I realized I don't really have that many so I just tell you one today and see if I have any other "fun ones" pop-up in my filing cabinet brain.
When I first got out of school I found a job in a "Management Training Program"...yea I used quotes for that...anyway it was for a major rental car company. You probably know them, they'll pick you up. And that's what I did, I picked people up. I also washed cars, and vacuumed them, and toted folks luggage, and was cursed at, and worked 65+ hours a week. It was pretty awesome. This little gem of a story is about a gentleman I went to pick up in the Falls Church area, which was just a short distance from where my office was located.
It was during the winter months, so it was usually dark by 5pm. We stayed open until 6:30pm (yea I got there at 6:15am...anyway) most evenings and I was asked to go pick up a gentleman in Falls Church around 5:30pm. I went alone, as we always did, and navigated my way to his condo. Back then I didn't have a smart phone. We were using Nextels to communicate with the office. Most of the time we went out of range though and so my chirps would always go unanswered. I hopped into the Buick LaSabre we hoped to rent him (even though he reserved a $19 car, I was supposed to upgrade him). When I arrived at his condo, I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. So I stood there for a few seconds, waited to see if I could heard anything, and knocked again, louder this time. I heard shuffling inside so I knew someone was in there. I announced myself "The Devil's Rental Car Company, I'm here to pick you up sir!" *said all joyfully and like a teeny bopper* More shuffling...then the knob moved, and the door cracked open. One eye stared directly at me. I smiled.
Me: Devil's Rental Car Company. Are you Mr. X?
Mr. X: Mmmhmmm one sec *door slam*
Me: *blink blink* *start turning around to go back to car*
I hear the door start to open so I whip around on my heels. Mr. X proceeds to shimmy his way out of the doorway without opening the door more than 7 inches tops. I have no idea how his body fit through the door. But it was completely obvious he did not want me to see inside his condo. I'm watching this spectacle with his back turned to me. He's holding a carry-on sized suitcase, trying to pull that through the small opening. Comedy. I'm just smiling. I can't wait to see how this all plays out. He literally forces the luggage out of the door and flies around with it swinging in the air, missing a slice to my leg by mere centimeters. I jump back. Then I look at him. Oh. My. God. His face is covered in goo. I'm just staring at him. There is Vaseline all over this guy's face. I stop staring, b/c its rude right? And what if he's been burned or, I don't know, I just didn't want to stare anymore. He's obviously self conscious about it, that's why he just peeked through the door and had his back to me the entire time. I decide to just escort him to the car...lets get back to the office and get this show on the road.
So I get to the car, hit the unlock button for the doors. He opens the back door and throws his luggage in. Shuts the door. And gets in the front seat. Soooo, this is a little strange. I mean most of the time the folks I picked up would ride in the back b/c they thought I was a taxi driver. But that's cool, maybe he doesn't want to be rude. So I get behind the wheel, start the car, he gets in, and scoots all the way over, on the LaSabre's bench seat, to sit right next to me. Thigh to thigh. *awwwwkwarrrrrd* I turn and smile at him.
Me: *very politely* Sir, you think you could scooch over a smidge? *smile widely*
Mr. X: *big toothy grin* Nope!
He then shoves his face about 2 inches from mine and says: Yummm you smell nice!
Me: Thank you, that's very nice of you. If you could just scoot over a smidge, I'll go ahead and get us back to the office.
Mr. X: *still in my face with his Vaseline almost touching the tip of my nose* You...you...are just a fine young little girl ain'tcha?
I start the car, I put in reverse, and I begin the worst 5 conscious miles of my life, to date. This man will not scoot over. He's in my face. I'm driving, facing forward, and he's breathing in my ear. He's laughing. Like crazy serial killer laughing. We get to a stop sign. I ask him politely one more time to "Please remove yourself from the driver's side of the vehicle. It is unsafe for you to be without a seat belt on, and this close to me while I'm driving. Please move to the passenger side immediately or I'm going to stop the car." He sniffs me, in my ear. I chirp the office. They aren't answering. I chirp incessantly. They won't answer. I say, out loud, in my chirp "I have a situation with my pickup. I NEED you to handle this, before I do." Silence. He laughs again.
*Please note my panic has now turned into rage* We are now driving down 123. This is a busy road, its rush hour, and I feel safer b/c if anything were to happen I'd be surrounded by 5,000 of my closest NoVa commuters and he would never get away with chopping me up and throwing me into the Potomac. We get to a red light and I can see his hand about to reach out for me leg. I lose it.
Me: Don't you dare. Don't you even think about it. Get the FCK away from me. Scoot over right now or I swear to God I'm going to call the police and then I'm going to rip your jugular out.
Mister X: *Smiling* Feisty. (whispers) I like that. I'll move over since I'm making you uncomfortable. Do I make you uncomfortable *My Name*? *Sliding to the passenger side*
We drive another mile. My heart rate slows a bit. The blood in veins is starting to recede below the boiling point. I don't answer him. It is completely silent except for his heavy breathing. I just stare straight forward. But my mind races - I'm going to die. I am going to be killed in this car. He is going to get out a knife/gun. Why did I just say that to him? Holy shit I'm going to die in this stupid Buick LeSabre. I hate this job. I hate him. I'm too young to die. Why me?
As we get closer to the Devil's Rental Car Company office, I start to feel a little better. Perhaps he's going to let me live to see another day. He's a serial killer, I know it. We pull into the drive and he starts to reach for my arm as I put the car in park. I fling open the door and almost hit the cement trying to get out of that car. I ran inside, told them he was a psycho and I was going to the back, they could deal with him.
I sat at my desk, unable to cry, hiding from him. I could hear him at the front desk. He came in laughing. That cackle. He slammed his hands on the desk and said "Where is she? Where is that beauty? I want to eat her for dinner." And made this sucking sounds with his teeth. I just hid....put my face on my desk. If I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me. Or at least what I told myself.
We still rented him a car. A Ford Escort. When he returned it, he asked for me. He asked the guy at the front desk if I had mentioned him, talked about him. He told him I probably thought of him sexually. I was, fortunately, out on another pickup. The seats were covered in Vaseline. Front and back. We charged his credit car for the cleanup fee. He sent a note back with the invoice and it said "I thoroughly enjoyed this rental and I apologize for the mess. I just hope one day that nice young lady *my name* can join me for a fun weekend in one of your rental cars. Signed, Mr. X" Psycho.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
6. If you are strictly interested in doing your job, forget it. You are expected to do a lot more than your job like say for instance other people's jobs as well. B/c lets be real most people are skating by and its working for everyone except you.
5. Do you like going on vacation or taking days off? Well then corporate America ain't for you my friend. If you're lucky you'll get about 3 weeks off a year. And if you're even luckier, your job will actually let you take those three weeks without making you feel like a total asshole for doing so.
4. One word, politics. If you thought this only existed in American government you are highly mistaken my friend. Corporate America's politics are BRU-TAL. The Good Ole Boys only let a few people in a year. Good luck with that if you have a vag.
3. The IT helpdesk is less than helpful. Same story every place you go "Our IT department is the worst!" Most of the "IT" people know nothing about actual networking or PC configurations, they are more focused on gate keeping. They make sure you don't visit any sites you aren't supposed to, change your password every 6 weeks, and god for bid you access personal email on company time (THIS SITE IS BLOCKED!!!). What do you mean your Outlook is auto-archiving? What do you mean you keep getting a blue screen? That's not their problem, I'm sure you could Google it and find the answer quicker than they could, so give it a whirl.
2. Reactive instead of proactive is the name of the game. Look forward? Plan for the future? Be ahead of the curve. Where do you think you're working, Google??? Get a hold of yourself!
DRUM ROLL PLEASE.....
1. Cube farms are really torture chambers. I'd love to meet that guy who introduced corporate America to the cube farm and kick him in his chode. I mean where else could you be 10 inches from the person you despise most in the world? You can hear their every move (including farting), conversations (especially on speakerphone), and I'm fairly certain you'll know all about their cat "Mister Furrybutt" by the end of your first day.
Yes I did only do seven reasons, and yes I am aware that's pathetic, and yes I know that its a little unorthodox, and yes I know that I'm not funny today. I'm having a hard time coming back from vacay. Do you have three more that are better or apply across the board? Yea, send 'em my way, would love to take a looksie.
Truth be told, being a clean/neat freak is not something that I learned from my parents. In preparation for family visiting and staying with my parents over the summer months, I put a plan into action for my their house. I wanted to help my parents fit all of their children and their children's children in a four-bedroom house for a fun-filled family visit. Its quite simple you see. You put a queen bed in one of the rooms, a queen sleeper sofa in the office, you make an office, and place bunk beds or two twin beds in the third room. Easy peasy. Right? DEAD WRONG SMART ASS.
So Coal Miner and I decide to make a visit to the 757 to assist my mother and father with this apparently extremely daunting and tiring task (my mother's exact words). I wanted to start out slow. Ease my parents into my purging. By now you probably know that I don't keep things very long. If I haven't worn it in about 9 months its going to Goodwill. I don't care how much it costs, if its ugly, its ugly and a fact is a fact. Goodwill bound. Just because a celebrity wore it or a rich person gave it to you, doesn't make it okay to keep b/c well, it sucks. Goodwill bound. Yea it didn't work out as planned. Each item I picked up to put in our various Goodwill bags was a battle. I received responses like: "Someone might want that.", "I paid a lot of money for that.", "That's really nice! I might use that one day.", "I fit in that a few years back, I'll fit into it again.", "I don't have any clothes in these 5 closets, you can't give those away!" "Mom mother paid a lot of money for that and gave it to me. Now, I don't use it, but that doesn't matter, put it back." The battle itself was so exhausting that I wanted nothing more than to do manual labor for 12 hours straight. Seriously, I would have paid to switch places with the Mexicans waiting for the paint trucks to pick them up at 7-11 on Little River Turnpike. How sad is that? Coal Miner started punching the air in the living room (true story based on fact).
In two hours I filled 7 bags with clothing. Yep you read that right. And that was only the start.
I love my parents, but I'm convinced after this little visit that they might be on the brink of hoarding. I'm going to try and convince my sisters to call A&E with me and stage an intervention. It will be like Intervention and Hoarders combined. If you don't' know what I'm talking about you need to do yourself a favor and watch these two shows on A&E. Intervention for one makes me feel really good about myself b/c I'm really glad I'm not a crack head, its so unbecoming (side note: my parents aren't crack heads either, but it would be a hoarding intervention b/c I'm fairly certain my mother is addicted to shopping). It also saddens me deeply b/c its a vicious cycle that really is difficult to break and most often just ends with (SPOILER ALERT FOR ALL SHOWS) a relapse. Hoarders, well...*sighing right now*. How people can be so mentally unstable to live in the conditions they do is beyond me. I mean I want to shake the shit out of them, but they wouldn't even care b/c most of them actually shit on their own floors (or in bags). Its foul, but its eye opening. Do it, go watch them. Do it now, I'm waiting. You can watch them online. Really, you can thank me later.
I've gone off topic haven't I? I have a tendency to do that, did you notice? I went down for the July 4th holiday and I have to say I actually didn't feel as crammed like sardines as I usually do. I don't know if its b/c Coal Miner and I slept in twin beds (I still laugh at this regularly) and had a lot of room for our stuff in my old bedroom, or if it was because I was just so happy to be home, with my family, having a blast. But it was roomier, none the less. It really isn't as bad as I make it sound, but if you are a neat freak like me, entering the front doors is like a panic attack waiting to happen. At any rate my mother would be mortified if she found out that I was blogging about this, so do me a favor and keep it to yourself interwebs.
Monday, June 20, 2011
I don't want to get to get older. I don't want gray hair. I don't want sagging skin. I don't want to be old. I was at CVS on Thursday and an elderly man was picking up his prescriptions. He could barely walk, was hunched over, had a brown bag filled with multiple prescriptions, he looked miserable. I don't want that for myself or for anyone I love. Getting older sucks. And here I am wishing all of my days away and getting older each time I wish one of them gone.
Do you wish your days away? I think most people are guilty of that. I realize when people tell me "You two have a whole lifetime together" that we do, but what if we don't? What if its all taken from me and I didn't do my damnedest to make sure I reveled in every moment of it? I wonder if maybe I chose a path for myself that I can't escape. The money, the cars, the house, the nice things. While I say I'd be happier with a simpler life, would I? Or would I long for all these "things" once I gave them up?
I know I'm young enough that I can stop at any moment. I can say feck it and move where ever I want. Yes, there are going to be consequences, some that aren't going to be pleasant, but that option is always there. Am I afraid of doing that? Am I afraid of not having these things?
All I know is I can't wish my days away any longer. And I want you to be sure you don't either.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
I went back in my mind to my first job out of college. I worked for a major rental car company who promised me the world. I was working 14 hour days, in the rain, sleet or snow (my hair actually froze on several occasions), for $10/hour, in DC. I was cleaning cars, risking my life driving around in the snow, being verbally abused by customers, all while my female boss stood by and said "I need more from you Megan. More hours, more smiles, more sales. Just, MORE!" She offered me no assistance on how to fulfill these goals she had set for me and when I told her that I wasn't happy and was thinking about finding another job, she laughed. She told me most women weren't cut off for this line of work. But she was, she was making it, and I, well I was just another "girl who can't handle the pressure." She set the tone for the next decade of my life.
Since then I've had over 6 female bosses, with only one of them devoting the time and effort towards mentoring me. I still keep in touch with her, mostly b/c I would give anything to work for her again. She was calm, courageous, outspoken, and smart. Above all, she was genuinely interested in allowing me to flourish in my career.
I've had two male bosses in the past 3 years, they both got me promoted (two promotions, two different bosses). I don't even think I need to say anything more. Why ladies? Why? Do we do it to ourselves? I think so. We are the demise of our own gender. That glass ceiling is still there and if you think it isn't, you are highly mistaken. Each day I watch the good ole boys walk down these hallways. They still run shit. They will continue to run shit. Unless we band together. Why don't you want to see your fellow ladies kick ass and take names? I envision a woman running this great nation. Displaying grace, instilling values, extending the olive branch, all while decreasing our debt, keeping social security alive, and creating balance. We do this at home everyday, why can't we do it for the country as well?
I know I may seem like I'm on a "WOMAN POWER" rant right now. That's not the intention. I want you to really take a look, as a female, at the women around you. Are you ensuring that we all get to the top. If you go, will you take them with you? Are you still stabbing women in the back, years after you've left your childhood behind? Do you realize how powerful women really are, and could continue to be? I have so many girlfriends who are killing it at work right now. I want nothing more than to see you have it all. You'll get there, I'm certain of it. Just promise me when you do, you'll another female that opportunity. Promise me you'll go out of your way to enrich the career of another female. How could you not? We owe it to ourselves ladies. We are the only way.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Here's to Happy Journaling - wish me luck.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
CM and I set out to plan our bachelor/ette parties a few months ago. My MOHs are planning mine, and CM's brother is planning his (God help us all, this kid thinks money grows on trees since he doesn't have to make his own). I like to think of myself as a thoughtful person (most of the time). I was really concerned with the expense of my bachelorette party (as was CM). My MOHs wanted to go to Miami, the Keys, or NYC. But once we started adding all of that up, it just seemed like it was a bit excessive to ask my friends and family to spend $900+ on my bachelorette weekend. Never mind the fact that they would also have to take off work. So if you start adding the expense for my bachelorette party, bridal showers, and the wedding itself (dress, shoes, hotel, hair/makeup), it's a little much. So I went the inexpensive yet fun route. You can't go wrong with going to the beach can you?
But recently I've started hearing all of these newly engaged folks talking about their bachelor/ette parties and it’s pretty amusing. Vegas. Paris. Italy. Really? A $1k/night suite for 4 nights? A table at Tao? Take a week off of work? They have to pay for your room? Maybe part of your airfare? Really? I'm sorry I think you may have confused yourself with Kim Kardashian. Baby girl you ain't got her butt and you sure as shit aren't starring in homemade porn with Ray J, so maybe you should layoff the baller mentality and snap back into reality. Perhaps be a little less selfish and start being a little more selfless. Think about the big picture and the costs that your wedding party is incurring. Because when it comes time for one of your friends to get married I bet you aren't going to be so excited about using your limited vacay and hard earned cash to go on some last minute getaway to celebrate the fact that someone is mourning their last days being single. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of marriage anyway? Who the eff is sad about getting married? You definitely shouldn't be getting married if that's the case. And if you want to go on vacation with your girlfriends, plan a little girls trip. Don't use your wedding as an excuse to get people to pay for your vacation. You just look like cheap ass with a princess complex to me.
I know people are going to say I'm jealous. I'm not jealous. I've got the funds. I've got the vacation. I just don't have the balls to be that selfish. I'm convinced that my friends/family will thank me for that little gem when it’s all said and done.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Listen (this is mostly for Coal Miner), I know they clog our mailbox. I realize there are about 50+ of them lying around the house right now. But they are my guilty pleasure. Even the mailman knows I need them. I love looking through them, finding new cool stuff. I sure as shit love ordering from them. Honestly look at all of the cute clothes I get from Victoria's Secret, you cannot deny me that, can you? I'm like a giddy little school girl when I see the packages at the front door. Its soooo exciting. And I find all these cool home decor things that no one would have ever thought of, right? Think of our curtains, where did I find those? Not in a store, nope I couldn't find them for months. Until one day, that sweet sweet Z Gallerie catalog arrived. 6 months I waited to find the perfect curtains, and there they were!! So yea, I love them. I mean I really love my catalogs. My heart beats a little faster when I see the mailbox stuffed to the brim with them. Yea yea I get it, sometimes its hard to get the mailbox open with the key because the catalogs are blocking the lock. But that's the price you have to pay for finding delightful treasures in catalogs. How could anyone deny me that pleasure? HOW?
So that's that. I'm not giving them up. I love them. They love me. The mailman stays gainfully employed. I stay happy. I contribute to the economy. Really, this is a win-win situation for everyone don't you think? I love you catalogs. You are my fave.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
See at my small college if you weren't in a sorority or fraternity, you weren't getting into parties (unless someone like me snuck you in), you probably weren't going to have a ton of friends (so not true), you probably weren't cool (again, not true you were probably cooler), and you definitely had like an 11th toe or a third eye and some sort of fungal growth. This was the general consensus from the Greeks regarding individuals who decided to go the non-greek route. I didn't believe this to be true and actually a times envied my friends who decided the whole sorority thing wasn't their cup o' tea. Don't get me wrong, I love my sorority. I love my sorority sisters. Hands down, those were some of the best days of my life. I still keep in touch with a ton of them and wish we could head to the Dhall together for dinner on Wednesday nights. Great girls, who taught me wonderful lessons, and have turned into amazing women. I love them. Always will. Hands. Down.
But (you knew this was coming) there are some ladies who are in my sorority and other sororities that are total wacky bejackys. These chicks put that movie "Mean Girls" to shame. They actually STILL put that movie to shame. They talk smiggty smack on Facebook about girls in our own sorority and in other sororities, they still get caught up in who is talking to who (and *gasp* How could they? They are in a different sorority! The horror!!), they apparently have a problem with me associating myself with members of other sororities (*gasp* THE HORROR!), and they have gab sessions with their friends often about these little mishaps. UNBELIEVABLE.
Seriously ladies? Really? Because last time I checked, we were in our 30s. I ain't got no kinda time outside of my rockin' ass job, wedding planning, and amazing life to care what sorority someone was in while they were in college, 10 years ago. And if you do...*shaking my head trying to think of something not turrible to say*...well bless your heart. Do you need a hobby? Maybe you could start knitting, and then poke your own eye out. Or maybe you could start running, and hit a pot hole. Or maybe you could pick up, I'm really out of ideas. I don't know. FIND SOMETHING. Maybe you just need Jesus in your life. That might actually be the solution. Because Jesus doesn't take kindly to people getting pissed off at other people hanging out with other people in different sororities. Did that sentence even make any sense? I don't care, it made sense when I typed it and its staying so get over it you grammar freaks (as I cringe and try desperately to stop my hands from rewording the sentence). At any rate, the jig is up. Yes, it was cool in 1998. Yes, its a life long commitment. Yes, I love my pledge sisters. Yes, I love my sorority sisters. Yes, I'm proud I was in a sorority. Yes, its opened doors for me. No, I don't care that you were in a different sorority. No, I don't think differently of you b/c you chose to take a different route than I did. No, I don't care that my kid will most likely wear bunnies, ladybugs, alligators, and every color in the rainbow. I'm too old for that shit and, newsflash, so are you!
Big ups to my ladybug inspiration for this post.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Recently I've noticed when I speak to people on the days I'm working from home, or just in passing when I mention working from home, they get very snarky. They make comments like "oh that must be nice" or "wow someone owed you a favor huh?" Yeaaa, about that. Listen, I know working from home probably sounds like some sort of spa treatment. Like I get to sit on my couch, in my PJs, watching Oprah, meanwhile acting like I'm working. Does that accurately describe what you were thinking? Well I don't know about you, but I've never had a relaxing day where you begin working at 7:30am, are on conference calls until 3:30, shower at 4pm, and then finish up your day at 7/8pm. Have you been to a spa like that recently? Sounds dreamy huh? Yea I didn't think so.
Realize there are two types of people in this world. Personality A (not to be confused with Type A) = The ones who you would never entrust with working from home. They are incapable of not turning on the television. They run errands while on conference calls instead of actively listening. Their kids are constantly in the background having conversations with them while they "attend" your meeting via phone. They sign on at 9am, and sign off at 4:30pm, meanwhile being "idle" on IM most of the day. Seems like I have experience with these types of people huh? Personality B = The machines. They sign-on early morning and work straight through the day. They usually pull 12+ hour days and feel bad even venturing to their kitchen to grab a drink, let alone some food for lunch. They forward their desk phone to their personal line and always answer, until 6 or 7 pm. Without interruptions they can produce more work than one single human should during a workday. As if you didn't already gather, I am Personality B.
This means, unlike Personality A, I'm not having a grand old time sitting at home, doing some laundry, fixing dinner, cleaning up the house, going out for a run. I'm working. Probably working harder than I do at work. I'm still working when Coal Miner walks in the front door. My phone rings until 6/7 at night. I still answer "Paycheck Place, this is Me". And then when that stops ringing, my blackberry starts.
So next time you think to yourself "Oh THAT must be nice" when someone mentions working at home, think about me. And realize going to work is probably a lot easier and the toilets have auto-flush.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I convinced Coal Miner to do the Slow-Carb Diet with me beginning the day we got back from vacay. Now let me just tell you that we went to an all-inclusive resort, including alcohol, so we ate enough for a small African nation while we were there. Funny enough though I lost 2kg (yea the scale was only in kgs, so bite me) while on vacation. How does one do that? I'll tell you how. They wake up the day after drinking themselves to oblivion and blacking out, and proceed to crap continuously for like 4 hours. TMI? Whatevs, deal with it. Jezus, why can't I stay on track?!?!?!
Okay so we started the Slow-Carb Diet on Tuesday. Its now Thursday. I want a Cinnabon topped with a slice of cheese pizza so bad I could punch someone. I mean what is that? I don't even eat Cinnabon or pizza! Well no that's a lie, I mean I eat them on occasion. But its not like I eat them all of the time!!! Anyway, I was fine yesterday. I mean I was bold enough to even Tweet about it and be like this ain't hard, I'm a rockstar. True story, which can be seen via my Twitter. But today, I have no idea what happened. Why on Day 3 would I all of the sudden start gnawing my back fat for possible slivers of delicious Cinnabon gooey'ness?
At any rate, I'm sticking with this b/c well its Lent and I'm Southern Baptist and that's what SoBaps do dammint. Kidding, has nothing to do with Lent and has everything to do with trying to lose my mid section. I think you should pray for me. You should also pray for Coal Miner. Each day we continue eating healthier he talks to me about how he will be like one of those kids on the infomercials that needs money sent to them b/c they can't afford rice, if he continues down this path. He's melodramatic and its one of the main reasons I love him (and we get along so well). OH and when I have my binge day on Saturday, I plan to share each and every single thing I eat with you. Its going to be like hitting the crack pipe for the first time and I'm giddy with excitement. Saturday, hurry up betch.
Monday, February 21, 2011
While waiting in line to order my deliciously over priced $15 salad (there were 2 people in front of me, 4 behind me, and 2 at the cash register) in walks a woman dressed as if its 35 degrees outside. Its 70 degrees outside and she has on snow boots, a North Face jacket, complete with fur trimmed hood, and a scarf. Captain snowstorm walks straight up to the cash register, cutting in front of everyone, and proceeds to order (right after the guy at the register finishes).
Guy in Front of Me: *turns around and looks at me* Unbelievable right?
Guy Behind Me: Are you going to say something?
Guy in Front of Me: Yea, are you going to say anything?
Me: Who me? Why me?
Guy Behind Me: I can't believe this shit.
Guy in Front of Me: Yea you should say something.
Me:Umm dude who cares? We're going to get our food, I'm certain of that.
Lady two behind guy behind me: Did she cut everyone? Oh my god, how rude!
Me: You guys, it isn't that serious. *laughing*
Everyone: *glaring at me*
*I get to the counter, smile at the woman (who is still waiting for her order), and proceed to order*
Woman at the counter: Did I cut in front of you guys?
Me: Yea, no biggie *smile*
Woman at the counter: Whatever. I don't really care that I cut in front of you. I was just ordering coffee and I'm sure you were ordering a hell of a lot more than that. Am I right?
Me: Alrighty then. Like I said, its really not a big deal. *smile*
Woman at the counter: Well aren't we miss chipper today?
Me: *smiling* Why yes I am! Have a wonderful day and enjoy that coffee ya hear. *smile even bigger*
Woman at the counter: Bitch.
Ohhh Captain Snowstorm, youz a crazy baish. Imma go find a table and act like this never even happened.
*Sitting at my table, enjoying my million dollar salad*
Arabic Woman: Excuse me miss. Are you dining alone?
Arabic Woman: Oh great! Would you mind moving to that table over there in the shade so my husband and I can sit in the sun?
Me: *chuckling* Seriously?
Arabic Woman: Well, yes. I mean you are dining alone, what does it matter?
Me: *laughing* Yea I'm not moving, sorry.
Arabic Woman: You really aren't going to move for us?
Me: Nope, sorry.
Arabic Woman: *something in Farsi to her husband* *then under her breath but loud enough for me to hear* Not sure why she is being such a mean woman. Guess its because she's eating by herself. I would be pissed off too. Poor lonely woman.
Me: *smiling* Enjoy your lunch!
Did that bitch seriously just tell me that b/c I was dining alone at lunch I didn't have the same right to eat in the sun as she and her husband? Seriously lady? Seriously? Thanks be to God I have an awesome sense of humor. I literally thought that I might be on an episode of Punk'd or that other show where they test you for 15 minutes to see if you'll explode and then when you don't they give you $100. Sadly, that was not the case. However I sat there and realized I was pretty rad for still smiling, keeping a positive attitude and for not punching those women in their cooters.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Anyway, that isn't the point of this post. The point of this post is that I can almost relate to these people. No I have never smoked crack, nor have I been addicted to anything, besides my Gucci bag, so calm down peeps. I just find that like 90% of the people who are completely eff'd in the head have been abused as children. Did you notice that as well? Believe me I realize that children who have been abused are traditionally not going to make it very far in life. Its a fact people, read a sociology book. Back to the point Megan, back to the point, FOCUS.
Okay so if you didn't know, and most people do, when I was in middle school my friend's father exposed himself to me. I should have known it was coming. He would always make inappropriate comments about my shorts, graze his hand on my butt, rub my thigh, just an uncomfortable situation all around. I thought I was imagining it until another friend of mine mentioned she thought he was creepy. I agreed with her, but we didn't talk much about it. One night I was over there with a group of my girlfriends (I thought I was safe in numbers, boy was I wrong) and he started drinking. He allowed us to drink a little and then he started in with his weird comments about my short shorts and nice legs. I went to use the restroom (hall bathroom) and he had just gotten out of the shower (I heard the water stop). He called me into his room. I told him I would wait in the hallway and asked him if he needed something or needed me to get him something. He told me that he just wanted to show me something special. I told him I was more than happy hanging out in the hallway and he could show me later. I could hear his voice getting closer so I started down the hallway. He called my name out from his bedroom door. I was halfway down the hallway and I turned around. BAM there he was, opening his robe and showing me his wang. Seriously dude? Seriously? I'm 12. I whip my body around, scurry into the kitchen with everyone else, and then beg my friends to call their mom to come and pick us up. She does call her, she's coming, I'm safe. I thought. I tell my girlfriends on the way home what happened. They can't believe it until one of them says "he did it to me too." I thought she was kidding, she wasn't. So then the parents found out. I was interviewed in Middle School by social services and the Virginia Beach police department. They asked me if he was hard. I didn't even know what that meant. I had no idea if he was excited or not. Let me remind everyone, I'm 12, I've never even kissed anyone before.
Anyway, the point is, this was seriously traumatic for me. I blocked it out of my memory for years. I went to court, he was let go (and later arrested and put in jail for extortion...ahhh karma is a bitch isn't it?), I was damaged. Damaged for a very very long time. I ruined this girl's life. I ruined her family. It was my fault, I could have prevented it. I should have stopped going over there. I shouldn't have told anyone. I created a huge mess. Why me? Why then?
So, I had sex too young. I drank too young. I smoked weed too young. I was on a war path and no one could stop me. Not my parents, not my friends, not anyone. I wasn't bad. If you ask my friends I was just like all of them. I just wasn't me. I look back now and think I wouldn't have been as "bad" if that hadn't happened. Maybe I'm looking for an excuse for my behavior. But I really think things, think I would have been different.
So you can see why maybe I relate. I didn't turn to a life of drugs or tricking myself out. But I did blame myself. Even though I finally realized, much later in life, it wasn't my fault. He was creep. He was pedophile. And if given the opportunity he would have tried to hurt me. I was a child. How can you do that to a 12 year old girl? What a fucker. However I realize it could have been A LOT worse. I thank God for giving me enough sense to haul ass down that hallway and never look back. But I can't knock these people for their addictions if they have a demon from much earlier in life. You don't admit it until much later. You never talk to anyone about it until its too late. And believe me, no one believes you at the time. So if they are looking for something to mask those memories, who am I to judge?
People say it all the time, but I believe it to be true - be careful when you judge, you never know what someone else is going through. Keep that in mind folks. Keep that in mind.
As a side note - Coal Miner just said to me "Man...I'm glad you're over that and not afraid of my wang. That would suck." He's so dreamy isn't he?!?! *laughing*
Monday, January 24, 2011
Coal Miner and I went snowboarding this weekend in Canaan. We drove through a snowstorm to get there at 2:00am. That was super fabulous and we drove through some seriously creepy WV towns, which always makes me giddy. We slept in a double-bed together, we spent all days on the slopes, it was snowing, it was lovely. We spent time with his parents, one-on-one, we ate, we drank, we laughed, we seriously enjoyed each others' company. But during the long weekend I had some serious conversations internally, as well as with Coal Miner and his family. And now the background on the serious discussions. On Friday morning my blackberry started ringing, at 7:50am. It continued throughout the day. Mind you, I didn't answer the phone, and I only read 50 emails, at 9am, and then didn't pick it up again. I had an out of office on, and I also sent an email out prior to my departure on Thursday evening that I would not be in the office on Friday. I provided individuals to contact in case of emergency and let everyone know I would be back on Monday.
Before I left on Thursday my director said to me, and I quote "You can't leave! What are we supposed to do? Do you think everything will be okay? I can't believe I accepted your vacation request!!" Those exclamation points are not an exaggeration. I laughed, b/c that's funny right? The sad thing is, she was serious. The voice mail from Friday morning said, and I quote "I saw that you were out of office. But I'm going to need you to call me asap and handle my questions I've posed in the email I sent you." The next one, from later in the morning said "I saw you were out of office, but I thought you could give me a call and we could discuss the communication plan in more detail before close of business today." There are more emails/phone calls stating the same type of "urgent, urgent, stop what you are doing" message.
After I read my 50 emails I was in a terrible mood. As usual, the content of those emails caused my blood to boil. Coal Miner noticed my mood. He was frustrated with both me and with the fact that the paycheck place can't seem to operate efficiently unless I'm involved. I was almost afraid he was going to storm out if I answered the phone or I looked at my phone one more time that morning.
At dinner I told Coal Miner's dad about the incident. He sat perplexed and pondered my situation. He's such a knowledgeable and accomplished man whom I respect and look to for guidance on my career. He told me that as President of his company he expects people to call him and for him to be accountable. But for me, he doesn't quite get it. I don't either. I'm not the CEO, hell I'm not even a Director. Its a great problem to have, I know that and perhaps I shouldn't complain. I know everyone is probably sick of reading these posts, and sick of hearing about my job and all of the annoyance that is part of my daily life. So you'll be happy to read my next sentence. I made a decision that if everything works out the way I'm hoping, I'm cutting myself lose from the paycheck place.
Its not going to get any better. There is never a good time to leave your job. I'm always going to be giving up some form of compensation no matter when I leave. So why not seize the opportunity in front of you. Find a new niche. Get in a new company. Find your inner piece. I decided since I wasn't the CEO of the Paycheck Place and couldn't solve any of their problems, I would be the CEO of Me. And with that new distinction I'm making my first big decision...I'm leaving.