My good friend Daniel gave me some rather bad news: He turned in his 2 week notice to Banana Republic.
I'm happy that he has decided to go back to school; even though we'll see how long that lasts. I'm happy that he has finally given up being GAP, Inc's whore. Buuuuuut, I'm shallow enough to say, I'm going to miss that discount. And the family appreciation days. And the preview of season roll-outs. And the down low know before the public does sales.
I'm going to miss the Banana. To tell the truth, some of that shit is way too expensive. $88 pants that I can get at GAP for $54. Uhm hmm. $198 gold strap shoes that I can get for...hold up, I did buy those--but with the discount, you see, it all made sense. I can't walk in there now and pay, what..retail? Oh, Hell, No. I'll have to wait for sales and with that comes the full knowledge that it may not be available in my size by that time.
With his retirement, comes the end of an era, for me and him. He was the last person I knew working at a clothing retail shop and in one of the GAP stores. Yes, I'm cheap. Yes, his discount spanned all three of those stores: Old Navy, GAP, and Banana. I'm going to miss it. A lot. He warned me to put my credit to the medal and get all that I want now. Do you know what kind of pressure that is?
It's like when you go to the mall and you have no money: everything you see, you want. When you go with $500 to blow; nothing attracts you and you end up remorsefully buying a $100 polka dotted silk poncho because it looked good on the Guess mannequin. I'm just saying.
I went into a Banana last night. Ugh--annoying; it looks like the same items they offered last summer, just another color. GAP--what the heck is wrong with you? There, they have nothing but tons of stuff on sale that's been in the store for months (lucky for you, maybe) that I already bought, oh and some ridiculously pink dotted blazer. I didn't bother with Old Navy, since I think it mirrors whatever GAP is shelling out at the time, only cheaper.
So, I'm stuck in the sea of discounts without a lifesaver, treading water for two weeks. Dead Woman Shopping.
Thursday, June 30
Wednesday, June 29
Issues? What, issues?
Father's Day past usually is just Mother's Day: Part Two, for me. I have a dad and no I wasn't just raised by my mother. My dad has been AWOL until recently.
My parents divorced when I was 21 years old. I was old enough to understand and didn't think it would affect me as it has. With fresh ink on the divorce papers, my father decided to leave town. He moved to West Palm Beach. I was okay with that, he was a grown man and could live anywhere he wanted. Plus, I was at UT-Austin; I didn't live with my parents; so it was just geography. But, to him that move meant forgetting that he had kids, ever. Oh, yeah. He was living the bachelor version of "Sleeping with the Enemy".
To me (and my brother) we never heard of him, it was like he dropped of the face of the Earth. No phone calls once he got there, no postcard, nothing.
A few months went by and I moved back to San Antonio and started working for USAA--an insurance company. Would you believe, that a year after his disappearance guess what MIA father's policy landed in my lap? Uh-huh. I so looked it over, wrote down his address and phone number. I went home and showed my mom. She was more calm than me about it. We let it go.
Then one day, my mom called me and said she had some news about my dad. Held my breath and told her to just tell me. "Your dad is married. I found out from one of his friends"
What the...? So, he is married. Then she goes on to say, how there may be a child, too. Oh, gosh. Let's recap here: my dad has decided to leave and never look back, then he gets married and has a kid on the DL. Is that dramatic enough for you?
Being the instigator I am; I decided to have fun with this mess. I got his number and called him. Oh, yeah. I'd pay to be a fly on that wall that day. He acted normal as could be. Shocked, I couldn't tell but he was acting like we had just spoken to each other that yesterday. Then I started calling on a regular basis to lead up to my Spring Break plan. What-ha-ha-ha.
A few weeks prior to Spring Break, I called. I lied and told my father that I was going to be in his part of Florida for the week. Hee. I asked if he would like to get together one night, in hindsight I should have plain out asked to stay with him a night--ooh, that would've been good. He freaked out. Seriously, freaked out wanting to know why would I want to go to Florida for Spring Break, then gave me this lecture (like he was a Dad) about how he hears of all the young girls that get into trouble in Florida during Spring Break.
Uhm...hmm. Yeah...right.
I let it go. Case: solved.
For my graduation, I invited him to witness the reward for all the hard work he missed. To my shock, he showed up. Not only did he show, but he stayed a few nights in my apartment. With my mom. And my brother. We could talk about that, but I'll let you think about that one and the fun we all had in my one bedroom apartment. Oh--then also add my brother hasn't heard/seen him in oh, four years. It was 'pizza for everybody' fun.
A week after I graduated, he dropped the news that he was going back to live in Trinidad. That's where he and my mom are originally from. I was happy to know that he now was trusting us with his whereabouts. Then, he moved. It was like "Sleeping with the Enemy II"---he never called, wrote, nothing for three years. Three years. Do you know what that was?
3 Birthdays
3 Easters
3 Christmas'
3 Thanksgivings
3 New Years Eves
Then take that and double it since I have a brother. My mom could care less to hear from him; as long as she got her alimony check, she knew he was alive. Even then, she split the check and give each half to my brother and I. She didn't want it and felt it was necessary least she could do; since he was obviously AWOL in our lives--we might as well reap in the monetary benefits.
All those years, I was father-less. All those years, I had to learn to do a lot on my own. You know those things that your dad may or may not have taught you? Fix a flat tire, change the oil, help you move, sucker punch a boy in the face---I never got that. Then, there is my brother. It kills me to think of that. I'm a girl, but he is a boy and he is 3 years younger than me; he had to do a lot of growing up minus a man in his life. Oy.
That was that. I was over it and over him.
A couple of months ago; my father started calling me. Bitter, I ignored the calls. Since it's international I knew it was him and there was nothing on the caller ID (of course, he's not leaving a number on his messages) so I had no way to call back when I was ready. I'll be darned if I pick up the phone on his time. Darned.
Then my mother spoke to him. Ugh. She knows how to mess an ultimate plan like you would not believe. She told him all about my life and where I was living, etc---then, oh God, then she gives him my work email address. Holy F! Now, not only does he call all the time but I get emails, too. At work.
Near Father's Day; he decided to start calling like there was no tomorrow. Then he emailed me this fucking accusation that made it out to be my fault that we were not communicating. Oh, yeah. I know he is doing it since it's, oh, uhm Mother's Day: Part Two.
Why am I sharing this with you? Well, I just now got the guts to reply to one of his emails. It was the longest email, ever, telling him to go to Hell. Do I feel better, not yet. I just needed to vent it all to the Internet because maybe, oh just maybe someone will comment and validate my actions...
My parents divorced when I was 21 years old. I was old enough to understand and didn't think it would affect me as it has. With fresh ink on the divorce papers, my father decided to leave town. He moved to West Palm Beach. I was okay with that, he was a grown man and could live anywhere he wanted. Plus, I was at UT-Austin; I didn't live with my parents; so it was just geography. But, to him that move meant forgetting that he had kids, ever. Oh, yeah. He was living the bachelor version of "Sleeping with the Enemy".
To me (and my brother) we never heard of him, it was like he dropped of the face of the Earth. No phone calls once he got there, no postcard, nothing.
A few months went by and I moved back to San Antonio and started working for USAA--an insurance company. Would you believe, that a year after his disappearance guess what MIA father's policy landed in my lap? Uh-huh. I so looked it over, wrote down his address and phone number. I went home and showed my mom. She was more calm than me about it. We let it go.
Then one day, my mom called me and said she had some news about my dad. Held my breath and told her to just tell me. "Your dad is married. I found out from one of his friends"
What the...? So, he is married. Then she goes on to say, how there may be a child, too. Oh, gosh. Let's recap here: my dad has decided to leave and never look back, then he gets married and has a kid on the DL. Is that dramatic enough for you?
Being the instigator I am; I decided to have fun with this mess. I got his number and called him. Oh, yeah. I'd pay to be a fly on that wall that day. He acted normal as could be. Shocked, I couldn't tell but he was acting like we had just spoken to each other that yesterday. Then I started calling on a regular basis to lead up to my Spring Break plan. What-ha-ha-ha.
A few weeks prior to Spring Break, I called. I lied and told my father that I was going to be in his part of Florida for the week. Hee. I asked if he would like to get together one night, in hindsight I should have plain out asked to stay with him a night--ooh, that would've been good. He freaked out. Seriously, freaked out wanting to know why would I want to go to Florida for Spring Break, then gave me this lecture (like he was a Dad) about how he hears of all the young girls that get into trouble in Florida during Spring Break.
Uhm...hmm. Yeah...right.
I let it go. Case: solved.
For my graduation, I invited him to witness the reward for all the hard work he missed. To my shock, he showed up. Not only did he show, but he stayed a few nights in my apartment. With my mom. And my brother. We could talk about that, but I'll let you think about that one and the fun we all had in my one bedroom apartment. Oh--then also add my brother hasn't heard/seen him in oh, four years. It was 'pizza for everybody' fun.
A week after I graduated, he dropped the news that he was going back to live in Trinidad. That's where he and my mom are originally from. I was happy to know that he now was trusting us with his whereabouts. Then, he moved. It was like "Sleeping with the Enemy II"---he never called, wrote, nothing for three years. Three years. Do you know what that was?
3 Birthdays
3 Easters
3 Christmas'
3 Thanksgivings
3 New Years Eves
Then take that and double it since I have a brother. My mom could care less to hear from him; as long as she got her alimony check, she knew he was alive. Even then, she split the check and give each half to my brother and I. She didn't want it and felt it was necessary least she could do; since he was obviously AWOL in our lives--we might as well reap in the monetary benefits.
All those years, I was father-less. All those years, I had to learn to do a lot on my own. You know those things that your dad may or may not have taught you? Fix a flat tire, change the oil, help you move, sucker punch a boy in the face---I never got that. Then, there is my brother. It kills me to think of that. I'm a girl, but he is a boy and he is 3 years younger than me; he had to do a lot of growing up minus a man in his life. Oy.
That was that. I was over it and over him.
A couple of months ago; my father started calling me. Bitter, I ignored the calls. Since it's international I knew it was him and there was nothing on the caller ID (of course, he's not leaving a number on his messages) so I had no way to call back when I was ready. I'll be darned if I pick up the phone on his time. Darned.
Then my mother spoke to him. Ugh. She knows how to mess an ultimate plan like you would not believe. She told him all about my life and where I was living, etc---then, oh God, then she gives him my work email address. Holy F! Now, not only does he call all the time but I get emails, too. At work.
Near Father's Day; he decided to start calling like there was no tomorrow. Then he emailed me this fucking accusation that made it out to be my fault that we were not communicating. Oh, yeah. I know he is doing it since it's, oh, uhm Mother's Day: Part Two.
Why am I sharing this with you? Well, I just now got the guts to reply to one of his emails. It was the longest email, ever, telling him to go to Hell. Do I feel better, not yet. I just needed to vent it all to the Internet because maybe, oh just maybe someone will comment and validate my actions...
Our Fate is Our Destiny...
Today, one of our male co-workers had a special delivery. A ring was couriered over. That special ring. All the women (including me) were all glassy eyes at his story. He plans on proposing this weekend at the Dallas Museum of Art. The whole ordeal is very sweet and too much a Julia Roberts movie; a way back when movie, nothing present, such as "Closer". The ring will be in a display case and there will be a description for it--asking for her to spend the rest of her life with him. Did some lunch come back up for you, yet? Listening to the story, tears filled my eyes. Then a glimmer of hope.
This co-worker was describing their 6 year (ouch!) relationship like a giddy schoolgirl. He spoke of the ups and the downs; the break-ups and the make-ups and there were a lot. We're talking six years, here. I would have been gone by year three. I realized something as he spoke, maybe one day, sooner or later; someone would be describing me to a group of female colleagues? Then just, maybe, that what's happening now between me and Incredible or hey, might as well: Groomsman are one of the downs/break-ups. Who knows what part of this ordeal will play in a story later down the road?
It reminds me of one of my favorite movie quotes:
"Beginnings are scary, endings are sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. You need to remember that when you find yourself at the beginning and give hope a chance to float up and it will, too"
(Sorry, Bev--I can't believe I forgot to include this one)
Should I sit back and let what is be?
What if Incredible is the one? And all he needs is a good slap in the face? Too bad if it comes in the shape of me breaking up with him.
What if Groomsman is it? I'll have to wait for him to trust me again and who knows how long that will take.
What if it's neither and each one is my detour to the One?
This co-worker was describing their 6 year (ouch!) relationship like a giddy schoolgirl. He spoke of the ups and the downs; the break-ups and the make-ups and there were a lot. We're talking six years, here. I would have been gone by year three. I realized something as he spoke, maybe one day, sooner or later; someone would be describing me to a group of female colleagues? Then just, maybe, that what's happening now between me and Incredible or hey, might as well: Groomsman are one of the downs/break-ups. Who knows what part of this ordeal will play in a story later down the road?
It reminds me of one of my favorite movie quotes:
"Beginnings are scary, endings are sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. You need to remember that when you find yourself at the beginning and give hope a chance to float up and it will, too"
(Sorry, Bev--I can't believe I forgot to include this one)
Should I sit back and let what is be?
What if Incredible is the one? And all he needs is a good slap in the face? Too bad if it comes in the shape of me breaking up with him.
What if Groomsman is it? I'll have to wait for him to trust me again and who knows how long that will take.
What if it's neither and each one is my detour to the One?
Tuesday, June 28
Balls
Sometimes I do something really ballsy that I shock other people. Never do I shock myself. That's kind of silly, right? Saturday night, I definitely shocked my own self. I texted Groomsman:
"Would you like a ride from the airport, tomorrow?"
Then I had to hold my breath for two hours waiting the reply. Those were the longest two hours of my life. I was at the bar with some friends: I was there meeting my lesbian friend's girlfriend and her co-workers. I brought along my neighbor.
I didn't expect her to provide most of the entertainment. "Balls to the Wall" must be her middle name. She saw a cute boy and would just walk over to him like it was nothing and ask him; "Want to take a shot?". Now, that is technique. We all got a kick out watching her move in on her prey. She was drunk fast. In the meantime of all this, every time I felt the slightest vibration from the music or someone brushing by the table; I quickly snatched my phone and checked for the message. This kind of paranoia is something unnatural. I was like a crack whore waiting for my dealer's text.
Finally as we left the bar and I gave up on Groomsman responding, my phone zoomed with a message.
"Sure. Gate e12. 2:06"
Compared to the nerves I had from that point on to the airport; I'd rather have the paranoia of him not replying to my text message.
The next day, I put on my cutest-not-trying-to-impress-you-but-just-kidding-I-am outfit. White skirt, black tank over a white tank, cutest make-up ever, and black and white flip flops.
No I wish I could tell you that we had that airport moment, where the two of us collided into a kiss in one swoosh. A moment where we were dying to see each other so badly that it didn't matter who was around. I wish.
Instead I saw him first--whoa--he looked ten times better than I remembered. He was tan from the trip and it made his baby blue eyes pierce. Anyways, he had too much luggage to handle the above moments. I was too nervous to even think of pulling off the charade of those moments. We awkwardly said hello and I led him to my car.
As we drove to his apartment, the more nervous I got. I kept replaying what I needed to say once we got to his place. I know, I know--how could I be so nervous. I was and it was bad.
Once at his place, we plopped on the floor and tried to get his cat to come out from hiding. This took awhile; so this was my chance to lay it down.
I did. He listened. That was that. There was no screaming (my worst fear) and there was no hook up (my best fantasy). It was a very civilized chat. I left with hope that he was thinking about things or that he was content with what we now had...Friendship?!?
"Would you like a ride from the airport, tomorrow?"
Then I had to hold my breath for two hours waiting the reply. Those were the longest two hours of my life. I was at the bar with some friends: I was there meeting my lesbian friend's girlfriend and her co-workers. I brought along my neighbor.
I didn't expect her to provide most of the entertainment. "Balls to the Wall" must be her middle name. She saw a cute boy and would just walk over to him like it was nothing and ask him; "Want to take a shot?". Now, that is technique. We all got a kick out watching her move in on her prey. She was drunk fast. In the meantime of all this, every time I felt the slightest vibration from the music or someone brushing by the table; I quickly snatched my phone and checked for the message. This kind of paranoia is something unnatural. I was like a crack whore waiting for my dealer's text.
Finally as we left the bar and I gave up on Groomsman responding, my phone zoomed with a message.
"Sure. Gate e12. 2:06"
Compared to the nerves I had from that point on to the airport; I'd rather have the paranoia of him not replying to my text message.
The next day, I put on my cutest-not-trying-to-impress-you-but-just-kidding-I-am outfit. White skirt, black tank over a white tank, cutest make-up ever, and black and white flip flops.
No I wish I could tell you that we had that airport moment, where the two of us collided into a kiss in one swoosh. A moment where we were dying to see each other so badly that it didn't matter who was around. I wish.
Instead I saw him first--whoa--he looked ten times better than I remembered. He was tan from the trip and it made his baby blue eyes pierce. Anyways, he had too much luggage to handle the above moments. I was too nervous to even think of pulling off the charade of those moments. We awkwardly said hello and I led him to my car.
As we drove to his apartment, the more nervous I got. I kept replaying what I needed to say once we got to his place. I know, I know--how could I be so nervous. I was and it was bad.
Once at his place, we plopped on the floor and tried to get his cat to come out from hiding. This took awhile; so this was my chance to lay it down.
I did. He listened. That was that. There was no screaming (my worst fear) and there was no hook up (my best fantasy). It was a very civilized chat. I left with hope that he was thinking about things or that he was content with what we now had...Friendship?!?
Friday, June 24
Mission: Groomsman. Part One, of what I am Sure will be Many
I called Groomsman. Yes, I did.
I needed a safe plan for attack so I decided to call him during lunch. First, I may need to mention that I didn't have his number, since I erased it when all that drama went down? I was too proud to call AP for it. I looked all up and down my emails--get this I erased all of that too. Gee, I must've been really mad back then and really can't remember it being so bad. Huh.
So, I called T-Mobile. They love me.
Last year when Incredible swore up and down he called me (when I said he didn't) and I was so asleep talking to him on the phone (wtf?), I called T-Mobile to figure that one out. I apparently erased his number the night before that too. Yeah--don't cross me or you'll get erased, like that!
The T-Mobile guy solved the mystery and yes, I spoke to him. Oy.
This time it was a woman. She was very understanding. The only for sure date that I knew, me and Groomsman spoke on the phone was the night of AP's wedding. That's all I knew; oh and the area code to his number. Since it was a (210) code, we, me and T-Mobile girl Janine (What up?) had a problem.
Most of the people I call have 210 numbers. Oh boy. Janine told me she could just mail me my phone record so I can go through them all. That would take way too long. I asked her to fax it. T-Mobile don't do that. Then I swallowed my pride and told her half the story and how this was one of those carpe diem deals. She must've been a hopeless romantic like me.
We went through all the numbers. Boy, was that hard work. Since I don't even know how to remember a phone number anymore (thank you cell phone); she had to go repeating numbers to me while I was frantically scrolling my address book on my Nokia. All the while, my co-workers are witnessing this bullshit.
Finally, we got to 12:35 AM (meaning we went through the whole day of the wedding) and several incoming calls all came from the same (210) number. It was him. What can I say? He was wanting a second go round.
Voila, I had the number. Whoo. Then came the nerves. Vey.
I already get nervous when calling boys that have no reason to hate me. So you can imagine what this was like. I was mentally preparing myself for a second scream-a-thon.
I got voicemail. Voicemail sucks ass. I know you can be busy and all that, but voicemail leaves the door right open for rejection. I'd rather be rejected face to face than not returning my call.
I slumped back to work. Coincidentally with McDonald's---the first McDonald's I've had in over 2 months, thank you very much. And it tasted so good. Some people need Vodka, I need a Big Mac.
I cannot deal with rejection well. I kept my phone on silence and left it out so I could see if the blinking incoming call light came on. It didn't.
A text message did, twenty minutes after my phone call---uh huh.
Before I opened it, I saw it was from him. To open or not to open? Was I prepared to see his hate text for me? I took a deep breath and opened it:
"At the airport. Got your message, call you later"
Whew. No "bitch, I hate you"; "why are you calling me, whore?"; "What the fuck do you want?". Seriously, that's what I expected because that's what I would say to me.
I replied: "coming back to Dallas?" Did I just sound like some desperate girlfriend? I knew he was in Seattle.
He replied: "Park City"
Still no "bitch", "whore", "skank"---we're doing good so far.
I went back to working. At 5:30 I noticed a missed call from him---dang it, why do I have this phone on silent? His message was simple, calm, and reassuring: "Hey, it's me. I'm in Utah just got here and will be here until Sunday (what the fuck, why?) and will give you a call when I get back to Dallas. Have a good week"
Have a good week? That may as well been "take care"---why do guys end calls like that? Without a glimmer of hope that you may speak to them again. Take care, my ass.
So, now I wait for Sunday. Waiting sucks. I'll let you guys know how it goes, should make for interesting blogging and more interesting e-mails.
I needed a safe plan for attack so I decided to call him during lunch. First, I may need to mention that I didn't have his number, since I erased it when all that drama went down? I was too proud to call AP for it. I looked all up and down my emails--get this I erased all of that too. Gee, I must've been really mad back then and really can't remember it being so bad. Huh.
So, I called T-Mobile. They love me.
Last year when Incredible swore up and down he called me (when I said he didn't) and I was so asleep talking to him on the phone (wtf?), I called T-Mobile to figure that one out. I apparently erased his number the night before that too. Yeah--don't cross me or you'll get erased, like that!
The T-Mobile guy solved the mystery and yes, I spoke to him. Oy.
This time it was a woman. She was very understanding. The only for sure date that I knew, me and Groomsman spoke on the phone was the night of AP's wedding. That's all I knew; oh and the area code to his number. Since it was a (210) code, we, me and T-Mobile girl Janine (What up?) had a problem.
Most of the people I call have 210 numbers. Oh boy. Janine told me she could just mail me my phone record so I can go through them all. That would take way too long. I asked her to fax it. T-Mobile don't do that. Then I swallowed my pride and told her half the story and how this was one of those carpe diem deals. She must've been a hopeless romantic like me.
We went through all the numbers. Boy, was that hard work. Since I don't even know how to remember a phone number anymore (thank you cell phone); she had to go repeating numbers to me while I was frantically scrolling my address book on my Nokia. All the while, my co-workers are witnessing this bullshit.
Finally, we got to 12:35 AM (meaning we went through the whole day of the wedding) and several incoming calls all came from the same (210) number. It was him. What can I say? He was wanting a second go round.
Voila, I had the number. Whoo. Then came the nerves. Vey.
I already get nervous when calling boys that have no reason to hate me. So you can imagine what this was like. I was mentally preparing myself for a second scream-a-thon.
I got voicemail. Voicemail sucks ass. I know you can be busy and all that, but voicemail leaves the door right open for rejection. I'd rather be rejected face to face than not returning my call.
I slumped back to work. Coincidentally with McDonald's---the first McDonald's I've had in over 2 months, thank you very much. And it tasted so good. Some people need Vodka, I need a Big Mac.
I cannot deal with rejection well. I kept my phone on silence and left it out so I could see if the blinking incoming call light came on. It didn't.
A text message did, twenty minutes after my phone call---uh huh.
Before I opened it, I saw it was from him. To open or not to open? Was I prepared to see his hate text for me? I took a deep breath and opened it:
"At the airport. Got your message, call you later"
Whew. No "bitch, I hate you"; "why are you calling me, whore?"; "What the fuck do you want?". Seriously, that's what I expected because that's what I would say to me.
I replied: "coming back to Dallas?" Did I just sound like some desperate girlfriend? I knew he was in Seattle.
He replied: "Park City"
Still no "bitch", "whore", "skank"---we're doing good so far.
I went back to working. At 5:30 I noticed a missed call from him---dang it, why do I have this phone on silent? His message was simple, calm, and reassuring: "Hey, it's me. I'm in Utah just got here and will be here until Sunday (what the fuck, why?) and will give you a call when I get back to Dallas. Have a good week"
Have a good week? That may as well been "take care"---why do guys end calls like that? Without a glimmer of hope that you may speak to them again. Take care, my ass.
So, now I wait for Sunday. Waiting sucks. I'll let you guys know how it goes, should make for interesting blogging and more interesting e-mails.
My Eyes
Each time, this one co-worker walked by my desk, I wanted to yank my eyes out of my head. She was wearing 1998's last night's club outfit. Spandex/Lycra boot cut black pants, spaghetti strap camisole, and a very bright halfway buttoned lime green shirt with platform boots. Platform boots.
Think about that.
Think about that.
Caught!
Here is an update on the Backtyper. Ever since I posted about him, I've been playing my little game to tenth power. Each time I pause from typing, I swing around really fast to see if he is indeed huddled over his keyboard, waiting. Each time I saw him just browsing out the window. Then, on Wednesday, he was caught. Typing IM's on his match.com profile.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
This is funny. I wish I could show what he looks like and how he talks. Oh, how he talks. He has a west Texas drawl and a lisp. Yes! He is thirty, despises it, and dresses like a wannabe metrosexual. Yes! And he can beat a dead horse to death like no one's business.
Him on match.com just makes me laugh my ass off. It's funnier that these poor women are getting messages from him while he is typing in my shadow.
So, I believe some thanks are in order. Right?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
This is funny. I wish I could show what he looks like and how he talks. Oh, how he talks. He has a west Texas drawl and a lisp. Yes! He is thirty, despises it, and dresses like a wannabe metrosexual. Yes! And he can beat a dead horse to death like no one's business.
Him on match.com just makes me laugh my ass off. It's funnier that these poor women are getting messages from him while he is typing in my shadow.
So, I believe some thanks are in order. Right?
Thursday, June 23
Please Stop the Hate Emails!
It's not that dramatic of a story to tell or maybe it is. My very good friend AP got married. I was a bridesmaid and there were a few groomsmen, but only one Groomsman. He and I hooked up. And by hooked up, yes, I mean all the way. Apparently I have to spell that out for some people: S-E-X. Got it?
Incredible and I had just met a few months ago and Incredible was in his "I am not looking for, so hence I do not want a girlfriend" stage. To, me that did not equal a boyfriend. At first I blamed Iron Cactus and its Cactus Juice, then realized I really was not drunk when we hooked up (SEX). Then, emotions were involved. That's what happens when you hook up.
Yes, Incredible was at the wedding. Yes, I looked like the Whore of the Year because the whole wedding party knew of the hook up (SEX) the night before. Everyone knew. Even the Groom's parents knew.
So you know I had to tell Incredible. It was unfair. It was like this dark secret that everyone knew but him and people were pointing fingers at us. Not really...I think.
Yeah, he could have cared less that I hooked up (SEX) with Groomsman. Cared less. Only because he swore up and down that we were not boyfriend/girlfriend. So with that, I gave Groomsman a chance.
Some would say I dated both at the same time. Some would say that Incredible was a jackass and I should've dumped his sorry ass then. One person would say that I was using him to make Incredible jealous. One would say I was very confused.
I would say that I am a hopeless romantic and why would I turn down the chance to explore if something was there between me and whomever. Life is too short.
Well, it turned out that Groomsman moved to Dallas (he lived in San Antonio where all was safe) and things got a wee bit more dramatic for me to juggling two men.
Incredible won out. I don't mean "won" but have no other idea how to say it. I'm not that conceited. This lead to the first time that a guy yelled at me at the top of his voice and he was not my daddy. Groomsman yelled hard and loud. I had to hang up on him---whoa, but AP was there as my witness and it had to be done.
I went on to date Incredible. Groomsman did whatever, I had no clue. I've seen him twice since the whole ordeal. Once at AP's birthday party and then 3 weeks ago at her barbecue.
Now, my head is spinning. I cannot get Groomsman out of my mind.
Some would say to even go back there would be trouble. Some would tell me to go for it. One should tell me to go the Hell, maybe?
I say this; Incredible is still non-committal. Yeah, he wanted to live together but believe me when I say, it would have been all in his favor. Yes, I met his parents----a year after meeting him and he met my mom a hella long time ago. Yes, one would think from reading this blog that its all love with the two of us---but remember this: I told y'all that not all the bad stuff would be re-told here on this blog. So, yeah bad stuff happens and sometimes he is a true guy.
Maybe next time, I'll be more open about him as not to get ten or so emails, calling me a whore and how could I dare think to cheat on my boyfriend. Seriously, if you knew, you'd tell me to run and knock me on the head for even choosing the one I got over the one I had.
But we're like that, aren't we?
Incredible and I had just met a few months ago and Incredible was in his "I am not looking for, so hence I do not want a girlfriend" stage. To, me that did not equal a boyfriend. At first I blamed Iron Cactus and its Cactus Juice, then realized I really was not drunk when we hooked up (SEX). Then, emotions were involved. That's what happens when you hook up.
Yes, Incredible was at the wedding. Yes, I looked like the Whore of the Year because the whole wedding party knew of the hook up (SEX) the night before. Everyone knew. Even the Groom's parents knew.
So you know I had to tell Incredible. It was unfair. It was like this dark secret that everyone knew but him and people were pointing fingers at us. Not really...I think.
Yeah, he could have cared less that I hooked up (SEX) with Groomsman. Cared less. Only because he swore up and down that we were not boyfriend/girlfriend. So with that, I gave Groomsman a chance.
Some would say I dated both at the same time. Some would say that Incredible was a jackass and I should've dumped his sorry ass then. One person would say that I was using him to make Incredible jealous. One would say I was very confused.
I would say that I am a hopeless romantic and why would I turn down the chance to explore if something was there between me and whomever. Life is too short.
Well, it turned out that Groomsman moved to Dallas (he lived in San Antonio where all was safe) and things got a wee bit more dramatic for me to juggling two men.
Incredible won out. I don't mean "won" but have no other idea how to say it. I'm not that conceited. This lead to the first time that a guy yelled at me at the top of his voice and he was not my daddy. Groomsman yelled hard and loud. I had to hang up on him---whoa, but AP was there as my witness and it had to be done.
I went on to date Incredible. Groomsman did whatever, I had no clue. I've seen him twice since the whole ordeal. Once at AP's birthday party and then 3 weeks ago at her barbecue.
Now, my head is spinning. I cannot get Groomsman out of my mind.
Some would say to even go back there would be trouble. Some would tell me to go for it. One should tell me to go the Hell, maybe?
I say this; Incredible is still non-committal. Yeah, he wanted to live together but believe me when I say, it would have been all in his favor. Yes, I met his parents----a year after meeting him and he met my mom a hella long time ago. Yes, one would think from reading this blog that its all love with the two of us---but remember this: I told y'all that not all the bad stuff would be re-told here on this blog. So, yeah bad stuff happens and sometimes he is a true guy.
Maybe next time, I'll be more open about him as not to get ten or so emails, calling me a whore and how could I dare think to cheat on my boyfriend. Seriously, if you knew, you'd tell me to run and knock me on the head for even choosing the one I got over the one I had.
But we're like that, aren't we?
Wednesday, June 22
Yummy
I was in line at the grocery store and noticed the cover of Bon Appetit. This salad was on the cover. I only glanced at the recipe, inside. Refusing to pay, $3.95 for the magazine; I thought I'd remember the recipe. A week later, last night, I made the below from memory. Turned out great, but also not the exact recipe. This morning, I went to epicurious.com to read the real recipe.
My version is below. Very similar, but note some differences.
Rib eye steak--cut, diced into one inch cubes
3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Whisk together and marinate steak for about 1/2 an hour
Any type of salad lettuce you prefer. I used a mixture of spinach and romaine.
Half a red bell pepper, thinly sliced
Half a green bell pepper, thinly sliced
Grated carrots
Julienned cucumbers
Cilantro--coarsely chopped
Mandarin oranges, wedged from the can, drained
Toss salad in a bowl.
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
Juice of 2 limes
2 tablespoons of water
2 tablespoons of sugar
1 tablespoon of red jalepeno, diced
1 tablespoon of olive oil
Whisk together. Toss half the dressing onto and coat the salad. Arrange salad on your plate.
2 shallots, thinly sliced
Half a red onion, cut into thin wedges
In a very hot pan, heat olive oil, then saute shallots and red onions. Add beef. Stir-fry. Be very careful; it's HOT.
Spoon desired amount of meat, include the pan drippings onto your prepared salad.
Drizzle more dressing on top.
Enjoy.
My version is below. Very similar, but note some differences.
Rib eye steak--cut, diced into one inch cubes
3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Whisk together and marinate steak for about 1/2 an hour
Any type of salad lettuce you prefer. I used a mixture of spinach and romaine.
Half a red bell pepper, thinly sliced
Half a green bell pepper, thinly sliced
Grated carrots
Julienned cucumbers
Cilantro--coarsely chopped
Mandarin oranges, wedged from the can, drained
Toss salad in a bowl.
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
Juice of 2 limes
2 tablespoons of water
2 tablespoons of sugar
1 tablespoon of red jalepeno, diced
1 tablespoon of olive oil
Whisk together. Toss half the dressing onto and coat the salad. Arrange salad on your plate.
2 shallots, thinly sliced
Half a red onion, cut into thin wedges
In a very hot pan, heat olive oil, then saute shallots and red onions. Add beef. Stir-fry. Be very careful; it's HOT.
Spoon desired amount of meat, include the pan drippings onto your prepared salad.
Drizzle more dressing on top.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, June 21
Been Jammin'
I may have to start up an affair. Don't hate, allow me a minute. The other night I had a sex crazy dream, not co-starring my boyfriend, but another fellow: The Groomsman.
You may know who I am referring to, if not, let's just say before Incredible and I were official, I decided to have some other's guy pen dipped into my ink. Not just any other person, one of AP's groomsmen from her wedding. I was a bridesmaid--what can I say? I feel the scorn, it was wrong to do and yes, I have learned my lesson or part of it.
Now, oh no, now, I'd do it again, in a heartbeat.
After my sex crazy dream I was speaking to Daniel. We talk about sex all the time. Usually it's about comic moments involving sexual activity. Well, Saturday we decided to list our top 3.
The Top Three Best Sex, ever.
Mine are:
1. Brian, 2. Incredible, and 3. Groomsman (wait, I should take this moment and apologize to AP. It may get scarier, sorry, I know you have to look at him as normally as you can, but yes, he is number three)
Don't think that I am all bitch that I didn't mark my boyfriend at number one. It's not that he is not that great, its just that Brian was that great. I'm not scared to give credit where credit is due. Daniel laughed at me. He then, reminded me of the fact that he thought I could not stand Groomsman. Well, uh...
One thing has nothing to do with the other, does it?
Then I went and got super bitch and said that in reality if I could be honest, Incredible and Groomsman would be neck and neck, but since there was love behind one of them, Incredible had to win out, right?
Daniel asked what made Groomsman so great that he beat out all the other 13 people. Yes, 13--it's not that high of a number, is it?
Since I know AP may read this, I'll spare you the details. But he is that great.
That was eight months ago. Then I saw him for the first time since February, a week ago. I am not one to eat my words or say "regret" a lot; but if I knew then what I know now, gulp, let me swallow my pride and say: he may be where Incredible is now and that's just not the sex talking. He looked good (minus the iPod he was carrying) Again, there was this spark between us. I cannot explain it, but he and I see eye to eye on a lot of crap that has to do with relationships. He has some good wit about him, too, so conversations are never boring.
I love a man with some wit. I don't love him, but you know what I'm saying.
I saw him. Then I had the dream. Dreams like that are crazy and will get you thinking (fantasizing) a lot. A Lot.
Which could lead to some trouble...
You may know who I am referring to, if not, let's just say before Incredible and I were official, I decided to have some other's guy pen dipped into my ink. Not just any other person, one of AP's groomsmen from her wedding. I was a bridesmaid--what can I say? I feel the scorn, it was wrong to do and yes, I have learned my lesson or part of it.
Now, oh no, now, I'd do it again, in a heartbeat.
After my sex crazy dream I was speaking to Daniel. We talk about sex all the time. Usually it's about comic moments involving sexual activity. Well, Saturday we decided to list our top 3.
The Top Three Best Sex, ever.
Mine are:
1. Brian, 2. Incredible, and 3. Groomsman (wait, I should take this moment and apologize to AP. It may get scarier, sorry, I know you have to look at him as normally as you can, but yes, he is number three)
Don't think that I am all bitch that I didn't mark my boyfriend at number one. It's not that he is not that great, its just that Brian was that great. I'm not scared to give credit where credit is due. Daniel laughed at me. He then, reminded me of the fact that he thought I could not stand Groomsman. Well, uh...
One thing has nothing to do with the other, does it?
Then I went and got super bitch and said that in reality if I could be honest, Incredible and Groomsman would be neck and neck, but since there was love behind one of them, Incredible had to win out, right?
Daniel asked what made Groomsman so great that he beat out all the other 13 people. Yes, 13--it's not that high of a number, is it?
Since I know AP may read this, I'll spare you the details. But he is that great.
That was eight months ago. Then I saw him for the first time since February, a week ago. I am not one to eat my words or say "regret" a lot; but if I knew then what I know now, gulp, let me swallow my pride and say: he may be where Incredible is now and that's just not the sex talking. He looked good (minus the iPod he was carrying) Again, there was this spark between us. I cannot explain it, but he and I see eye to eye on a lot of crap that has to do with relationships. He has some good wit about him, too, so conversations are never boring.
I love a man with some wit. I don't love him, but you know what I'm saying.
I saw him. Then I had the dream. Dreams like that are crazy and will get you thinking (fantasizing) a lot. A Lot.
Which could lead to some trouble...
Wednesday, June 15
I'm baaack!
I started working at my current company two years ago, this past May. I love the company and I love most of the people here. Most of them. I think that's everywhere, we can't all get along, right? After being here for a few months, my manager gave me a review. During this review, she asked me where I could see myself going with the company. I said, "Media Relations" and then we had a problem.
The media relations department for this company is based in our headquarters in New York City. So there wouldn't be any openings here locally for it. Being who I am, I would have moved to New York for the job but since I had just moved to Dallas, I never said that to her, then. Also the one person who does work from here in the MA department works from home. She is an older woman and has been with the company forever. My only hope then was for her to retire. On we went. I then made an internal goal: By year two of being at this company I would have to a) move up in promotion OR b) move onto another company. Now since, I want to do MA and the situation being what it is, I would most likely leave...
Year Two marked its way in May. I was on the prowl for outside opportunities, then BAM! a Media Relations job opened up in our office. You can imagine it was all happy day over here for me. I gave my manager a wink and applied. This had me written all over it. I wanted it since month 3 of being here, I waited, held out, and gritted my teeth for it. Finally, it had come and can we discuss the timing...yeah, I was beside myself.
Buuuuut, as this was an internal posting, I was not the only one who saw it. Back Typer was eager to leave my shadow and start typing somewhere else and applied for the job, too. At normal offices, this would not be as dramatic as it was here. I was devastated. Let me explain:
You already know he back types on me. He also does nothing that represents work. Nothing. He is rude to anyone that calls or comes to visit the office. Above all this, he thinks he deserves the job (as he told me) since he has been here longer and knows what Media Relations is all about. He also thinks its in the bag since he and our regional manager are close buddies outside of work. They watch football games together, in man-land, that means they are BFF or something.
Help me.
For the past two weeks, I have had to deal with him walking around here acting smug, as if his resume equated him having the job. Well, he had an interview lined up and so did I. Between us, when given the choice of what day to interview, I purposefully took the second day, knowing Back Typer would take day one. He is eager like that. I took that day as to erase the interviewer's memory of what ever spell Back Typer would put on him.
Spell? You ask...yes, spell.
Interviewer has been in our offices since the beginning of the week (working and conducting interviews. Oh, yeah it was open to the public as well. What can you do?) Since he has been here, Back Typer has been, oh you can probably guess this part: Ass Kissing. It is so bad. I hope, obvious.
I took the drama break as not to let all of the Back Typer's craziness/ass kissing get to me. It needed to roll off my back. I couldn't stress out about it. I needed a break. I took one and I'm back.
The interview went very well. Honestly, I lack some experience that they are looking for in the perfect canidate--but that's kinda good because if I'm missing it, then Back Typer is missing it. Oh, yeah---if this were a normal office and he was not typing in my shadow I would want him to get it, if I didn't...ha ha ha ha, but if I don't get it, then it so needs to go to an outside person. It will devastate me that all his ass kissing paid off.
I think Interviewer was impressed with the questions that I asked him, my knowledge of the department beforehand (I studied my butt off for two weeks--thank you very much), my value to the company now, and my drive to land this job. Hopefully (oh, cross your fingers) I get it. We all find out in two weeks (yeah, I know); so it'll be devastating, drastic, or happy happy joy joy for me.
**oh it gets better, as I typed this, our regional manager called and told me that he heard my interview went really well and that I gave the Interviewer something to think about. Then he added a "congratulations" in there, so...
The media relations department for this company is based in our headquarters in New York City. So there wouldn't be any openings here locally for it. Being who I am, I would have moved to New York for the job but since I had just moved to Dallas, I never said that to her, then. Also the one person who does work from here in the MA department works from home. She is an older woman and has been with the company forever. My only hope then was for her to retire. On we went. I then made an internal goal: By year two of being at this company I would have to a) move up in promotion OR b) move onto another company. Now since, I want to do MA and the situation being what it is, I would most likely leave...
Year Two marked its way in May. I was on the prowl for outside opportunities, then BAM! a Media Relations job opened up in our office. You can imagine it was all happy day over here for me. I gave my manager a wink and applied. This had me written all over it. I wanted it since month 3 of being here, I waited, held out, and gritted my teeth for it. Finally, it had come and can we discuss the timing...yeah, I was beside myself.
Buuuuut, as this was an internal posting, I was not the only one who saw it. Back Typer was eager to leave my shadow and start typing somewhere else and applied for the job, too. At normal offices, this would not be as dramatic as it was here. I was devastated. Let me explain:
You already know he back types on me. He also does nothing that represents work. Nothing. He is rude to anyone that calls or comes to visit the office. Above all this, he thinks he deserves the job (as he told me) since he has been here longer and knows what Media Relations is all about. He also thinks its in the bag since he and our regional manager are close buddies outside of work. They watch football games together, in man-land, that means they are BFF or something.
Help me.
For the past two weeks, I have had to deal with him walking around here acting smug, as if his resume equated him having the job. Well, he had an interview lined up and so did I. Between us, when given the choice of what day to interview, I purposefully took the second day, knowing Back Typer would take day one. He is eager like that. I took that day as to erase the interviewer's memory of what ever spell Back Typer would put on him.
Spell? You ask...yes, spell.
Interviewer has been in our offices since the beginning of the week (working and conducting interviews. Oh, yeah it was open to the public as well. What can you do?) Since he has been here, Back Typer has been, oh you can probably guess this part: Ass Kissing. It is so bad. I hope, obvious.
I took the drama break as not to let all of the Back Typer's craziness/ass kissing get to me. It needed to roll off my back. I couldn't stress out about it. I needed a break. I took one and I'm back.
The interview went very well. Honestly, I lack some experience that they are looking for in the perfect canidate--but that's kinda good because if I'm missing it, then Back Typer is missing it. Oh, yeah---if this were a normal office and he was not typing in my shadow I would want him to get it, if I didn't...ha ha ha ha, but if I don't get it, then it so needs to go to an outside person. It will devastate me that all his ass kissing paid off.
I think Interviewer was impressed with the questions that I asked him, my knowledge of the department beforehand (I studied my butt off for two weeks--thank you very much), my value to the company now, and my drive to land this job. Hopefully (oh, cross your fingers) I get it. We all find out in two weeks (yeah, I know); so it'll be devastating, drastic, or happy happy joy joy for me.
**oh it gets better, as I typed this, our regional manager called and told me that he heard my interview went really well and that I gave the Interviewer something to think about. Then he added a "congratulations" in there, so...
Tuesday, June 14
Hiatus from Drama, Not the Recipes
Fish Tacos with Ginger Dipping Sauce:
1 package of Gorton's Grilled Fish Fillets: Lemon Pepper
1 tablespoon of fresh grated ginger
1 tablespoon of honey
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1/2 tablespoon of olive oil
1 package of pre-mixed broccoli Cole Slaw
Thin slices of red onion
Low fat/Low Carb tortillas
Tartar Sauce (optional)
sesame seeds (optional)
Prep fish fillets as package notes. While those are in the oven, prepare ginger dipping sauce.
combine ginger, honey, soy sauce, olive oil in a bowl. Whisk to blend. Add sesame seeds. Set aside.
Lightly spread tartar sauce on a toasted tortilla. Layer cole slaw. Break up the fillets and spoon fish onto taco. Garnish with red onion.
Fold over, dip into sauce enjoy.
1 package of Gorton's Grilled Fish Fillets: Lemon Pepper
1 tablespoon of fresh grated ginger
1 tablespoon of honey
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1/2 tablespoon of olive oil
1 package of pre-mixed broccoli Cole Slaw
Thin slices of red onion
Low fat/Low Carb tortillas
Tartar Sauce (optional)
sesame seeds (optional)
Prep fish fillets as package notes. While those are in the oven, prepare ginger dipping sauce.
combine ginger, honey, soy sauce, olive oil in a bowl. Whisk to blend. Add sesame seeds. Set aside.
Lightly spread tartar sauce on a toasted tortilla. Layer cole slaw. Break up the fillets and spoon fish onto taco. Garnish with red onion.
Fold over, dip into sauce enjoy.
Monday, June 13
Hiatus
I'm taking a break from the drama as to not stress out too much.
I need to be calm, cool, and collected for Wednesday, June 15th.
I promise to be back then, in full effect. I will let you know why that day is so important then, as well.
Know this, maybe some changing winds are coming my way---hopefully!
Have a great first half of the week!
I need to be calm, cool, and collected for Wednesday, June 15th.
I promise to be back then, in full effect. I will let you know why that day is so important then, as well.
Know this, maybe some changing winds are coming my way---hopefully!
Have a great first half of the week!
Friday, June 10
MERCY!!!
The hits just keep on hitting. Turns out some people have consciences here, I'm not one of them.
I was the devil on their shoulder, telling them to let it go and forget about it. Oh, no that would be wrong. They called the bar and told them we didn't pay.
I bet they wish they were as evil as me.
One of the real drunkies spent the morning in the restroom. One missed her flight because she fell asleep at the gate while on the phone with HK--who, yes, made her flight to New York.
Half of us want to curl up in balls under our desk.
Me, I'm just entertained by it all.
Happy hour going away party: $900**
My portion of the bill: $200
Seeing co-workers drunk: priceless
**Uh, huh. Were we drinking Dom? Cristal? Who the fuck has that kind of tab?
I was the devil on their shoulder, telling them to let it go and forget about it. Oh, no that would be wrong. They called the bar and told them we didn't pay.
I bet they wish they were as evil as me.
One of the real drunkies spent the morning in the restroom. One missed her flight because she fell asleep at the gate while on the phone with HK--who, yes, made her flight to New York.
Half of us want to curl up in balls under our desk.
Me, I'm just entertained by it all.
Happy hour going away party: $900**
My portion of the bill: $200
Seeing co-workers drunk: priceless
**Uh, huh. Were we drinking Dom? Cristal? Who the fuck has that kind of tab?
Mercy, Mercy Me
Today marks the last day of one of our managers. She is everyone's favorite person in the entire company (that's over 2000 people worldwide) and since she was FORCED to leave, we wanted to show her how much were appreciated her. So, we took her out for happy hour at this fun place, Mercy.
It was more like a wake. If you never been to a wake, that means it was a lot of drinking, crying, and story-telling. Please tell me, that's just not the Catholic wakes...please....
What made it harder for me was the last time I ate was at 12:30 lunch. That was the same for everyone.
You know what's better than a good ole happy hour? Happy hour with the co-workers. Their shells crack at that 3rd glass of wine and personalities just come flying out from everywhere. The bitches are now my new best friends. The uptight girl who never speaks is a freak in the bedroom. The pregnant one tipsy on her one glass. Whoo hoo, you go girl---don't let that bump keep you down. The manager who was leaving...oh holiness, she let her lips loose and I found out a whole lot more about our company. That's how it happens when you leave, you let it all out. She did.
Yes, I've seen a couple of these girls drunk before. Like I said, a couple: just the pregnant one and my friend/confidant: HK. But here is the thing about HK, she was drunk since lunch. Happy Hour was the ice berg that sunk her. (I hope she was able to get on the plane) As the drinks were poured and tears cried, we had a blast. My stomach told me it was time to quit and I said my good byes. It was 9:20, the manager asked why I was leaving so soon. I told her that I had to meet the boyfriend because he leaves for a week tomorrow.
"Oh...you could just tell us that you are going to fuck his brains out"
She said that!! Can you believe it, I mean this is the woman that comes in each day prim and proper and leaves at three each day to pick her kids up from private school. This is the woman that ultimately hired me. This woman is about 50 years old.
I laughed and left. If this was boot camp time, I would have stopped and went home. Not me, I needed a burger and I wanted it from Jake's.
I got on the phone with AP (I'm so sorry AP) and drove.
I didn't think I was that drunk...but when you find yourself sharing with the bartender that your boyfriend did not need to be doing certain things, you know you are drunk.
When you call another friend and tell her you are breaking up with boyfriend because you are a super soap opera star and deserve better, you know you are drunk. (I'm so sorry, SK)
When your downstairs neighbor--who can hear EVERYTHING calls and you tell her you are having break-up sex and "Can you hear me, now?" comes out of your mouth 10,000 times, you are drunk.
When you start yelling: GO, SPURS, GO!
Oh, fuck I was really that drunk because I would never yell that.
Never.
**Turns out, the rest of the happy hour group stayed until midnight. This morning as we are reminiscing, came to find out, no one paid the bill! You know, we were all drunk.
It was more like a wake. If you never been to a wake, that means it was a lot of drinking, crying, and story-telling. Please tell me, that's just not the Catholic wakes...please....
What made it harder for me was the last time I ate was at 12:30 lunch. That was the same for everyone.
You know what's better than a good ole happy hour? Happy hour with the co-workers. Their shells crack at that 3rd glass of wine and personalities just come flying out from everywhere. The bitches are now my new best friends. The uptight girl who never speaks is a freak in the bedroom. The pregnant one tipsy on her one glass. Whoo hoo, you go girl---don't let that bump keep you down. The manager who was leaving...oh holiness, she let her lips loose and I found out a whole lot more about our company. That's how it happens when you leave, you let it all out. She did.
Yes, I've seen a couple of these girls drunk before. Like I said, a couple: just the pregnant one and my friend/confidant: HK. But here is the thing about HK, she was drunk since lunch. Happy Hour was the ice berg that sunk her. (I hope she was able to get on the plane) As the drinks were poured and tears cried, we had a blast. My stomach told me it was time to quit and I said my good byes. It was 9:20, the manager asked why I was leaving so soon. I told her that I had to meet the boyfriend because he leaves for a week tomorrow.
"Oh...you could just tell us that you are going to fuck his brains out"
She said that!! Can you believe it, I mean this is the woman that comes in each day prim and proper and leaves at three each day to pick her kids up from private school. This is the woman that ultimately hired me. This woman is about 50 years old.
I laughed and left. If this was boot camp time, I would have stopped and went home. Not me, I needed a burger and I wanted it from Jake's.
I got on the phone with AP (I'm so sorry AP) and drove.
I didn't think I was that drunk...but when you find yourself sharing with the bartender that your boyfriend did not need to be doing certain things, you know you are drunk.
When you call another friend and tell her you are breaking up with boyfriend because you are a super soap opera star and deserve better, you know you are drunk. (I'm so sorry, SK)
When your downstairs neighbor--who can hear EVERYTHING calls and you tell her you are having break-up sex and "Can you hear me, now?" comes out of your mouth 10,000 times, you are drunk.
When you start yelling: GO, SPURS, GO!
Oh, fuck I was really that drunk because I would never yell that.
Never.
**Turns out, the rest of the happy hour group stayed until midnight. This morning as we are reminiscing, came to find out, no one paid the bill! You know, we were all drunk.
Thursday, June 9
Typing In My Shadow
Me and Co-Worker sit about 10 feet apart. It is very open. My back faces his side. I cannot see him and he can only see me if he turns around 45 degrees. But we can hear each other..too well if you ask me.
Lately he has been typing up a storm. Literally. We have somewhat new keyboards and there is no way any of us can type without anyone not hearing the keys. And he must be typing a novel. He types all day, every day, and let me tell you our job does not require that much typing.
BUT HE ONLY TYPES WHEN I TYPE
Do you know how annoying that is? Really? If I start an email, he'll start typing. If I'm working on a project, he'll type away. Update my blog, yup, there he goes: type, type, type, type, type.
At first I thought that I was paranoid. Then I did a little experiment. I was working on a project in an Excel spreadsheet. Each cell only needed me to type a Y or a N. I started to do so--since I type fast, it sounded like I was typing a paragraph, I'm sure. Then Co-Worker went to work on his typing masterpiece. Huh? So, I went real slow. Like a second per cell slow.
I was right. You know he tried to type super fast as to type as much as he could when I was only typing one letter.
Then there is when I stop and he has to stop. Type, Type, Type, pause then he sounds like he is trying to sneak words in on his whatever and his fingers are poised in position ready for when I start back up again. When I do, he races to get any and all words in.
What the fuck is that?
This must really be messing up his stamina in some way, right? I am so evil that I play typing games with him all day long. It is very entertaining.
I'll decide to type a long email and then in the middle of his typing marathon, I'll just stop--BAM! and walk away from my desk for a long break.
I'll come back and type, let's say three words and stop again.
Wha ha ha ha ha ha!!
You may be thinking why is he typing only when I type?
Good question. I think it's because he doesn't want our boss to know that he is typing and she knows it's not work related because like I said, we don't type that much. I don't care if she hears or not but maybe that's because I really am doing projects (that he fails to keep up with or volunteer to do).
Then I let her in on my theory. She's one smart boss, she totally already knew that. She laughed her butt off when I told her that know that I am aware of it, I do it on purpose and type-tease him. Fun times in the office, let me tell you.
Goes to show, he thinks he is so sly but we are all onto him. There are so many other "trickery" that he does that we know about. Maybe I'll write more about those later.
Lately he has been typing up a storm. Literally. We have somewhat new keyboards and there is no way any of us can type without anyone not hearing the keys. And he must be typing a novel. He types all day, every day, and let me tell you our job does not require that much typing.
BUT HE ONLY TYPES WHEN I TYPE
Do you know how annoying that is? Really? If I start an email, he'll start typing. If I'm working on a project, he'll type away. Update my blog, yup, there he goes: type, type, type, type, type.
At first I thought that I was paranoid. Then I did a little experiment. I was working on a project in an Excel spreadsheet. Each cell only needed me to type a Y or a N. I started to do so--since I type fast, it sounded like I was typing a paragraph, I'm sure. Then Co-Worker went to work on his typing masterpiece. Huh? So, I went real slow. Like a second per cell slow.
I was right. You know he tried to type super fast as to type as much as he could when I was only typing one letter.
Then there is when I stop and he has to stop. Type, Type, Type, pause then he sounds like he is trying to sneak words in on his whatever and his fingers are poised in position ready for when I start back up again. When I do, he races to get any and all words in.
What the fuck is that?
This must really be messing up his stamina in some way, right? I am so evil that I play typing games with him all day long. It is very entertaining.
I'll decide to type a long email and then in the middle of his typing marathon, I'll just stop--BAM! and walk away from my desk for a long break.
I'll come back and type, let's say three words and stop again.
Wha ha ha ha ha ha!!
You may be thinking why is he typing only when I type?
Good question. I think it's because he doesn't want our boss to know that he is typing and she knows it's not work related because like I said, we don't type that much. I don't care if she hears or not but maybe that's because I really am doing projects (that he fails to keep up with or volunteer to do).
Then I let her in on my theory. She's one smart boss, she totally already knew that. She laughed her butt off when I told her that know that I am aware of it, I do it on purpose and type-tease him. Fun times in the office, let me tell you.
Goes to show, he thinks he is so sly but we are all onto him. There are so many other "trickery" that he does that we know about. Maybe I'll write more about those later.
Just Call Me Back!
Id' write this in letter format but...
OK. So PR Professionals we need to talk. We need to sit down and get to the nitty gritty. Why can't we return phone calls? Why?
If this was one occurrence I wouldn't feel the need to write about it. It happens all the time to me, so maybe you, too. The majority of my friends are in the public relations world--that, or they have a degree of somesort in mass communication. Everyday I deal with PR people. Be it friends, co-workers, or clients. Each day I deal with the same non returned phone calls. Why is this?
At my job I am on email the majority of the time. I'm on the phone maybe 30 to 40% of the time. The other times, I'm online. Most of these emails and phone calls I am making are follow-up. Meaning that I am chasing down someone to give me the answer to the email/phone call that I left you two days ago. Naturally, I'm going to get your voicemail because we are so busy. Then, you'll get a third email from me. Where you may, if I am so lucky, reply with: "Sorry, I didn't get a chance to open your first email or listen to your voicemail"
WTF?
This is only happening with PR/Communication professionals. OK, you may be busy but doesn't half (or more) your job entail, uhm, hmm...communicating? And doing so via e-mail, phone, and eeek: mail?!?! Come on people!
It'd be one thing if this was just a problem at work but it's not. My friends do it to me on a social basis as well and they, too are in the communication biz.
Did I miss this in class, too? Was I asleep?
I'll call or email my friends and don't think there are not questions in the body of these emails and voicemails because there is...do I get a call back within a reasonable time? Nooo...
And I follow-up with those calls too, persistently, I am not scared.
Here is my plea: this is our area of study so why can't we just communicate like the professionals we are?
OK. So PR Professionals we need to talk. We need to sit down and get to the nitty gritty. Why can't we return phone calls? Why?
If this was one occurrence I wouldn't feel the need to write about it. It happens all the time to me, so maybe you, too. The majority of my friends are in the public relations world--that, or they have a degree of somesort in mass communication. Everyday I deal with PR people. Be it friends, co-workers, or clients. Each day I deal with the same non returned phone calls. Why is this?
At my job I am on email the majority of the time. I'm on the phone maybe 30 to 40% of the time. The other times, I'm online. Most of these emails and phone calls I am making are follow-up. Meaning that I am chasing down someone to give me the answer to the email/phone call that I left you two days ago. Naturally, I'm going to get your voicemail because we are so busy. Then, you'll get a third email from me. Where you may, if I am so lucky, reply with: "Sorry, I didn't get a chance to open your first email or listen to your voicemail"
WTF?
This is only happening with PR/Communication professionals. OK, you may be busy but doesn't half (or more) your job entail, uhm, hmm...communicating? And doing so via e-mail, phone, and eeek: mail?!?! Come on people!
It'd be one thing if this was just a problem at work but it's not. My friends do it to me on a social basis as well and they, too are in the communication biz.
Did I miss this in class, too? Was I asleep?
I'll call or email my friends and don't think there are not questions in the body of these emails and voicemails because there is...do I get a call back within a reasonable time? Nooo...
And I follow-up with those calls too, persistently, I am not scared.
Here is my plea: this is our area of study so why can't we just communicate like the professionals we are?
iDon't
Bring on the hater comments because I am going to offend someone.
I am over iPod. Over it. Done. What is the big deal? They come in cute colors, they are tiny and hold a lot of music, what is it?
What is the appeal that I am missing? When Walkmans were around, I didn't go everywhere with my ears covered by headphones.
Why is it anyone with an iPod cannot leave the house without the teeny headphones in their ears? Get with the rest of us and join society!
Don't get me wrong I can see iPod users running and possibly doing errands in which you really don't want to be involved with the outside world. At the mall? Is that a place for an iPod?
At the theater? Huh? You couldn't deal with the ten minutes before the trailers! I saw a family of three eating dinner the other night, the about 12 year old boy was tuned into iPod for the entire course of the meal. Huh? What are we becoming?
It's bad enough that we can get anything we want by the touch of a button from the comforts of home, never having to leave the house. When you do, isn't that part of it---leaving your house and taking in the rest of the world?
Over it.
Then there are the people who cannot stop talking about how much in love they are with their iPod. I'm beginning to think there is a vibrating function included. Is there? Then there are the people, oh who I love so much. They think that you are an alien because you don't own one.
They give you that face like you are insane not to own an iPod. "You don't have one! What do you mean?" I mean I don't have an iPod.
Maybe it's just me. I'm old fashion like that and still buy CD's. Yes, close your mouth. So, I'll skip this one and enjoy the sounds of my surroundings and won't seclude myself from society.
I am over iPod. Over it. Done. What is the big deal? They come in cute colors, they are tiny and hold a lot of music, what is it?
What is the appeal that I am missing? When Walkmans were around, I didn't go everywhere with my ears covered by headphones.
Why is it anyone with an iPod cannot leave the house without the teeny headphones in their ears? Get with the rest of us and join society!
Don't get me wrong I can see iPod users running and possibly doing errands in which you really don't want to be involved with the outside world. At the mall? Is that a place for an iPod?
At the theater? Huh? You couldn't deal with the ten minutes before the trailers! I saw a family of three eating dinner the other night, the about 12 year old boy was tuned into iPod for the entire course of the meal. Huh? What are we becoming?
It's bad enough that we can get anything we want by the touch of a button from the comforts of home, never having to leave the house. When you do, isn't that part of it---leaving your house and taking in the rest of the world?
Over it.
Then there are the people who cannot stop talking about how much in love they are with their iPod. I'm beginning to think there is a vibrating function included. Is there? Then there are the people, oh who I love so much. They think that you are an alien because you don't own one.
They give you that face like you are insane not to own an iPod. "You don't have one! What do you mean?" I mean I don't have an iPod.
Maybe it's just me. I'm old fashion like that and still buy CD's. Yes, close your mouth. So, I'll skip this one and enjoy the sounds of my surroundings and won't seclude myself from society.
Wednesday, June 8
TAR-JAY
Target.com we need to have a little chit chat.
I love Target---who doesn't? It's the perfect place to spend a couple of hours and still leave empty-handed. Better/worse; leave with everything you didn't need and forgot the reason you were in there in the first place. I love it. Where else can you go and score the perfect $12 34-DD bra, that fits like a gem. Yes, folks I laugh at Victoria's Secret and buy my bras from Target. Vicky's doesn't carry 34-DD in-store, you have to order online or via the catalog. At Target I can get it when I need it.
Oh and yes, 34-DD. Don't hate, they are real and I had to go through a whole lot of teasing and bra-strap pulling in the 8th grade.
Why is that my favorite bargain retailer has a crazy web site?
Have you been on target.com? Go now, then come back and join us...
Alongside all the cheapies but goodies are the most outrageous items. Uhm, $99 Poncho? $300 Toaster? Who the heck?
I understand that a $300 toaster may be cheap to some people. I believe those people are not shopping at Target.com...this also reminds me of another rant I have for Target, so let's pause from the internet version and discuss the prices.
When I go into the store I expect low prices. Not Wal-Mart happy smiley face low, but lower than the average store out there. For example, I love the Mossimo tee shirts. They fit me perfectly, never fade, and are a great budget staple at $9.99. I'll pay $10 for a tee-shirt at Target. Just like it's expected that I would pay $50 for a pair of GAP jeans.
I would never pay $50 for a blazer at Target. Is this just me? You find yourself shopping along and see a nice item, then flip it over for the price and cringe? In Target?
Even at the bargain store I have to stop and think: this is way over-priced.
Don't get me started on the different store inventories between Target, Super Target, and Target Greatland. Can't they all get the same stuff? Cuz when I ask a friend where she got something and she says "Target" and I go to Target and its not there, I am mad. Maybe I should rant on her for not distinguishing which Target she was at because they are all different. Trust me, they are.
So there that is. Back to the website.
Not only do they have over-priced items on-line. They have items that do not exist at any of their stores or maybe they are at the exclusive but elusive Target Greatland. If you are a frequent target.com-er like I am, you may notice the "red hot specials".
Get them while they are hot. Don't wait until next week when you get paid.
That's exactly what they are, "red hot" and only available that day. It's a mad house online.
Then there is today. Oy.
As I was reading this woman's blog. I noticed that she bought a certain rug,which is super cute. Since I am in the middle of redecorating, it got my interest. I went online to buy it...oh but it's not available for another 4-8 weeks. Then, why Target, why have it on the website--as only to tease me?
I love Target---who doesn't? It's the perfect place to spend a couple of hours and still leave empty-handed. Better/worse; leave with everything you didn't need and forgot the reason you were in there in the first place. I love it. Where else can you go and score the perfect $12 34-DD bra, that fits like a gem. Yes, folks I laugh at Victoria's Secret and buy my bras from Target. Vicky's doesn't carry 34-DD in-store, you have to order online or via the catalog. At Target I can get it when I need it.
Oh and yes, 34-DD. Don't hate, they are real and I had to go through a whole lot of teasing and bra-strap pulling in the 8th grade.
Why is that my favorite bargain retailer has a crazy web site?
Have you been on target.com? Go now, then come back and join us...
Alongside all the cheapies but goodies are the most outrageous items. Uhm, $99 Poncho? $300 Toaster? Who the heck?
I understand that a $300 toaster may be cheap to some people. I believe those people are not shopping at Target.com...this also reminds me of another rant I have for Target, so let's pause from the internet version and discuss the prices.
When I go into the store I expect low prices. Not Wal-Mart happy smiley face low, but lower than the average store out there. For example, I love the Mossimo tee shirts. They fit me perfectly, never fade, and are a great budget staple at $9.99. I'll pay $10 for a tee-shirt at Target. Just like it's expected that I would pay $50 for a pair of GAP jeans.
I would never pay $50 for a blazer at Target. Is this just me? You find yourself shopping along and see a nice item, then flip it over for the price and cringe? In Target?
Even at the bargain store I have to stop and think: this is way over-priced.
Don't get me started on the different store inventories between Target, Super Target, and Target Greatland. Can't they all get the same stuff? Cuz when I ask a friend where she got something and she says "Target" and I go to Target and its not there, I am mad. Maybe I should rant on her for not distinguishing which Target she was at because they are all different. Trust me, they are.
So there that is. Back to the website.
Not only do they have over-priced items on-line. They have items that do not exist at any of their stores or maybe they are at the exclusive but elusive Target Greatland. If you are a frequent target.com-er like I am, you may notice the "red hot specials".
Get them while they are hot. Don't wait until next week when you get paid.
That's exactly what they are, "red hot" and only available that day. It's a mad house online.
Then there is today. Oy.
As I was reading this woman's blog. I noticed that she bought a certain rug,which is super cute. Since I am in the middle of redecorating, it got my interest. I went online to buy it...oh but it's not available for another 4-8 weeks. Then, why Target, why have it on the website--as only to tease me?
Rants on Music
Can we discuss how angry Kelly Clarkson is? Who pissed her off, really. She's breaking away with these crazy break up/too bad you left me songs...
Who? Who, Kelly, who? Please do tell...
While I'm on the subject; someone tell Destiny's Child that it's 2005. No one has slippers waiting for their significant other nowadays...do they? They are the Supremes Reincarnate, especially with the well choreographed hip swinging dance move they do in the "Cater to You" video.
Tell the Ying Yang twins to speak up...I cannot hear you.
Who? Who, Kelly, who? Please do tell...
While I'm on the subject; someone tell Destiny's Child that it's 2005. No one has slippers waiting for their significant other nowadays...do they? They are the Supremes Reincarnate, especially with the well choreographed hip swinging dance move they do in the "Cater to You" video.
Tell the Ying Yang twins to speak up...I cannot hear you.
Tuesday, June 7
Pulling Out the Racial Card
I had me some drama at the gas station this morning. I was trying to pump gas and my debit/check card was not going through (due to the bar/restaurant tab holds on it from this weekend), while I am swiping it like crazy this homeless man came up to me and asked for money; I told him I had none, obviously. I was standing there getting 'declined, declined, declined'.
Then he walks away, I call USAA--my wonderful bank of choice, to get them to remove the holds, at first they refused to do so, they are so wonderful and said that I would have to wait until the restaurant removed the holds.
This is when I called AP and Toxic who was drying her hair, putting on make-up---so I had to wait for her to rescue me. AP was going to work.
In the meantime I call back USAA to argue it out, got a different woman, who probably just started working there and has not succumbed to the banking employee bitter syndrome, yet. She removed the hold.
Then the drama hit the car roof:
The gas clerk came out to make sure I was legit since I swiped my card so many times and was just sitting out at the pump. He walked back inside.
From out of nowhere the homeless man came back, this time SCREAMING and waving his hands at me:
"I HAVE NO HOUSE"; "I HAVE NO CAR"; "I HAVE NO FOOD"; "I HAVE NO MONEY"
Which I said, "I'm sorry, neither do I"
Then he gets louder and is just screaming. So then the gas attendant comes back out and asks me if the homeless man was with me?!?!? NO! Do I look like Saint Teresa? Is Salvation Army written anywhere on my car?
Then he asked the homeless man to leave---wrong thing to do...the homeless man starts up even louder:
"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH BLACK PEOPLE?"---wait this is where I should tell you the homeless man is very white.
"BLACK PEOPLE WERE SLAVES AND WE WENT THROUGH A LOT TO BE FREE. IT IS MY RIGHT TO BE OUT HERE. I WAS FIRED FROM MY JOB BECAUSE I AM BLACK"
I just busted out laughing my ass off. I know it was wrong to laugh but this was some funny shit happening in Uptown Dallas.
The attendant told him that he will call the cops if he doesn't leave.
"IT'S BECAUSE I'M BLACK" then looks at me "TELL HIM SISTER"
Well 'sister' said nothing and got into her car and left.
Then he walks away, I call USAA--my wonderful bank of choice, to get them to remove the holds, at first they refused to do so, they are so wonderful and said that I would have to wait until the restaurant removed the holds.
This is when I called AP and Toxic who was drying her hair, putting on make-up---so I had to wait for her to rescue me. AP was going to work.
In the meantime I call back USAA to argue it out, got a different woman, who probably just started working there and has not succumbed to the banking employee bitter syndrome, yet. She removed the hold.
Then the drama hit the car roof:
The gas clerk came out to make sure I was legit since I swiped my card so many times and was just sitting out at the pump. He walked back inside.
From out of nowhere the homeless man came back, this time SCREAMING and waving his hands at me:
"I HAVE NO HOUSE"; "I HAVE NO CAR"; "I HAVE NO FOOD"; "I HAVE NO MONEY"
Which I said, "I'm sorry, neither do I"
Then he gets louder and is just screaming. So then the gas attendant comes back out and asks me if the homeless man was with me?!?!? NO! Do I look like Saint Teresa? Is Salvation Army written anywhere on my car?
Then he asked the homeless man to leave---wrong thing to do...the homeless man starts up even louder:
"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH BLACK PEOPLE?"---wait this is where I should tell you the homeless man is very white.
"BLACK PEOPLE WERE SLAVES AND WE WENT THROUGH A LOT TO BE FREE. IT IS MY RIGHT TO BE OUT HERE. I WAS FIRED FROM MY JOB BECAUSE I AM BLACK"
I just busted out laughing my ass off. I know it was wrong to laugh but this was some funny shit happening in Uptown Dallas.
The attendant told him that he will call the cops if he doesn't leave.
"IT'S BECAUSE I'M BLACK" then looks at me "TELL HIM SISTER"
Well 'sister' said nothing and got into her car and left.
Friday, June 3
What Can I Say?
I made a new friend about a month back. We kept running into each other while she walked her Boston Terrier. I love her dog. He is so cute. We live in the same building.
We talk each time we see each other, so one day we did the swapping of telephone numbers. Me, not wanting to look like a lesbian took a while to call her.
I did. She's invited to my Cupcake hour, if that ever happens. Then I needed her email address, emailed her, she replied back, then I saw her address on her email signature:
She lives directly below me. Then in a unthoughtful second, I replied back to her, telling her this news. Why, did I do that? Why?
She replied back with the below:
"OMG THAT IS YOU!!! You keep me up at night! I was wondering when that person was going to move out. I thought there was a small family up there? Do you have all wood floors?"
Uhhh...
No, I don't have wood floors and I don't have a small family. Then she says:
"So funny there was a while there I was hearing stuff at like 5 am and such."
Yeah, my live-for-his-job boyfriend sometimes leaves at that time and he is loud.
"Are you having sex on the floor, too?"
WHAT?!?!
If I were a White person, I'd be so red right now.
I will admit that there was a time that I went crazy and moved furniture at midnight on a Wednesday. There are the times that I do run up and down the stairs in a fury. Yes, I dance like Dance Party USA with my music real loud (because that's the only way to do that). Some would say I act like a monkey when giddy. When I cook, sometimes things fall and hit the floor--like the dumb pan that never wants to leave the cabinet w/o a lot of force. Yeah, and I trip a lot.
But S-E-X? On the floor? Did I? Did we? Come on, now--my bed is on the second floor of my apartment and there is no way she could hear that well (is she Wonder Woman?)...
Oh..but there was that time
CRAP!
There may have been a time, it was a Sunday, during football season, when Incredible made a 'bed' on the floor because he just had to get some. What can I say, besides football turns me on? I joke.
I'm so embarrassed. Needless to say there will be tip-toeing from here on out. And we will fuck on egg shells.
We talk each time we see each other, so one day we did the swapping of telephone numbers. Me, not wanting to look like a lesbian took a while to call her.
I did. She's invited to my Cupcake hour, if that ever happens. Then I needed her email address, emailed her, she replied back, then I saw her address on her email signature:
She lives directly below me. Then in a unthoughtful second, I replied back to her, telling her this news. Why, did I do that? Why?
She replied back with the below:
"OMG THAT IS YOU!!! You keep me up at night! I was wondering when that person was going to move out. I thought there was a small family up there? Do you have all wood floors?"
Uhhh...
No, I don't have wood floors and I don't have a small family. Then she says:
"So funny there was a while there I was hearing stuff at like 5 am and such."
Yeah, my live-for-his-job boyfriend sometimes leaves at that time and he is loud.
"Are you having sex on the floor, too?"
WHAT?!?!
If I were a White person, I'd be so red right now.
I will admit that there was a time that I went crazy and moved furniture at midnight on a Wednesday. There are the times that I do run up and down the stairs in a fury. Yes, I dance like Dance Party USA with my music real loud (because that's the only way to do that). Some would say I act like a monkey when giddy. When I cook, sometimes things fall and hit the floor--like the dumb pan that never wants to leave the cabinet w/o a lot of force. Yeah, and I trip a lot.
But S-E-X? On the floor? Did I? Did we? Come on, now--my bed is on the second floor of my apartment and there is no way she could hear that well (is she Wonder Woman?)...
Oh..but there was that time
CRAP!
There may have been a time, it was a Sunday, during football season, when Incredible made a 'bed' on the floor because he just had to get some. What can I say, besides football turns me on? I joke.
I'm so embarrassed. Needless to say there will be tip-toeing from here on out. And we will fuck on egg shells.
M.I.A.: 7 lbs.
Boot camp is officially over! Whoo hoo. Sound the trumpets. Those drill sergeants were not going to let us go without a challenge. The day before the last day, Ms. Drill Sergeant told us that our last day would be easy and probably only twenty minutes. Just great, I'm going to have to get out of bed at five o'clock in the morning for only twenty minutes? She also told us to wear light clothing because they would do the final weigh-in for each of us. Uh oh. During the course of boot camp, I never felt as if I got skinnier. Maybe that's normal for when you are working out---the results are gradual. I did notice that certain clothes fit better and I can now take off a pair of jeans without un-buttoning or un-zipping them: that was cool.
I arrived at boot camp on the final day, ready to just get it over with so I could get back to bed. As I arrived, I could see that would not be an easy task. Set up in the arena was a military obstacle course. You know the type that painful looking deal, that Louis Gossett Jr. made Richard Gere sweat over, in "An Officer and a Gentleman". That is what was sitting before us and I automatically wanted to run away. There is no way I am doing that. Miss Drill Sergeant blows her whistle for boot camp to begin and explains to us, in order to "graduate" we will need to complete the obstacle drill. In under five minutes.
Huh? Me no comprende. I would have left, but they were doing the final weigh-ins after we completed the course. I don't have a scale at home (thank God) and needed to know if this whole fiasco was worth it. So, I stayed. I made sure that I was in the middle of the line--no way was I going first or last on this thing.
Everyone before me had times like: 3:15, 4:10, and a quick 2:50--what the Hell? On my turn, I took a deep breath and went for it. I jumped hurdles, ran a very high balance beam, tunneled through hanging tires, roped-walked a wall of planks, and monkey-barred my way to the finish line in 3:30.
Yep. Three minutes and thirty seconds. Can you believe that? I still can't. Then to top that miracle I did the weigh-in. Holy Mole---I lost 7 pounds! And an inch and a quarter off my waist line.
So, there it is. Boot Camp works. It was painful at times. Once it was fun--when we danced for 45 minutes straight. I don't think I'd do it again. It was enough to jump start my own motivation and metabolism to get into my own fitness routine; one that starts at a decent hour, not 5:30 AM.
I arrived at boot camp on the final day, ready to just get it over with so I could get back to bed. As I arrived, I could see that would not be an easy task. Set up in the arena was a military obstacle course. You know the type that painful looking deal, that Louis Gossett Jr. made Richard Gere sweat over, in "An Officer and a Gentleman". That is what was sitting before us and I automatically wanted to run away. There is no way I am doing that. Miss Drill Sergeant blows her whistle for boot camp to begin and explains to us, in order to "graduate" we will need to complete the obstacle drill. In under five minutes.
Huh? Me no comprende. I would have left, but they were doing the final weigh-ins after we completed the course. I don't have a scale at home (thank God) and needed to know if this whole fiasco was worth it. So, I stayed. I made sure that I was in the middle of the line--no way was I going first or last on this thing.
Everyone before me had times like: 3:15, 4:10, and a quick 2:50--what the Hell? On my turn, I took a deep breath and went for it. I jumped hurdles, ran a very high balance beam, tunneled through hanging tires, roped-walked a wall of planks, and monkey-barred my way to the finish line in 3:30.
Yep. Three minutes and thirty seconds. Can you believe that? I still can't. Then to top that miracle I did the weigh-in. Holy Mole---I lost 7 pounds! And an inch and a quarter off my waist line.
So, there it is. Boot Camp works. It was painful at times. Once it was fun--when we danced for 45 minutes straight. I don't think I'd do it again. It was enough to jump start my own motivation and metabolism to get into my own fitness routine; one that starts at a decent hour, not 5:30 AM.
Thursday, June 2
Party Planning Paranoia Part 2: B-A-N-A-N-A-S
My senior year in high school I planned my very first party. No, it wasn't my first party ever--just the first one that I planned solo from start to finish. It was going to be all girls--only senior girls*. It was going to be an ice cream sundae party, I called it: B.Y.O.B.
Bring Your Own Bananas
I made the invitations myself with PhotoShop. I hand delivered all 20 invites to all my friends. I don't know if I had 20 friends but there was 20 invites. There was no RSVP stated. This is how I learned about RSVP.
All my friends were excited and told me that they would definitely be there. Now that was not all 20, mind you. Let's say, this number was 12. I remember it was more than ten but it couldn't be fifteen. If it was fifteen; then that makes the story even more tragic.
Sunday of the party, I woke up with glee. That morning I got dressed drove to the grocery, bought ice cream and ice cream fixings, decorations, bowls, spoons---were there balloons? I even bought a few extra bananas in case someone forgot.
My mom helped me set up the back patio. My brother and dad made sure to stay upstairs out of (girl) harm's way. Everything was set. I was excited.
Come party time, my best friend, SK showed first, like a trooper. Then a couple others showed. Couple, meaning two.
That was all, folks.
Three people! Three People! I was nervous.
Then one more showed, but she didn't really count because she was a Junior. She was one of those that only had Senior friends---God bless her.
Then I sunk to low and called people. Oy. Turned out, Ms. Caroline had a party the night before that everyone was drunky at and pooped out tired spending a lazy afternoon at another friend's house.
OK--don't get me started on why I was not invited to Caroline's--well, I know why and maybe I'll share that one day. It's the very same reason my parents made me write a 10 page paper on the affects of alcohol. ha ha ha...
When I called them, they had all "forgotten" about my B.Y.O.B party and promised to be there as soon as possible. Did they? Nope!
I was hurt, crushed, humiliated. My mom felt sorry for me. My brother was happy we had ice cream for days.
So when you get an invitation from me followed by many emails asking if you are for sure coming to the party--don't roll your eyes and hate on me and the RSVP. Just know that I am hurt party planner with some wounded repressed memories.
Bring Your Own Bananas
I made the invitations myself with PhotoShop. I hand delivered all 20 invites to all my friends. I don't know if I had 20 friends but there was 20 invites. There was no RSVP stated. This is how I learned about RSVP.
All my friends were excited and told me that they would definitely be there. Now that was not all 20, mind you. Let's say, this number was 12. I remember it was more than ten but it couldn't be fifteen. If it was fifteen; then that makes the story even more tragic.
Sunday of the party, I woke up with glee. That morning I got dressed drove to the grocery, bought ice cream and ice cream fixings, decorations, bowls, spoons---were there balloons? I even bought a few extra bananas in case someone forgot.
My mom helped me set up the back patio. My brother and dad made sure to stay upstairs out of (girl) harm's way. Everything was set. I was excited.
Come party time, my best friend, SK showed first, like a trooper. Then a couple others showed. Couple, meaning two.
That was all, folks.
Three people! Three People! I was nervous.
Then one more showed, but she didn't really count because she was a Junior. She was one of those that only had Senior friends---God bless her.
Then I sunk to low and called people. Oy. Turned out, Ms. Caroline had a party the night before that everyone was drunky at and pooped out tired spending a lazy afternoon at another friend's house.
OK--don't get me started on why I was not invited to Caroline's--well, I know why and maybe I'll share that one day. It's the very same reason my parents made me write a 10 page paper on the affects of alcohol. ha ha ha...
When I called them, they had all "forgotten" about my B.Y.O.B party and promised to be there as soon as possible. Did they? Nope!
I was hurt, crushed, humiliated. My mom felt sorry for me. My brother was happy we had ice cream for days.
So when you get an invitation from me followed by many emails asking if you are for sure coming to the party--don't roll your eyes and hate on me and the RSVP. Just know that I am hurt party planner with some wounded repressed memories.
Party Planning Paranoia
My eyes hurt. I feel as if I have been staring at the calendar for 24 hours straight, well...make that at least 2 hours.
I'm planning a party. I think it's a very cute idea for a party and I swear I was a party planner in another life. With that said; I just cannot have any old regular get together. Why? When you can have themes?
I love a themed party. Each year I have thrown my own birthday party complete with a different theme each year. Don't cry, it's not sad that I plan my own birthday party. If I plan my own surprise party, then you should cry. That is so not a hint...don;t ever throw me a surprise party--I'm way too anal and chances are that I've already started planning the festivities for this year. Uhm, yeah, I have. I am crazy. So back to this: I planned a small cocktail party for my friends; new and old. I'm calling it, Cupcake Hour.
I have it all planned to a T. Literally.
Problem is, no one likes to RSVP. This is always the problem with planning a party. One year; I had to threaten people to RSVP. I told them I was not letting them into the party unless they made their reservation.
Anal, uhm hmm.
The point of the RSVP is not just to let me know who to expect, but sometimes place cards are involved or numbered items come into play. I cannot count without a head count, can I? It's so easy, but so hard for people to call and say: yay or nay. Oh, yes---you are supposed to call even if you cannot make it. Read up on your Emily Post.
So the couple of people who know how to RSVP, did. My party total is slim and I don't see the point in making cupcakes and planning a party with such a small group. What's the point, in that?
Then all that declined expressed such interest and heartbreak that they couldn't make it. Naturally I felt bad. Since I am the type that likes to accommodate others, I have postponed the party.
Now you are all caught up and I am staring at a calendar. My eyes hurt. I'm tired of writing emails back and forth: "How about this date?" "How about this time?" "How about not that date and this time"
How about you just show up?
I know I cannot please/accommodate everyone but I do want a nice size attendance for my party; is that too much to ask?
It really isn't, if you had my history with party planning...
I'm planning a party. I think it's a very cute idea for a party and I swear I was a party planner in another life. With that said; I just cannot have any old regular get together. Why? When you can have themes?
I love a themed party. Each year I have thrown my own birthday party complete with a different theme each year. Don't cry, it's not sad that I plan my own birthday party. If I plan my own surprise party, then you should cry. That is so not a hint...don;t ever throw me a surprise party--I'm way too anal and chances are that I've already started planning the festivities for this year. Uhm, yeah, I have. I am crazy. So back to this: I planned a small cocktail party for my friends; new and old. I'm calling it, Cupcake Hour.
I have it all planned to a T. Literally.
Problem is, no one likes to RSVP. This is always the problem with planning a party. One year; I had to threaten people to RSVP. I told them I was not letting them into the party unless they made their reservation.
Anal, uhm hmm.
The point of the RSVP is not just to let me know who to expect, but sometimes place cards are involved or numbered items come into play. I cannot count without a head count, can I? It's so easy, but so hard for people to call and say: yay or nay. Oh, yes---you are supposed to call even if you cannot make it. Read up on your Emily Post.
So the couple of people who know how to RSVP, did. My party total is slim and I don't see the point in making cupcakes and planning a party with such a small group. What's the point, in that?
Then all that declined expressed such interest and heartbreak that they couldn't make it. Naturally I felt bad. Since I am the type that likes to accommodate others, I have postponed the party.
Now you are all caught up and I am staring at a calendar. My eyes hurt. I'm tired of writing emails back and forth: "How about this date?" "How about this time?" "How about not that date and this time"
How about you just show up?
I know I cannot please/accommodate everyone but I do want a nice size attendance for my party; is that too much to ask?
It really isn't, if you had my history with party planning...
Wednesday, June 1
Chaotic at Chuy's
We all know how I feel about Chuy's. I'm not scared to voice my opinion when the food sometimes sucks and the service is always not up to par. When I realized that Incredible's co-worker's fiance is a higher up for the Dallas Chuy's---you know I told them both how I felt about the establishment. Uhm hmm. When Incredible called me at work yesterday telling me that we would be meeting those two out for dinner (double date) at Chuy's, I made a face. Ugh. Then I thought, well, since she is the manager; the cook and waitstaff are sure to treat the table differently, right?
Right.
But did the food still suck? Yes. Not Chuy's fault; this time, I blame the company. So we have to call the co-worker, by Incredible's nickname for him: Fat Boy Slim. He's not fat, he's not slim--he just looks like what you may picture when you think of Fat Boy Slim. His fiance we will call Velma because she straight up looks it.
So we get there and immediately we get free margaritas from the bar. Ooh whee, we are off to a great start. I don't know how I could argue that free drinks suck, because they so don't.
We're drinking margaritas and having some great talks as we wait to be seated. I tell Velma about how each time that I am seated in the middle section of the restaurant I get stuck with a waiter and a trainee. She tells me it is not a training area, so those times were random.
Uhm hmm...what ever, random, my butt---but hey, I go with it.
We sit down. Then for some odd reason, Velma tells us she really doesn't like the food at Chuy's...
WHAT?!?!
Can I ask: Why the F are we eating here, then?
I look at Incredible whose A.D.D. has kicked in and he is paying attention to the television. Men!?!?!
Fat Boy Slim tells me that the Chicken Deluxe are the best enchiladas and item on the menu. I tell him my "Chicken Fat" story. Velma grimaced in horror. Uh huh. It's true, what can I say?
They promise me, the Deluxe will be good here. I doubt them. They really promise.
Then the waitress takes our order. I HATE when people order for you. HATE IT.
I hate it so much if a guy does that to me on a date, he is gone. Just ask Daryl. Completely different story about another restaurant I hate, called Macaroni Grill.
And we are back to Chuy's. Fat Boy Slim has decided to order for everyone. I don't make a disapproving face because a thought crosses my mind:
Maybe he is ordering because the meal will be comped since Velma works here.
Maybe?
For himself he orders fajitas, Velma gets some taco salad, he orders Incredible a steak burrito, and me, huh, you guessed it; I get the Chicken Deluxe. So, why is that they both swore that the Deluxe was the best menu item but neither one ordered it and they didn't order it for Incredible?!?! Just me---the complainer?
Did it suck? YES.
Do you know what was really good, though? Half the Steak Burrito I ate off Incredible's plate. Thank God for his A.D.D.
Three times a charmer, I will never order or let anyone else order Chicken Deluxe Enchiladas at Chuy's, again.
NEVER.
Right.
But did the food still suck? Yes. Not Chuy's fault; this time, I blame the company. So we have to call the co-worker, by Incredible's nickname for him: Fat Boy Slim. He's not fat, he's not slim--he just looks like what you may picture when you think of Fat Boy Slim. His fiance we will call Velma because she straight up looks it.
So we get there and immediately we get free margaritas from the bar. Ooh whee, we are off to a great start. I don't know how I could argue that free drinks suck, because they so don't.
We're drinking margaritas and having some great talks as we wait to be seated. I tell Velma about how each time that I am seated in the middle section of the restaurant I get stuck with a waiter and a trainee. She tells me it is not a training area, so those times were random.
Uhm hmm...what ever, random, my butt---but hey, I go with it.
We sit down. Then for some odd reason, Velma tells us she really doesn't like the food at Chuy's...
WHAT?!?!
Can I ask: Why the F are we eating here, then?
I look at Incredible whose A.D.D. has kicked in and he is paying attention to the television. Men!?!?!
Fat Boy Slim tells me that the Chicken Deluxe are the best enchiladas and item on the menu. I tell him my "Chicken Fat" story. Velma grimaced in horror. Uh huh. It's true, what can I say?
They promise me, the Deluxe will be good here. I doubt them. They really promise.
Then the waitress takes our order. I HATE when people order for you. HATE IT.
I hate it so much if a guy does that to me on a date, he is gone. Just ask Daryl. Completely different story about another restaurant I hate, called Macaroni Grill.
And we are back to Chuy's. Fat Boy Slim has decided to order for everyone. I don't make a disapproving face because a thought crosses my mind:
Maybe he is ordering because the meal will be comped since Velma works here.
Maybe?
For himself he orders fajitas, Velma gets some taco salad, he orders Incredible a steak burrito, and me, huh, you guessed it; I get the Chicken Deluxe. So, why is that they both swore that the Deluxe was the best menu item but neither one ordered it and they didn't order it for Incredible?!?! Just me---the complainer?
Did it suck? YES.
Do you know what was really good, though? Half the Steak Burrito I ate off Incredible's plate. Thank God for his A.D.D.
Three times a charmer, I will never order or let anyone else order Chicken Deluxe Enchiladas at Chuy's, again.
NEVER.
Somebody Else's Recipes
I made this meal: Rachel's Grilling this past Sunday.
Yes, I copied Ms. Rachel. After reading this post, I couldn't resist. Oh and FYI; I went as far as 45 minutes for the potatoes to roast because 15 minutes is just silly and gives you hard potatoes. Now, who wants that? Thanks to the Tom Thumb not having any red bell peppers, I put more corn and cilantro in the salsa. Plus, I served green beans on the side. We needed more vegetables to make the meal.
Yes, I copied Ms. Rachel. After reading this post, I couldn't resist. Oh and FYI; I went as far as 45 minutes for the potatoes to roast because 15 minutes is just silly and gives you hard potatoes. Now, who wants that? Thanks to the Tom Thumb not having any red bell peppers, I put more corn and cilantro in the salsa. Plus, I served green beans on the side. We needed more vegetables to make the meal.
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