Do You Want to Make Some Extra Dough?

So I know cash flow is short, "especially in this economy," so hows about you join me in making some extra. It's not hard, all you need to do is sell-sell-sell and it'll only take about a half hour a day. Even working mothers can do it without losing any sleep or precious family time.

I don't know if I look like a sucker or what but people keep trying to rope me in. Mary Kay, that vitamin thing and now the creepy "business" that no one will name. Guess what, I'm not happy with my jobs but you know whats more than that, my jobs don't make me pay them to work for them, so as unhappy as I am I'm not in debt trying to make money. Thank you jobs.

I have yet to figure all of this out. I have trouble telling these people no as they start their blabbing but goodness me I'm not your sucker. And when I grow up I'll grow a pair and keep these business propositions (which I'm sure are lucrative to the suckers who suck) to a mere "Oh hell no thank you."

I'm a Mom!

Yesterday, via the mail, I became a mother. I know, it's rather unexpected, I wasn't pregnant (I thought), I don't know who the father is, I'm even unsure of my child's race.

But Similac made me a mom and a mom I shall be.

I sent announcement texts to my closest confidants. Some were not so pleased. Kristen called me a whore, Melissa didn't see the pic so she was a bit confused and everyone else just accepted my new status as a mother. I guess I'll have a belated shower sooner or later, as soon as someone plans one, look, I'm a new mom, I don't have the time for party planning!

Just because I don't know who the father of my probably Indian baby is, I have asked my friend Logan to be his godfather. Logan has obliged given one one condition: that I name my child Shadow 3, after my late dog Shadow and Kat's late dog Max or Shadow 2. I can't have my poor child growing up without a male role model, especially because I think my child might be a boy because it is wearing blue.

I do love Shadow 3. I hope you will too. Please don't judge me and my single mother status. I didn't ask for this, it just kind of happened.

How Cool Am I?

I was driving today thinking about how I contribute to the world. It is decided, I am the coolest cat in town. I know this because after I left my super-slacker job where I super-lacked and talked about fat arms with people, I drove my kind-of-beater car 20 miles to the house I live in where I rent a room from my mother. And on top of it all I was eating Black Currant chocolate (marry me Lindt!) and listening to Iron and Wine.

Seriously, how much more hipster can I get. I just need skinny jeans and Mumford and Sons, maybe an Irish sweater and fringe.

Oh, wait! We can call that all a check, even though I'm getting a bit down on Mumford, not their fault entirely but I could use a new CD in my car which is equipped for XM radio (which I'm totally not going to ever pay for) but won't play FM.

Also I bought Kate Miller Heidke's (thank you Nora) album last night on the iTunes, which I know is so super main stream of me but I don't have a vinyl player... also I don't think Target is carrying anything that has "Are you F*cking Kidding Me?" contained anywhere in it (though who knows they do carry those books about the Navy officer and boinking his wife's secretary, also I need to jump on that cash cow!) And after buying said music I shared it with my younger sister who now thinks I'm every super cooler than she thought I was before (not hard to do.)

In my cool streak I have to add that I didn't wear hoes today. I know, it was freeezing. But as I said to my boss after she snorted "Of course you're cold you never wear hoes." I reminded her that at my real person job (which I've had for two weeks) I wear hoes everyday so she can suck it.*

And before you shake your head and say that I'm feeling sorry for myself blah blah blah, this post was not written sarcasticly. I'm in high spirits. I don't even feel bad for pussing out on Wednesday and not making it to work. Apparently, everyone did that, or they have hell stories from their drive home.

Have a bit of music!



*So that last bit I said after she walked away but you know.

Unofficial Snow Day

I woke up at 5:30 AM per my usual work routine, there was snow on the ground as was expected. My job has a weather hotline for delays and closing so I diligently called it but because the roads appear to be clear all was working on a normal schedule. So I clean off my car tightened my windshield wipers (because I need new ones but that would mean going to the auto parts place) and headed out. I made it fine until I hit the paved roads and even then I only slid a little.

I was driving rather carefully because the roads looked wet and felt icy. I didn't make it far before passing people was difficult. The roads I drive are not main roads so there are plenty of long curves and switch backs. One of those long curves got me. At 20 miles an hour I lost my back end which was followed by my front end and as I spun ass first into the lane I saw visions of the two snow plows in that lane getting me good. I missed the first one by about six inches and the second one stopped as i continued to spin. I recrossed the road and in an instant of bad decision making I slammed on my breaks because I was headed toward the ditch. Thank goodness it worked though I had spun 900 degrees. After a bit of breathing I decided that because I was pointed toward the way I came that I would be returning home instead of heading toward work.

The funny thing about Virginia weather is that is insanely unpredictable. It is raining and snowing at the same time. The news said the roads would be too warm this morning for the roads to freeze. The news is not always right about the weather. It isn't right about roads either,  when ice is falling out of the sky there will be ice on the roads, it has nothing to do with the fact that yesterday was nearly 40.

So work people and news people I'm sorry I'm a winter weather failure. But I won't risk my life because some lady in a suit told me that as long as I was alert I'd be ok.

Mistake!

Today I made the worst possible foax pas whilst working at the good old Ann Taylor. Being that I am a suburban white 20-something (don't hold it against me) I didn't know that fur coats were acceptable to wear with a valor sweat suit and F-Uggs. But boo on me for asking if it was real.

You should have seen this woman's face. Also she was pissed when I mentioned she should stay put while I went to retrieve my gallon of red paint.

I've seen fur coats before and being that I lean a bit liberal I wouldn't wear one but seeing as I am tolerant I think it is alright for the elderly, Europeans and people attending the Opera to wear fur coats. A jaunt through the good old outlet mall does not warrant an excuse to kill animals (nor does being a fashionably challenged vice-principal for my middle school, I know that mink doesn't become a vest after being hit by cars in tragic accidents but nice try.)

Next time I'll just punch the not-so-polite-word-for-a-woman in the face because she would have reacted the same way.

I think the full(ish) moon is making me feisty.

Bloody T

For Christmas I got a t-shirt from the beach. I thought this will be perfect for sleeping and lounging and the like because it's a little too big. I have made the mistake of wearing it as PJs twice now, and I don't understand why the shirt just can't be as I want it to be.

As far as appropriate comfort levels and warmth the shirt is a-ok but after sleeping I keep waking up with the same problem, and I have the tendency to exacerbate the problem by not changing out of the shirt right away.

At first touch the shirt feels fine, while it's not terribly soft it isn't sandpaper either. But the effect of wearing is similar to sandpaper. Both time I have wore the shirt to bed I have awaken with bloody nips (and now you are just so grossed out you don't know what to do. Sorry dudes can't help you with that one I'm all about over sharing with this one.)

Suffice to say I really have to layer the thing but who wants to be all bound up to sleep and if you haven't noticed it has been unreasonably cold so short-sleeved-ts are out of the question. The biggest problem with this is that until these puppies heal I'll be in constant discomfort cursing the day my mother thought it would be a good idea to buy me a t-shirt.

I would like to know why this isn't a problem with the t-shirts that my sisters wear from the beach. Where is the fairness here?

ooooh yeah

I discovered a lovely new thing today. Like the most awesome thing in my life. And it wasn't that I can swim an entire mile (I just looked out the window and mind you, it's 10:15 pm, there was someone walking down the road, and then they turned around at my driveway and walked up the hill again).

Lindt makes black currant dark chocolate.

I will not say anything inappropriate at this point. But I'm thinking it.

Where am I?

I still exist.

Getting used to a new schedule is all.

I'll be back.

Friday!

I'm sitting at home with cider watching The Social Network.

In my one down, how come alone is an effective way to to catch a buzz?, state I'm looking at the tube wondering why I didn't stay in college and study computer programming. I know, I know it doesn't matter I would have never created anything as earth shattering as facebook.com, the all consuming, all knowing, face planting social website. But I make very little and Mark Zuckerberg makes tons so you could see my the justification for my head shaking.

But the reality is, I'm not into screens full of code, hell, the book I'm currently reading is about verbal snaffoos. I'm enamoured with the way the author writes, after being told that those convoluted sentences that I so love are too complicated for readers (and I'm sure that this is true in a sense, too many long sentences often become too confusing) I am reading a book by a man who writes in these lovely sentences. I'd marry him for those sentences alone (don't fret, the man is married and not anywhere near here).

Authors be warned I get this feeling a lot. I love people who use words but I don't think marrying one would be a good idea, kind of a Joe Orton/Kenneth Halliwell type thing, and yes, that was sick but I've always feared that kind of crazed-ness lived within me. And I saw Prick Up Your Ears. I still fear the crazed eyes and hacking someone to death with a hammer.

I won't. Because I am self aware.

Oh, self awareness tells me I'm rambling.

Good night and happy Friday.

Homonyms

Today I sent an essay to a friend to look over before I turned it in because, well, it's important enough to make sure I did make any stupid glaring errors. I got a half a page of  notes mostly about how I'm a huge over-user of the comma (I do love a extra-long convoluted sentence, the more clauses the better!). But I received praise over the use of ensure instead of insure.

I have to admit there are homonyms that baffle me but that is not one of them. I have a BA in English and I would like to think that that makes me a bit smarter (with English words) than the average bear. I wanted to scream when I read his note, for Pete's sake he's a civil engineer (though a closet editor, he chose the wrong  parent's career to emulate) and I'm the English major. (Wouldn't it be nice if I had an appropriate title to juxtapose with his?)(Wouldn't it be totally awesome I stopped using parenthetical clauses?)

The point is there are words that sound alike and mean different things. 

Peak, peek and pique: use them correctly and you'll get a gold star.
Read and red: usually they're ok.
Principal and principle: there is a rule and I don't remember it past a headmaster and a law.
Affect and effect: it's one they teach to kids in school because it's sticky, but easy sticky.
Baste and based: the difference  is easy but I missed it in a spelling bee for not asking for a definition.

There are so many. So very, very many. And I love them. I actually discussed them in an interview once, though my love of homonyms might have been the reason they never ever called me back after that interview (rude) I was told that I might be too creative during that interview (what is too creative?).

Oh homonyms. How I love thee and love that I knew how to spell thee (homonym not thee, that hurt that you didn't think I could spell thee, I'm not that bad.)

Gym Talk

Yesterday, being that it was a day of the week, I spent a bit of time at the gym. And seeing as I have become a major space cadet I left my iPod attached to my mother's computer pretending to charge.  The music was barely toreralbe so I took to listening to people's conversations when I couldn't stay focused on the Sex in the City marathon happening on the cardio equipment tubes.

Now this is not a funny story I'm about to tell you. Funny would be nice and all but eavesdropping on the after-work-workouters is an eye opening.

I was on a bike wondering if my feet would ever regain feeling when I over heard a couple. Their converstaion went like this:

Woman: Olga (names have been changed to protect the individuals privacy and I cannot remember said names) was like "We're having a baby boy!" and she put the ultrasound picture on facebook.

Man: I did that with my colonoscopy. I was like look at my polyp, isn't it cute?

Woman: And my ex commented. Did you see?

Man: Your friends have an opinion on how I feel about you.

Woman: You should see, he commented on Olga's baby picture. Fucking bastard.

So this couple, who I've seen several times, and are in fact a couple, are in what I estimate to be in their mid to late forties. The woman is German. The man America. Both of them childless. Both of them bitter.

Last time I checked sono pics of the unborn spawn are an appropriate (for this day and age) way to share your excitement over the developing fetus with family, friends and who ever else happens to be your friend on facebook.

Comparing a sono of a baby to a scope taken through the behind of a middle aged man is inappropriate. First of all, I'm within ear shot. Second of all, sorry about your impending bum cancer but it isn't helping your stressed and depressed girlfriends biological clock so shut it the fuck down and take it home where she can be a crazed menopausal lady wanting babies without you comparing this need to having your tush scoped.

I have a bit of social anxiety. Mostly I don't like people I don't know being overly sharey with their biological issues (I also don't like people talking to me when I am in some state of undress so when I'm changing as discreetly as possible in the locker room do not make eye contact with me or try to start a converstaion.) There is a time and a place to have your middle aged (and/or quarter life) melt downs, the gym at its busiest point is not one of those times.

I got off the bike before I could feel my feet. I was a bit put off by how unguarded these people were. Everyone else I eavesdropped on was normalish, you know the "how's Bob, you guys should have dinner with us some time soon!" A bit of cheery chatter and the hilarious "slut" after the enthusiastic inviter walks away. There was tons of man talk. I don't always understand what gyms do to men because I can't understand most of what they say while working out. There were the workout buddies chatting mindlessly so they didn't have to pay attention to what they were actually doing, because some days running on a treadmill in public hurts enough, you don't need to focus on it.

So what I'm getting at is... don't say too much in public places. The gym is not your living room. There are no sound barriers that keep me and everyone else from hearing you.

My Mail Is Getting Rather Adult

When you are a kid you always want more mail. This is probably a reaction to the type of mail you receive as a child, invitations, cards and presents, an occasional magazine, perhaps. Then when you get ready to go to college you receive all kinds of colorful brochures, you get letters saying that you're generally awesome and they want you. You receive a few rejections for the same schools who said you were pretty nifty but you also receive an acceptance to keep you from sinking too low.

But recently my mail has turned very adult, no self-esteem boosting letters from colleges (though I did just get an offer letter which was a bit cool), no birthday cards, no birthday party invites (f u facebook for taking over mailed invites!). But I am getting more mail then I have ever gotten before. I get the occasional bank statement, credit card offers (not even good ones) and every once in a while I'll get a credit card offer from my bank.

Not to long ago though my adult mail became a tad more fascinating. I received two cans of formula from Similac. Then last week with my alumni donor pledge card (I won't be giving sorry JMU) I received a thick envelope from some university. I opened it being super curious about its content. It was a survey, they wanted to know about how I fed my babies, all kinds of breast feeding and formula questions. I tossed it, sad, not because I don't have any babies so the survey wasn't relevant, and confused because I don't have any babies (why do they think I am feeding babies?)

Maybe my mail is sent by my grandmother who I believe I have disappointed by not having babies yet at my old age. But more than likely the world has confused me with the other Megan Wiseman out there. The manager at my gym did (kind of, rather he recognized the name and not the face because I didn't go to high school with him because he is something like eight years my senior).

Oh. The joys of mail, come back to us!

Really You Guys?

Maybe it is a good thing. But probably it is not.

Why didn't you point out that weatherman is one word to me?

I spent two hours thinking about this issue last night, I had hoped to devote those hours to slumber but it didn't happen, and instead of reading I sat up thinking and thinking and wondering who would catch it first.

Me (or not but you didn't tell me).

Who am I, the Weather, Man?

Didn't know it was going to snow last night.

Didn't know it was going to be nearly 50 degrees today.

Didn't know by the time I left the gym at 3 or so PM it would be below freezing.

I am not the weatherman. Partly because I am not a man. But also because I don't like the way I look on camera and am not a meteorologist (which I know is not a TV weatherman requirement but Doug Hill is, so if I wanted to run with the big dogs I would have to be one as well).

And though I have proven to you just now that I am not a weatherman, I must confess that I have not paid close attention to neither a well educated meteorologist, a TV weatherman nor a internet weather site (NOAAi gets my vote when I am paying attention!).

I should have paid attention.

Today, I took my snow white legs out into the world in a skirt sans tights. When I decided that this was a good idea the snow was melting fast. The sun was warm and the wind wasn't blowing, much to my dismay this didn't last through my super-muscleman-esque workout.

Heck, as I sit here typing my hands are growing numb from the cold (which inevitably makes my spelling even worse because my fingers don't hit the proper keys at the appropriate times). My feet are icy but I could have changed into pants and slippers if I had had the forethought to do so, but my mind isn't really working at this speed this time of day. (And defiantly not after a rather rigorous midday workout.)

In the future I, especially during times like these when "global warming" should really get a new name (climate change, perchance??) and the days are superdy-duperdy unpredictable, I shall consult a weather forecast. I know that they are not always accurate but I am not yet skilled enough to use my psychic abilities to predict the changes in my environment.

A New Job.

I got a new job. I think that calls for a Whoop, Whoop.

Ok, so I'm not super enthused and I know that makes me a bit of a Debbie Downer, and also everyone wants to stab me for complaining.

I applied to this here job knowing I was settling, and that makes me a bit sick and you are rolling your eyes. I interviewed for this job and it went well and the like, I was a bit down about not getting a call back in the next week but I got it the week after that I did. And it was semi-good news. I got the job, and so did someone else, so instead of full time I will be working part time. The up side is the money and steady hours. The down side: I still have to work a second job.

I will again be working (more than likely) seven days a week between the two jobs. I will be less broke, but still broke. I will still have to search for more relevant jobs. I will still not be able to afford to take classes, or else it will take a miracle.

I don't want to sound too down about it. But people look at this. I am only half a step ahead of where I was last year. And last year was pretty dark for me, super unsuccessful.

So here's to still dreaming that one day I'll be able to get out of my mom's house. Here's to dreaming that I'll have weekends. And here's to dreaming in general.

Because I guess at this point I can't give up.

I Saw That!

So I was at the gym today, not particularly interesting in itself, but from the StairMaster I saw everything. And seeing as it was the middle of the day there wasn't much to see but then poof something interesting happened. A man checked out the person in front of me.

But Wait!!

The person in front of me was a maintenance man fixing an out of order cardio machine, he wasn't a fit man, which is his prerogative and I have no room to judge but the man who checked out this maintenance man was "that guy."

My sister suggested that the uber fit guy was just looking at the fat man because he was a fat man in a gym but she wasn't there, she didn't see him slow and do the up down thing. He did the up down thing to the bent over dude. Twice.

I know you think I'm going to something about the gays, but I'm not, I don't care if "that guy" is a chubby chasing gay. I just love the whole darn thing. It was cute and silly and, well, I had been on the stairs for nearly a half hour and Sex in the City was not keeping me distracted enough. So maybe it wasn't as exciting as I think but it was still good times.

January 1, 2011

Happy New Year!!

Don't worry I spelled checked before posting.