Fall has Fallen

I used to love fall, absolutely loved it. Now it has me worried. Fall brings the close of one year and is the dank reminder that I hate my job, I hate the negativity that envelopes me when talking about it or thinking about or spending much time at it. But I also hate days off, because they're filled with job applications and the urge to sleep and watch television, and worst of all, the urge to buy things that I need.

So today its fall, nearly noon at that and the leaves are down and the sun has been up for a lot longer than I've been awake and I'm thinking about buying a computer. That's right I'm thinking of buying something I can't afford but would be super handy to have. This "need" comes from the computer I was using dying again. All riddled with viral infections, I'm somehow to blame and yet with the computer down for the count I don't have access to many many things, like the more respectable writing samples I have for applying to jobs. But I can't afford to purchase a computer, I need new axles.

I'm also considering school, the Peace Corps, becoming a nun and moving for the sake of a change. I want to get out of here. Hopefully the holidays cheer me a little.

A Stolen Waggle

Turns out I am not, or at least I wasn't the only one, the inventor of the word Waggle. I was walking through the Target the other day, in the dog toy aisle, and this toy was named after the very motion that I had described in my previous posts. And on top of that it was a toy that my dog does indeed play with. So yes, the toy is called the Waggle, but does it Waggle.

That evening when I got home I decided that, unfortunately for my puppy, we would play with the Waggle for purposes of a motion study. He wasn't terribly upset but he did try to introduce a bird into play a few times. But  the study confirmed it, the Waggle is a definitive motion, named by me or not, something that waggles is something that waggles.

And yes, that last sentence is a bit off, actually many things about this situation are. Because dog toy makers have invented a toy that moves much like the bust of a human my poor dog things anything that waggles is fair game. I'm fighting for the right to waggle here folks and I'm going to be defeated by a puppy with a strange notion of motion.

The Artful Waggle: Updated

I was in the town that I went to college in last night. That's a horrible sentence but bear with me here.


So I was back at school and my friend and I went to my favorite restaurant, the famous Earth and Tea Cafe, for tea and Princess Cake (you have no idea what you're missing). On our way to the car after tea and shopping I spotted a glorious waggle. It was yet another man waggle, I tend to notice them more because, well, lady boobs aren't really my thing. This man had a front and back waggle, hips and buns swinging in his swishy pants on his way to the only athletic establishment in the tiny downtown area, the stripercize studio.

Good for him, you know, if your best assets look best bouncing why not bounce them in style while toning and strengthening your body, mind and spirit? Oh, so stripping isn't the same as yoga or meditation or long distance running?

My statement stands: If you bounce best, bounce well.

But I should also clarify that I don't want this to be something I an forced to observe while trying to diminish my midsection bounce while bounding doing a stationary machine that somehow forces me to look at myself run even if the TV is turned on to such exercise shows as Top Chef: Just Desserts. I don't want to see boobs, I don't want to see bums and I sure as hell don't want to see them in all of the splendor while I'm attempting to be discrete.

The waggle has a scary side and it is apparent in the locker room. While I'm not privy to what goes on in a men's locker room (and am eternally grateful because if it's half as bad as what goes on in the ladies' locker room I'd die) the women's locker room is where the waggle rears its ugly head and causes nightmares. I will never judge a fatty at the gym, I am not so stealth myself, and it can only be an improvement for their health, what I will judge is the lack of shame some people feel in a locker room. I have had a few encounters with men in the locker room, more than enough to keep any need to uncover  covered, but I hide when it's just the ladies too.

Some people not so much. My favorites are the towel on the head ladies, they like to put lotion on their legs while using the counter to prop up said legs while only wearing the aforementioned towel. I also like the large lady whose aquatic class has tuckered her out so thoroughly that she has to sit her naked bottom on the bench to get dressed, this lady is always social. All of these ladies are wiggling and jiggling into their clothes and entire bodies waggle. Entire bodies!

Please, if you dare, share your waggles with me, sexy and un. But be kind, use words not visuals.

Growing Up

It has become painfully obvious that this year, my 23rd, is quickly wrapping up. And again, as it has been every year since I turned 21 (yeah, I know, oh so many years ago) I'm beginning to panic. People seem distracted, preoccupied, and they are going to forget again. Two people at work know my birthday is next week. A few friends know (one shares my birthday, one was sweet enough to take me to Whose Live?, one may remember or may forget but he knows its here). My grandparents remembered, I got my card today. It'll be a miracle if my dad remembers, though I'm not sure why. Facebook will remember.

The plus side to my birthday blues: this year no one has pointed out what they were doing at my age. Last year it was all, "I'd been married for five years and had two kids." I think by now they realize this isn't how my life is working.

I think the fact that my loosely laid out life plan isn't shaping up the way I had pictured brings me down more than my dad not remembering and his mother reminding me that I haven't seen her in a long time can't seem to remember that birthdays other than hers exist. Apple and tree situation maybe?

I also think my panic comes from not having an adventure in sight. I can't seen a clear moment of joy in my future, I see working, I see grocery shopping and I see not enough time in the day. I think maybe I crave adventure too much, I spoiled myself with it too early... or not. Maybe I'm just playing it too safe now. Maybe I should get on a bike and ride across the country? Only I don't like bikes, but there has to be something sort of like that that I'm afraid of doing, something that I would actually.

Maybe, just maybe, I show become a roadie. I know, the whole thing has a certain skeeze factor, dirty clothes and buses and late nights and too much to drink. But I don't know that it would be bad. Maybe I should freak my mom out, join the Peace Corp like I always planned, throw caution to the wind, learn a new language, live in poverty in a strange place and maybe make a difference. I wouldn't be any worse off than I am today.

I could go back to school, take on that debt. Learn and end up actually working in a place I despise instead of just in an unstimulating job that I despise some of the time.

Operation Ada Jane seems more like a trap these days than a genius idea, but some genius ideas are traps aren't they?

Haha, who am I kidding?

Whatever you do this week don't compare me to you. Thanks a bunch!

It's 1:30 on a Wednesday, Do you know where your children are?

I do!

Ok, so this is an easy game because I don't have any offspring. But at 1:30pm on a Wednesday I should be working or something, but I'm not. I'm sitting around letting my mind wander, and it hurts a little bit, drinking coffee wondering what to do next.

I could put the wash into the dryer, but that would mean getting up and then in an hour or so I'd have to get up and fold it. All of this seems like too much effort right now. I mean when I got out of the shower I didn't really even get dressed. I'm wearing clothes, a lot of clothes, but I look like a homeless person. My mom told my sister I was practicing for pregnancy (third you should have a baby in two days). My plaid, flannel dress is so super shapeless that she might be right.

Oh, goodness yes, the washing machine is still going so I don't have to get up just yet!

But while I'm wasting my day being pathetic and trying to make my room smell like a human room people are out there living life and facing the world. I would be too, but it's raining and I'm broke and didn't have to work today. The rain and the broke sort of suck, and while I don't want to work being at work wouldn't be so bad.

Heck, I'm on facebook looking at pages of people who've passed away wondering why people still comment on their walls. Maybe facebook is the new religion? I dare say many people would go for that before they went for Jesus, who interestingly enough my wireless network has been named after.

Like how this didn't go anywhere?

Me too.

Chompy McHumperson

My mom got a puppy this past August and he is absolutely adorable. I trained him to lay down in three tries, then was told never to teach him another thing because he stopped sitting and started doing all of his other tricks. His one fault is biting. He bites out of love and out of play. He bites anything he can get his mouth around, sometimes amounting to two or three toys at a time.

Or...

My right breast. He's always lunging at and chomping the right one. And now that he is an adolescent dog after getting excited after a nice chomp he wraps himself around my arm and if I'm not quick he'll hump it. Between the chomping and the humping and this odd nose pushing thing he does I'm covered in bruises and flinch when he comes up to me.

The relationship has become abusive, he loves me, if he didn't he wouldn't chomp me.

Help me train my dog to be nicer to the boob, and less nice to my arm!

This Post Proves Itself Wrong. I am Lazy.

Yesterday, I was at work and one of the regular clients came in and was chatting, they do this sometimes, and he brought up some current news topics. So he sidles on to the Occupy Wall Street protests and that is where the encounter goes south.

I should have learned by now that I am of a different world view than most of the people that I work with, live near, and am forced to interact with in a fake-smiley work way, and at this point I should have learned that the fake smiling gets me farther with people than opening my mouth and expressing an opinion. All that said, I am human and apparently like the abuse that comes with being a young adult that can't afford to live on their own.

So he blabs about the protesters being lazy, no-goods, and says, and this is a real quote, not something like a quote that I'm putting in quotation marks, "This is America, there are plenty of jobs, they can have any job they want." Ok, Herman Cain, whatever you say.

I stupidly said, "we (referring to my fellow teller and myself) only work three days a week," as in the company that we work for, that I actually like, doesn't have the money to employ full-timers, so I'm happy to have my sad hours instead of nothing, while I try to figure out what to do with the BA I earned in three and a half years. Though, I only said the stupid part, so when he called me lazy and said I should get a second job, I probably deserved it, right?

I don't think so.

But we're all entitled to our opinions and Fox News in a legitimate news source so I guess I should be happy he isn't completely ignorant.

For the record, I am many things but I am not lazy. I quit my second job because I was actually spending more money to get to it than I was making. I hated it, I hated myself while being there, I hated how I was treated by customers, I hated how I was treated by fellow employees and I hated how it looked on my resume. So I quit, I am picking up gigs that I wouldn't have been able to do otherwise, I am picking up hours that I wouldn't have been able to pick up otherwise. I am still looking for a job that is both satisfying, interesting and pays enough (because I can't hold out for decently or even reasonably). And I've been called pretty twice in a week by people who had never seen me outside of my former work place. As in, "You're so pretty, that place must of been aweful! Look at you're smile!"

So I don't regret backing down to one part-time job. But walk a mile in my shoes.

Also the man is a small business owner. I don't have much money. He has the same amount as me in all of his accounts combined. He makes daily deposits that are twice the size of my savings account, so somehow I win.

That was mean. But I'm not lazy.

Copy and pasted from noboomerangleftbehind.blogspot.com

The Artful Waggle

I understand now. At least I think I do. No, this isn't a meaning of life type thing, though maybe it is. It's more a breast thing, not just breasts but chiefly breasts, and breasts are sort of meaning of life for babies and some of the male of my species. And while I've got a set I've never really understood the fascination, that is, as I stated earlier, until now.

This afternoon I was driving and as I sat at a stop light waiting for my green, a pedestrian crossed the opposite crosswalk, halfway across a car forced the walker into a job and there it was, the ever so elusive, meaning of life, life changing, life affirming, breast waggle.

And now you're shaking your head. First of all I should try to explain what a waggle is, I do indeed use the word a lot in real life, if perhaps not here.

Waggle verb : a motion that resides somewhere between swaying or waving to and fro and jiggling or vibrating.

Unbound breasts do waggle, I have a hand motion that is a waggle (Jamie Lose and Christine Bowden witnessed it once and each has a wonderful impression). Waggles happen often enough that Merriam-Webster will eventually pick it up, but not until Oxford English does (I just talking about dictionaries like they're not dictionaries, what now?).

This waggling episode of this afternoon wasn't as beautiful as you XYs are thinking because this waggle was the waggle of male mammaries (Google is telling me this is spelled incorrectly, forgive me but mammary just doesn't work, it was a plural waggle.)

Yes, a man jogged across the street and his breasts bounced and shook like a slo-mo Baywatch shot, only much less appealing. I was repulsed. And I'm not being sizest here, I should clarify that this was not a fat man but a fit man, at least his legs were fit, he could have used a few reps in the chestical region, light weights just to firm those puppies up.

It was this repulsion that made me understand though. I understand a bit more of the mystery of the love of boob. Breasts have they're own magical motion, and as the tele-tube has led me to believe in a fuller form the waggle is wonderfully hypnotizing. So I hear. I'm still pulling two sports bras at the gym to keep the waggle to a minimum because the TV doesn't understand how uncomfortable treadmill waggle is.

I am feeling more enlightened today. I hope you are too.

Movie Time

I'm not sure that I'm in my right mind, I've pulled back from the crazies lately (partly because I quit my one job, and making decisions feels good) but I can still see them lingering, like a shadow in the periphery. I'm trying my best to focus on happy things, I even went to far as to explain to a woman that a week of rain and flooding is a good thing because it keeps the grass green, she said miserable too many times, and it was bringing me down.

Today I decided that after some super unsuccessful window shopping I'd grab a movie to watch and just enjoy the day. I watched Something Borrowed, that was a mistake. Movies are supposed to have happy endings, or at least American movies are, everyone is supposed to end up with the right person and the bad guys are supposed to end up alone. It didn't happen. Where is my catharsis? I need to know that the best friend who was in love ends up happy. Where is his justice? Yeah, he goes to London, and that would make me happy but he doesn't get his girl not even after being super patient.

I must move on. I must trust that the actor had a scheduling conflict because that best friend was better than the other guy who came across as the "bad guy" even when everyone was doing stupid things.

Maybe the problem with movies is that somehow every movie ends with you, the viewer, connected to a character. That's supposed to happen, you're supposed to relate to someone, but I always relate the the one who doesn't win. I'm Ben Affleck in The Company Men, I'm Annie in Bridesmaids, I'm Ethan in Something Borrowed (even the "I kind of love you, kind of" thing, I did that in London too, and I was also told "darn, too bad"). I don't care to be these characters, and yes, they do find something like peace or happiness, but they are defeated versions of themselves by the end of the movie and I'm hoping for something other than defeat.

Maybe Logan is right , I have to write a book. I have to create something out of the defeat I'm feeling. Or I have to accept it.
You don't need to know who Logan is, he's important in terms of this idea but becoming less and less important in the big picture. It's sad how friends fade.-

To Weight Loss

So I'm doing it again. Dieting. I'm an expert at this point, yet it's a cycle, an ugly expensive cycle. There is way too much popcorn and water involved in my life when I'm trying to be good. And not even good popcorn, the oil-free kind without much flavor. And yet I continue pop-pop-popping away.

I need help. I need motivation and group fitness classes. I need the people I work with the quit with the food. No more candy in my drawer, no more pie runs (yes, this happens at my job, people go for expensive pie on a regular basis) no more goading me, if I say I'm starving half an hour before I go to lunch do not tell me to eat dried fruit or a granola bar.

I need other types of success in my life, personal success begets personal success in my case. I have "when it rains it pours" type of "luck", good and bad. So let the good rain fall.

Grad School: An Idea

So I have options, right? I'm a smart cookie, got the degree, not the/a job, and am willing to wait out the next recession in a classroom with a crap job on top. I could perhaps just stick up my place o' business and pay for this wondrous idea.

Um, no, that's probably a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Stealing is bad.

Ok, next!

What should I get a master's degree in? Basket weaving, a good option. But really do I go international somethingerother or publishing or communications somethingerother? Wine making would be a sound step but I'm not sure I can handle the caloric intake, the alcohol, or the lifestyle. Weekends, I need them.

All of my options are limited by my background, English and British are a touch of what I want, words and foreign. Peace Corps is an option. One that involves isolation and foreign languages. Also, latex, which you know isn't my favorite thing.

Help!

Oh Hey!

It's bit a while. I know this, you know this. We'll blame it on busyness but that's a lie and you know it.

So here goes honesty:

I downloaded Scrabble on the Kindle, had a dark moment, played some more Scrabble, slept a bit, played with my puppy, Scrabble, puppy, Scrabble, Scrabble, wine, Scrabble, new fall premieres on the on-demand and I went the the gym a few times.

Yeah, since my interview I've been offline for the most part, the rejection is beginning to eat away at the soul just a bit. Scrabble is the 99 cent cure. And Al is always beating me.

Today I have a list of things to do, post office, Costco, cleaning, gym, cleaning my room, a shower so instead of doing those things I'm here!

So I've become insanely unproductive. What of it?

Grasping the Glimmer

Hope has a funny way of shining through even when you least expect it. I put in my notice at the dreaded retail job and applied myself to applying to jobs. Got a near immediate hit, woot! Interviewed today, woot! And can see myself making money now, being happy, moving away eventually. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Hope is the interviews, my friend Katie and I each had one today and are praying that it's the out we've each been looking for. My birthday twin started his trudge though retail hell today, for a good cause, he's back in school, he'll finish it soon enough and be back to work in the real world.

So we each have our little taste of hope. And it is sort of a fleeting taste, now that things have started rolling we take a passive role in respective fates. Hoping. Waiting. It's enough to make one drink. But maybe tomorrow night, tonight we're broke.

Irrational Becoming Me

I just applied for a job in Reading, England. With an American phone company. But I thought, hey, maybe I'll end up in jolly old England again! And seeing as I'm quitting Ann it's the perfect time.

Oh, I'm quitting Ann. Ann has let things get out of control so I'm taking back the control and quitting. Quitting. I've done this before I think, yes, yes I have...July 4th I walked out.

Anyhow. I'm still recovering from my journey to escape Irene.

Walking, train, running, bus, train, train, taxi, car.

Doesn't sound so bad when you put it that way. There were a few arguments with people in charge of the transportation, ie the cabby. Why argue, sir, I'm paying you to drive me!

Anywho. Back to work tomorrow, have to figure out my life and such.

Now this is how a vacations is supposed to be

I am currently in Hoboken,  NJ.  It is the London roomie's b-day weekend and I'm here to relax, enjoy the stereotypical Jersey-ness that is around. The problem is Irene. Irene is not even a person. Irene is a stupid hurricane that is effing everything up. We can't stay until Sunday as was planned, Sunday NYC and Hoboken will but underwater seized by no less than tropical storm force winds.

So, yes, I'm boldly climbing aboard a bus tomorrow heading toward home and toward the storm. Panic has taken hold and I'm curious as to whether or not I'm making the right decision. The problem with the whole thing, there is still a chance that the bus gets canceled. It's the big freak out before the potential let down of the storm. Do I freak or stay cool and collected? I'm not sure.

NYC public transportation is closing. DC metro may end up closing. So I'm going to be super screwed. I'm not super excited about this whole thing.

The Curse of My Hometown

At my bank job I am allowed an hour of silly internet time a day. I rarely use that hour because 1.Though we are a slow branch there is only so much of People.com one can handle and 2. I have access to internet news free and clear. I spend a bit of time on the culture pages, read some of the more tasteful news blogs, check out the Guardian online (the sheer enormity of the site can keep me going for days) but out of habit, and perhaps ease of spelling, I always start my day on CNN.com. Yesterday, I made the mistake of ending it there.

I have to clarify this upfront my outrage and hurt have nothing to do with CNN, they were just creating a top ten type list and it so happened to pique my interest, I don't hold CNN responsible for my heartbreak.

I'm clicking through links and more links and end up here. The article is a wonderful place to read and dream, and there are pictures to aid me in this endeavor. I really wanted to know where the jobs are, and where I need to be to find these jobs. I clicked next after the first slide and nearly cried. Number two:Loudoun County.

I live there. I live here! I have for the majority of my twenty-three years. Most of my jobs have been in Loudoun County. All of my jobs in Loudoun County have been menial (with the exception of my internship at Weider History Group, that was intellectually stimulating, it was fun, it was professional) mindless jobs. I've worked at the outlet mall in Leesburg for nearly seven years. I've worked in labs and banks and doctor's offices for little pay and usually no benefits.

Before you get too agitated about the above point you need to know that for the last, well, no less than five years, Loudoun County has been either the first or second richest county per capita. So, yes, I'm jaded about making $8.51 an hour helping women who claim an income of $250000 a year only to be declined for a credit card that starts with a $250 limit.

Back to the living in the second best place to find a job. Verizon, Aol, and some other large tech companies are headquartered here. Verizon is having union troubles right now. Makes me wary of even considering working there, though I'm not qualified for anything. Aol is only anything anymore because it acquired Huffington Post recently and with that they acquired higher standards when it comes to experience.

Loudoun County is still a bit wild around the edges, my neighbors have cows. I just got bumped from a farm sitting gig while the farmers, a nurse and a federal law enforcement agent, are on vacation, they're Virginia Tech-student of a son is leasing himself to other farmers to make a bit of cash before heading back to school. Twenty miles east is where creepy suburbia begins, and not all Starbucks and WholeFoods, just white people, houses and expensive cars to go with credit debt and teeny-bopper clothes on the forty-somethings. Suburbia is a new invention, my parents moved to Loudoun County so that my father could help draft the plans for that evil.

So I'm in the right place. I have been applying to jobs and beseeching people to help me. So what if I lived in Loudoun County when people ate the chickens from their backyards. So what if my childhood friends were very successful in 4-H. I have the education. I have some of the experience. And the places I've lived while not living in Loudoun County have been dreams come true. London, New York, Harrisonburg. Dreams lived, and I can't find a job in my hometown.

Becoming the Nice Person I Used to Be

My mom keeps doing nice things, saying nice things, inviting people that she has disliked for 30 or so years to visit because "it'd be fun". Why all this niceness? She keeps saying "Somethings changing, I'm becoming the nice person I used to be." And I'm thinking the change of life usually does the opposite, makes you cranky. Do I suggest she sees a doctor? Changes in mood usually signify a brain tumor.

So does this mean that she's going to be perpetually nice? She hasn't asked about my rent yet this month, I left it in my car, for a week. She thought my snarky email to my grandmother in response to her whining about her age was a bit rude. All I said was that I, too, am aging everyday.  The woman told me I need to visit her, and I have to tell you she lives in a backward place and is a backward person and I out of respect for my elders I can only stand the woman for about two hours a year. I did promise that if I made it to her neck of the woods (a seven-ish hour drive) I'd take an extra day to visit. It was a sincere promise.

My new-nice-person-mom would visit her, if she didn't more or less hate the old bag as much as I do. Maybe that will be the straw that turns my mom into the callus role model I need.

Here's to hoping.

In the Clutch of the Crazies

Yeah, they're back. The crazies are getting me. And blue is blue but this has got to stop. I've toyed with the idea of seeing someone but the last thing I need is more drugs and further expense to add to the stress of working a bagillion (bajillion?) hours and not bringing home the bacon. Speaking of bacon, the crazies are making me fat, like, um, this fit yesterday, what can't I get it zipped, fat.

So the new thing is going to be how to not let the crazies get to me. Plan isn't a simple, somehow I have to become happy. And how does one become happy?

I think Martin Page and Francois Lelord seem to know how. But they're French so maybe it's a French thing, this happiness and contentment. Or maybe it's a man thing. But I'm leaning toward French. And maybe it's not a thing at all, because I'm reading these books and the characters find that after the search everywhere only to realize that what they had before was quite alright. So is what I have quite alright?

I guess I have to go through a great journey, across the globe, I must meet people who are happy and sleep with many, many happy men what want nothing other than a roll in the hay and nuzzling. Wait, that sounds French, or fictional. Too many books. But I do think the journey part of the idea holds water.

So the journey thing, you say I should go? Who pays? I'm still looking into the whole sugar daddy thing, the boss man tells me that all this fellow needs is $8 million in the bank and I can live on a slim four hundred thousand in interest every year. Which I think, maybe I could handle. Maybe, if I watched my electric bills and lived on rice and beans for two meals a day. I think I could do it.

Oh, right, but I can't because it was a thing that The Today Show exploited for ratings in the last week or so. This is a warning to The Today Show: Stop stepping on my toes, until I'm good enough to work for a living I need this. Thank you.

Then again, maybe my outed plan can still work, rich old men don't get up to watch The Today Show, they read the newspaper!

So anyhow, if anything a few weekends away, a few dates (take the freaking hint!), that could be the band-aid on the bullet wound for a bit. A real job would be super fantastic. A place to live. More French books?

Here's to the search for happiness!

I've Been Doing Something Wrong

It is safe to say that I have never had a boyfriend. I've dated plenty but I've never been bound to someone by labels. In some ways this is good (so I've been told) and other ways not so good. We're all quite aware of my stunted social skills but there has yet to be a scientific study that proves correlation, let alone causation, when it comes to stunted social skills and lack o' boyfriends.

It hasn't even bugged me until lately. And the fact that it's bugging me now, is bugging me. So let us examine this a little deeper shall we.

I have a sister who is a serial monogamist, or something like it, basically she traps boys in to hanging on for a long time, then breaks up with them, says super nasty things about the girls they date next and then pretends they are friends again. This seems like a fairly typical scenario, I've seen some chick-flicks so I would know. But what is so intriguing about her whole set up is this whole gift thing. Almost without fail any serious ex-boyfriend starts giving her expensive gifts about a year or so after they break up. Like a TV. And that's after they've broken up!

So, issue number 1: Gifts. I want gifts, and not selfish I want things things, and not a TV, but gifts like, "Oh yeah I saw this trinket and thought of you!" gifts.

Also there is a rash of engagements and weddings. I would like one of those. And I am well aware that not all cultures require a boyfriend prior to engagement, in fact, I can think of a few that discourage such behavior but alas I am not a part of any of these cultures. And don't give me that "but people are waiting longer to get married" stuff. I know they are. I only know one or two people who were married before they were 20, though both my grandmothers and my mother were married before they were 20, so yeah waiting until you're 23 is like so waiting!

Issue 2: I'm being left in the dust.

I'm not really in a place socially or economically to have a boyfriend, so yeah throwing a wedding won't be happening anytime soon either. I live with my mother. I live with my mother 10 miles from the nearest town. I live with my mom 10 miles from the nearest town which is yet another 10 miles from anything to do. All that and I have two jobs and very little money.

Issue 3: I am a socially unattractive boomerang living in the boondocks. It weighs on me to type that sentence.

All issues aside, I'm lacking in confidence at the moment, and by moment I mean the last say seven years have lent their hands to this undermining feeling of inadequacy. I need a coach. And a therapist. And new shoes (this being the most pressing of the three, of course).

A little help?

Mending: My New Favorite Hobby

Way, way back in the day the ladies of the house used to sit around in the evening fixing the family's clothes by the fireside. Picture rocking chairs and a warm glow. Maybe some pipe smoke, and I'd like to think tomorrow's bread.

Today I don't have that wonderfully nostalgic scene to mend in. Usually I am stuck either on my knees next to an ottoman or my bed squinting at holes and thread. Mending is not a blind person's job, yet I toil on. Why, you ask? Well, because somehow the thighs of all of my workout pants decided to disintegrate at the same time. All of my cardigans have what appear to be moth holes but are probably just pulls at the same time. My hems have all fallen out at the same time. My skirts need taken in and my straps need taken up, all at the same time.

I should see a professional. Should but can't. Somehow the summer time is the time that I find myself most broke. I don't get it, other than my car insurance being due it isn't that much different than any other season. Not only am I the most broke during the summer, I've discovered that I don't have complete outfits for the summer, I have summer skirts, a dress or two but no tops. All of my shirts are summer inappropriate. My shoes less so but they're still lacking and I only own one acceptable pair of shorts, and their white, and I'm messy.

So my broke, summer-clothesless self is mending the thigh holes in hopes that, instead of buying new versions of clothes I already have, I can buy new things to spice up the entire wardrobe... Ann Taylor has some wide leg jeans, I'd like to try, only $98.

Show a Boomerang Some Love

Why do you not look at the other blog?

It cries about you not reading it.

A Place to Lay My Head

Ok, so here's the thing, logistically I've screwed myself, maybe. Over the weekend I went on a I-Need-A-Job-Panicked job hunt. I applied to everything and anything I am either interested in or qualified for. And someone bit. Before you WooHoo! too loudly, it's an unpaid internship (still good) in NYC (not so good).

I've considering all my options here:

1. Commute. It's impossible, next!
2. Couch surf. It's possible but it would take a kind, generous soul to give up their couch for any length of time, couches are important you know. So, please, kind, generous souled people I'll be tidy just for you!
3. Set up a hammock in a park. Seriously, all I'd need is two trees close enough together to sling my hammock and perhaps a tarp for coverage. It won't be too cold until say October? (Please note this scenario also works for porches and balconies)
4. Sigh and move on. This is a last resort option. I don't want to do this unless there is no other way. It's heartbreaking to even consider this. Don't break my heart people. Just don't do it.

If you think of something else, or know of a spot in a park, let me know.

Here's to taking advantage of every opportunity that comes my way!

Look Here... It's a Tan!

I have a tan. Yes, a tan.

Now, now don't get your panties wadded just yet. I am even nude-panty tan, but I'm not going to let you tell me that that is not a tan. I only had a bit of bad luck burn on my shoulder, faded fast enough with very little pain. I did end up with ankle foot rash from my fancy sun allergy.

Don't judge me. I love the sun, it's just a volatile relationship, I know, I admit it, but you can't keep me from going back, I won't let you!

All joking aside, the fancy sunbrella with SPF 100 plus my super special Coppertone Water Babies SPF 50, reapplied every hour on the hour works. Thanks science!

Vacation

Dudes give me a break I was at the beach.

Tell you all about it later on, perhaps after I get home from work this evening?

Abandoned by Facebook Friends

There is a car commercial out there where a girl sits behind a computer confessing she is worried about her parents' social lives. The commercial is a disgusting, though potentially true, depiction of the generation gap. I laughed at it, believing that I am above it, sort of.

Then, today, I went to post something on the wall of a friend only to discover that we are no longer friends. This is the second time in a week that I have realized that I have been unfriended. The first one didn't hurt so much, it was a former classmate that I was never particularly close to, but today, that hurt.

It hurt not because I have one less facebook friend but because facebook was the medium of communication with this particular friend who has a habit of being challenged by life and disappearing into the unknown for periods of time. And, please don't tell him this, I look up to him, I need him because I am also not sure what is going on.

Granted our struggles are worlds apart, and I tend to find out about his though strange sourced, but he is/was a a buddy though it all. Usually he was just a laugh. And a laugh is pretty important at this point in my life.

So here's to missing my facebook friend. A tear shed.

Operation Ada Jane

Set some long term goals today. Proud of them. Proud of myself.

I think I'll start using full sentences from this point forward.

The whole thing kind of stems from my youngest sister's status as a rising high school senior, which isn't a big deal to my life plan except that when she graduates high school my mother will sell the house and move to wherever seems super relevant at the time. So unless I've found a real job, I'll be out of luck and out of time.

So with my dear mother's help we've devised Operation Ada Jane. It is a plan that it's name sake perfected at the age of 17. She worked it hook line and sinker. I shall too.

Unfortunately, I'm working with smarter targets, driven targets. Unfortunately, said targets have been on to my varying versions of Operation Ada Jane for years. Maybe that will make it harder, maybe easier. And I'd ask your opinion but Operation Ada Jane has to be a secret or it will never work. And it has too, Operation Ada Jane is a comfortable future, not dazzling but cozy and sweet, which at this point is more than enough for me. 

If Operation Ada Jane is a successful I'll be set.

Wish me luck!

Stupid First Food Group

Popcorn lung is a serious condition, super serious. It happens when the chemicals from popcorn butter are inhaled and causes the lung cancers.

Today, while risking my health for a super tasty treat I was almost met with an untimely demise. Not from popcorn lung but from a popcorn husk in the lung.

A word of advice: don't inhale those things.

It hurts and then chocking hurts. And it all hurts.

The Sadness of the TV Accent

After dinner last night and the movie tonight, I'm wishing more and more I had an interesting accent. I actually wish that on top of an accent I spoke more than one language, its not only useful it's cool. And cool is what I'm striving for (I have a life goal: Become an interesting person). The problem with my accent, which when I was studying in England made me easy to identify as American, lacks a distinct region.

People can tell I'm American, past that they've got nothing. So do I start imitating people's more interesting dialects or just embrace my own universally understood American?

I don't want to be fake, that defeats the purpose, so instead of imitation I have to stick with my original accent, and use my diction to stand apart.

My spoken language is rather interesting, my mother finds it amusing to imitate, my sisters find it amusing to mock. I cannot tell if they way I speak has people looking at me sideways out of curiosity or because they think I'm silly or stupid. In my insecurity I fear the latter but I always hope for the former.

After all of my failed interviews I'm beginning to think faking a southern accent would do more for me than not.

Anyone willing to coach?

The Important Food Groups

I'm back on being tubby me again, I've gained three pounds. And you're like that's three pounds, that's nothing, you're a crazy person. And you're right.

But three pounds on a skinny person is not the same as three pounds on someone my size. I float somewhere between average and fat. Three pounds can make or break my entire wardrobe. Three pounds can keep me happy or send me into a tail spin.

So where did these three pounds come from?

 I blame the major food groups: Popcorn, candy, dairy! and coffee.

Food groups aside I am a fairly healthy eater. So what do I do to fix my three pounds, maybe fix 50 pounds?
Well friends, I don't starve well. Starving actually makes me put on weight. I mean I have a gym membership, and I've neglected it a little in the last three weeks. I could go back there on a regular basis, say five days a week for no less than an hour. I could do that. I should do that. But I have so few things going on that I just can't get motivated.

Also today I had a small panic attack over bacon. No, I didn't eat a whole pound in one sitting, rather I was eating a single strip of bacon and like they say it tried to kill me. Not by clogging my arteries, no, that takes time. No, I just choked on it. I panicked because I was home alone and choking on a strip of bacon, feeling tubby, only to have all of my insecurities exacerbated by the bacon.

Sleeping On It

After yesterday one would think that there would be some regret. But outside the fact that my only current job is with the company that the manager who cussed me works for full time, and that might be a hugely horrid thing, I'm at peace with my fiasco.

With hind sight being as it is so, I must confess that I wish I had been calmer. I wish I could have stayed creepy calm while forcing her into hysterics. I nearly did, but the cussing/lying threw me into a tizzy of my own. That is the one thing I would have changed.

What I find strange is that the store manager didn't call me today. Either she wasn't told or she's waiting for me to call her. I will, she's nice enough, but I will not work with the women who create and escalate the drama. I wish the store had cameras too. Wouldn't that be just grand!

But alas corporate spends time pinching pennies and misses out on the juicy stuff.

What a Day, What a Day!

This is what I did today.

Happy 4th!

Hooray freedom (on several levels)!

Vom

Sorry readers of my blog I've been too busy cleaning up cat puke and puking myself to write, back to real life tomorrow.

See you there.

I've Developed a Type

I'm not sure that this is a good thing, it rather limits my options but alas attraction is its own beast.

It's something I noticed a week ago, I was clearing trash while tying bows and I looked at the poor sucker I had dragged into the bow tying game with me and was caught short by how much his hands resembled those of another manfriend.It's the three Hs. Height, hair, and, and this one is out there, hands. And amazingly the hands seem to be the big winner here.

And before you get all vommy on me I'm not talking about dirty, icky things, I am strictly talking appearances. But it's weird this piano hand thing I have. I mean really if you find a large man with delicate hands, big delicate hands, give him my number please. He and I, we have a future filled with delicate handed babies.

The whole wrinkly forehead thing is a bit too fetishy to be a part of my "type" though if you find one of those on a very tall man with dark hair and piano hands you let me know. Please.

Hail and High Water Here Comes the Fun

I know that's a metaphor misremembered. And wrong lyrics. And I am pretty sure they really really don't go together.

But I had a hellofa weekend and I must let you in on it.

So Thursday I saw the lovely Mumford and Sons... oh how good they are. After the traffic we got not so miserable lawn seat. I mean after seeing them in clubs and so close, the lawn is miserable. All sweating on a blanket the clouds rolled in. At first the rain was fine, as in fine rain, then it got a bit more intense and before long the lightening was hitting a little close for comfort and the drummer (I think) of  Matthew and the Atlas was dumping water on himself in solidarity, though that is hearsay, we lawn folk were unfortunately missing out on their portion of the show. Then wind and hail and a bit of nudity. After the rain stopped dry people started showing up just to stick it to those of us who were sodden. After the show saw a drunk, crying girl pass out while walking and slide down a hill on her face. Yeah, I don't get why being that drunk is appealing at a concert, I do rather enjoy the music.

Friday I slept until noon. I don't like doing that. And I was super disoriented. I ran some errands and headed back to Baltimore to explain the game of baseball to a first timer before getting slightly turned around on the way back to the bus. The rain tried to put the kabash on the game but let up just in time. Though the water was running hot over the road as we walked in. Also I would like to point out the wonders of box seats, I could do that again. On my way home I pass a lone police officer sitting in the left lane with his lights on. Then I pass my mother driving 40ish miles an hour on a road I know she routinely does 70 plus on, only to realize the person in front of her was my sister, with her flashers on, I waved as I flew past. Had I realized the situation I would have rolled down my window and explained to her that when one hits a dear and kills it one picks it up and brings it home for supper. Why else would someone try to total their car on a deer?

Saturday my friends got married. It was very nice. Hot, feet swellingly hot, but really really nice. So nice in fact that I can forgive the bride for giving Jamie all the bow tying credit. But what I cannot forgive with the cable company messing with the beginning of my day and forcing me to drive 60 miles for no reason. And get sunburn. So my one arm is fried and I looked really pretty one purple are in my halter-dress at the wedding. Thank you Comcast for you're less than intelligent service

Sunday was filled with strangeness. I pulled wet money out at the grocery store and mentioned it's dampness to my sister. The cashier, may or may not have been in an altered state, refused to take it until I explained the source of it's dampness. Yeah Thursday night I had cash in my pocket when I got caught in that junk. She kept saying "You would not believe what people do with money" and I kept saying "Oh, but I would." It was an excessively productive conversation.

Then Monday came and the weekend washed away just like that. Poof. Gone.

Nosy Nancy Never Wins

So the other day I filled out an internal application for a promotion and I was nervous about talking to my manager, getting it signed and what not so I left it in my drawer over night so that conversation could be a bright and early type deal.  I went home and basked in the opportunity, blogged about it, blogged about it, brooded over it dreamed a bit and woke up the next day for work.

When I got to work I pulled my application out of my drawer, one that I indeed share but expect that my stuff will go untouched. It didn't, not ten minutes after I sit down in the second station which is usually occupied by the teller I was filling in for and this nosy teller starts asking about my paperwork. So I tell her but I'm a bit vague, then she runs over and starts reading the passages that she particularly likes.

Let's be honest, I'm going to be arrogant for a second, I'm a pretty good writer. I'm versed in schmooze and have a varied, yet delightfully flamboyant, vocabulary. So yeah my application was kick ass. I was flying high and it was for HR use only.

I say this as a person who reads everything I can see, if you see something you shouldn't zip the lip, put a lid on it, take it home, write it in your pink diary with the lock, do not discuss it at work or with the person it pertains to.

I know, she was worried about my HR visit, I was too, but her worry had her freaking to the point where she figured she'd get sacked and while part of me would like the relief of not having to deal, I'm not going to the be tattler who gets my co-worker canned. Mostly because "it's a tough time economically" and even the old folks need jobs to keep a roof over their head.

So here's the deal lady: keep your nose out of my business and I'll keep the roof over your head.

Successful Sunday, As Remembered After Sleeping on It

Sunday off is a big deal. Sunday off without having to babysit or mow or run high and low is an even bigger deal. Sunday is the day of rest, so rest I did.

At tenish AM I was startled awake by a text message. I was to be at the vineyards at noonish. I am all about that but I'm in hibernation right now, sleep is good and I somehow can't get enough. But up and showered and in yesterday's clothes (don't tell!) I was vineyard bound where wine was consumed and cheese sweat itself into a frenzy and berries were had by all.

At one point the wedding was called off so I hurriedly sent a mass text to the eligible bachelors in my contacts list with only one reply and that was in the negative, thank God for small miracles I suppose because nine and three quarters seconds after the message(s) was sent the wedding was back on. Some photos and a second vineyard were in order and then best of all Frisbee Golf, oh, excuse me, Disk Golf.

At the park, mostly inappropriately dressed, we hunted for the beginning of the course, and settle with the end. The cheese wasn't the only thing the heat forced to sweat so when we missed "holes" on our course no one was terribly upset.

I got to impress the city folk about my plant and animal knowledge and scamper through knee high grass as if I was born to live like that. I am sad to report that I refrained from stripping to the skivvies and jumping in the pond but if you had seen it you would have understood. We ate mulberries off of trees and sucked the sweet nectar of the wild honeysuckle.

Hair mussed and feet blacked with dirt and the death whispers of summer grass, we introduced our foreign friend to the wonders of a Slurpee. She didn't go all out, it was a conservative Coke to start out but I'm sure she'll be mixing a masterful Slurpee soon enough.

The question of the ingrown hair is still out there... suggestions?

Next Monday has Arrived

As a follow up to my fabulous fortune that came to me via cookie back in March:

Today is Monday.

Today I had an opportunity arise.

Looks like I'm applying for a promotion!

Here's to fortune cookies being kind of vaguely right in hide-sight!

My Adulthood is Non-Unique

Went to a concerty thing last night, learned that in becoming an adult my bitterness is both not unique and potentially a sign that I will become a musician who may not make the billboard charts but is in someways a successful musician. Or, bitterness could be the motivation I need to get off my ass and become successful.

I'm not entirely sure bitterness is a motivator and I'm super not sure I want to be a musician either. So what does this mean for me? Mostly, I'm enjoying the the sense of comradery that comes with other bitter twenty-somethings. I spent a few hours in the bliss amongst angsty, tattooed youngins' who haven't yet become bitter and can only imagine what happens after you can drink legally.

It was a successful evening, made me want to get a tattoo kind of, but of what I have yet to figure out.
.

Ok, Sickos, WTF!

I'm not actually judging here but I am thoroughly amused by the tiny bit of traffic I've acquired via the Google in various countries  this week. I figured that my post about the man at the mall would get some views (the most read post on my entire blog is the one where I mention nipples) but the sources of the traffic are what has me both grossed out and curious.

Malaysia you need to do better than my blog when looking for public masturbation. I'm not into pornographic writing, sorry.

I shall consider creating dirty dirty blogs but until then...



Thank you Lonely Island.

And as a response to my Malaysian readers....

The Curse of the Sun

I love being outdoors. Love it. And yesterday I got my first chance to embrace the fact that summer came early (thats what she said) this year. It was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit so I mowed. I took my gloriously white self outside and mowed.

No, this isn't a sunburn blog. I know, I've probably done it before probably several times, actually, but four or so hours in a bathing suit and I am burn free thank you very much. The sun issue I am lamenting didn't pop up until this morning, or else I didn't notice it until this morning, which is equally as bad.

I am covered with tiny, tiny hives.

Thats right folks, not only am I superty duperty fair skinned and awe-strikingly sunburn prone,  I am allergic to the sun! I know, I have strange allergies, blame my mother. I also know that I don't own stock in allergy medicine nor do I have enough dinero to cover one pill a day for the next three to four months so I'm going to suck it up.

I am rubbing dirt on my hives as we speak.

Though I cannot stress how proud I am of not burning any of my milky flesh on my tractor excursion yesterday. I even have my very own version of a tan happening, it's pink, but not painful nor hot (or is it?).

So, reader peeps, join me in celebrating the summer sun with Costco size bottles of SPF 50 and anti-itch cream because its going to be a glorious season.




(Please read this with true enthusiasm, I am not being sarcastic in the post.)

Death to Spontaneity

I am, by nature, whimsical. I love to just go and do whenever the idea strikes.

The idea struck last week. I don't have the time or the money to go but I want to, I'm itching to go. But without companions this trip is not financially possible. My potential companions whimped. I can't blame them, it's an eight hour drive for a basically one day, two night stay. But this trip is would have been guaranteed good time.

I think thats where my whim comes in. This two jobs, non-stop thing is killing me. I'm becoming angry again and my hips hurt like I'm an old lady. I want a social life, but more than just drinking every couple of nights because lets be honest the alcohol doesn't do much for my figure. Neither does working all the time. I'm too tired to workout as much as I'd like too, especially with the hips hurting before the run.

So next time I catch a whim, I'm running with it. Time and money won't stand in my way.

Mall Masturbating Mondays

Hows that for clinical terms, eh? And alliteration to boot!

But seriously this here post is just a late, Monday there was an incident (I heard second hand, thank everything holy) at the outlet mall where I work half my life.

So the story goes there was an older dude walking around the mall with tight, and from my understanding they were tight to the point that his penis was only veiled in the sense that he had it covered with fabric, sweatpants. I've heard several people report that they noticed this during their pre-work/break strolls but felt uncomfortable mentioning it to coworkers mostly because they didn't want to seem like super creepers, the situation, it seemed at the time, was one of misfortunate (as opposed to unfortunate?) fashion, poor dressing, disgusting negligence. Then it turned sinister.

My sister had customers return to her store asking for security (if you didn't know outlet mall cops are even more worthless than mall cops) to be called. After a bit of managerial coxing the girls who returned finally explained that this man was outside, beware clinical term here, masturbating, now digression from the clinical, he was jerking it in public. Three stores had reported him for choking the chicken in public, security hunted the meat beater to no avail.

The Monday Masturbater got away!

How is it that the outlet mall cops let him get away... well they were in their truck behind the mall chatting on the phone and peeing into cups. This is what they do. Why would they stop people from being exposed to public wanking?

As the World Ends

So yesterday I find out that Judgement Day is tomorrow, leaving me only today to prepare. I'm a bit freaked out seeing as if I had known sooner things could be a little different.

I don't know, my uber pious life doesn't seem to be what the thumpers have in mind for Heaven, so this Hell thing, I should have made the most of it. But how do you do that when you only have one day to plan?

I guess I could call out sick and stay wasted for the next 24 hours but in the off chance Ann Taylor is going down with me I'm not entirely sure I should burn that bridge. Plus I can only do that kind of drunk so often and Wednesday took care of the quota for this week.

Tonight I'll clean my house and watch a movie instead of whoring it up and stealing thing just in case those sandwich-boarded Christians did their math wrong. But I'll have to make tomorrow a little interesting. Maybe I'll advertise an end of the world sale to make my job both amusing and chaotic, but then again the crazies might take it seriously.

You think Ann Taylor would mind if I wear my tin foil hat for the potential alien invasion that comes with a modern day Apocalypse? Oh goodness, a thought just occurred to me, what if only the Branch Davidians ascend? Though weirder things have happened,

Why God?! I needed time to plan for this.

Aging: How are you handling this whole big thing?

The boss man declared that he is not having a quarter/mid-life crisis. My friend posted the year her intern was born in outrage. And I have to keep reminding people that I don't understand their cultural references, the time they are talking about was mostly mega-blocks for me.

But both the boss man and the friend are (or about to be) the big 3-0. One won't say it aloud and the other hides  behind the fact that she can pass for much younger. So why is this a big deal? I didn't think 30 would be a big deal. He's a rather successful person and she's married and figuring her shit out. But the way they're freaked out has me freaked out.

If my boss can't say that he is going to be 30 in my presence then what the hell am I going to do when I reach that old age? I'm 23 and that scares me, my relative year and a half of stagnation not withstanding, every time I have a birthday someone explains that when they were my age they were married and had children (thanks mom!).

If the past year and a half hasn't put a damper on my by 30 successes then lets not focus on those. Lets focus on the fact that I have no grey hair (suck on that 30-somethings) and only that average 40-somethings sun damaged skin. I have yet to grow crows feet! But can't see past my hands without the aid of ever thickening lenses.

Hurry marry me off before this gets any worse!

This May Be a Migraine

I'm suffering from a headache.

I hurts to keep my eyes open. It hurts to hear things. So to make myself feel better I'm going to work in an inappropriately low dress and a cardi that doesn't really match. Breathing is making the headache worse.

Self-diagnosis: Migraine.

I should have been a doctor.

Impulse Control

I have the urge to run away.

I don't know where I'm driven to go but away would work just fine. I have been considering the roots of this urge and I'm going to offend a hell of a lot of good friends when I reveal why I need to escape. Sorry good friends, this isn't personal.

My renewed urge to start anew is partially the result of a new batch of college graduates (congrats!). Their graduation isn't their fault so much as it is just how time moves. My hang up isn't even with them finishing school but rather with them looking for the same jobs as I am.

In an awesome world I'd be ok with this competition, it would drive me to be better but I'm beginning to break under the lack of personal development. Yeah so in a minor freak out I hung some cheap prints in my room and added mismatched knobs to my dresser and am considering a new bedspread (but those are pricey).

Personal development. It's a funny thing, I used to be so good at it. Traveling to new places and trying new things but I haven't even tried a new restaurant in like, forever. I really need to get on with it.

Maybe with the short return of a very fine friend will be the kick in the pants I need. Also cross your fingers for a second interview.

Catching Up

I finally watched Steve Carell's final episode of The Office.

And here's the thing, I've never been one of the run-home-Thursday-for-The-Office types, but I shed tears, real tears, over that episode.

What is the world coming to?

Also I'm in recovery from having the internet read to me this week so I'm spending little time blogging. I'll return once I shake the feeling that the internet isn't haunting me when I'm not reading it.

Do it for the Gringo

You've got to love when people misspeak. My mother said this whole gringo thing and I think she meant dinero but in the context of the conversation she referred to either my brother, his son or my brother's girlfriend as a gringo. Only one of them appears to be "foreign" enough to be given that title, sorry Lora.

I had to laugh earlier at my lovely Indian coworker when she asked me if I had the boss's cell phone. I was bewildered, having someone else's cell is just odd. What she meant to ask me was if I had his cell phone number. And I did but the phone call that confused me was a bit of hilarity.

Other people stumble and blubber, myself included. But these silly missteps are gems that we should embrace. Our minds are too complex to just toss it up to a simple confusion. I read a book about it once. And I loved it. Just as I love the quotes I get from other people misspeaking.

Woe is Work

Today was flipping exciting.

I got a trainee... surprise!

Had a heart to heart with the HR department regarding some of the interoffice disputes.

Confirmed that I am scheduled for 40 hours this coming week.

Set up an interview for 4 PM Monday afternoon.

Yes, I am aware there is very much overlapping. But my fortune this week said something about effort at school or work next week. Maybe this one is right and I won't have to wait until "next Monday" like the last fortune said.

Anyone want to work for me during my "appointment" Monday?

Bossy: The New Standard in Work Ethics

I am bossy.

Or so I've been told. I tend to believe that I am direct. Honest and very direct.

Both of my jobs are female dominated and that leads to many a gossip. The problems is that it all, and I mean all,  gets back to the subject. So yeah, I tell people that the manager calls me wasted. She needs to know she's a lush. So I keep hearing that I'm bossy, which is better than bitter and hateful (which they used to call me) but I've trained a lot of the girls I work with at the one job so bossy means they're not good listeners (winky face).

The other day one of those girls I trained told me that I'm the only person she likes directing her when she gets flustered. Apparently my directness is better than being pestered with questions about how she's feeling when her register crashes in the middle of a huge transaction. She's feeling angry. She needs the registers fixed.

So I'm bossy. I get things done and I come across as a bit hostile some days but I also get plenty of compliments, from customers. So do I nice up or continue to boss my equals around?

I can't wait until the day they make bossy me the boss.

Want to get a Drink? Otherwise known as The Dating Boomerang

Living with one's mother and working two jobs isn't really great for the social life and all. So how does a boomerang date?

It's an experiment I've actually decided to try.

A few months ago my mother decided to try her hand at online dating. She so enjoyed the attention that she suggested I try it. I used her match.com profile to see who happened to be trying the online thing in my area. I found tons of "eligible" bachelors in my age group, a bit of research showed that all of the folks on the internet are one of two things: Creepers and Gingers*.

It didn't take long for my mom to tire of her experience and offered up the end of her subscription to me. I took a look again. Still creepers and gingers, only this time I saw a familiar face. It was the brother of a guy I hung out with in high school and later dated briefly in college, newly divorced and looking. That sealed it. The internet is not for me.

My friends offered to set me up with someone, I agreed, but said blind date has yet to occur. I've been promised to meet this fellow no later than my fiends' wedding. And I look forward to meeting him and all but I am slowly ageing every day.

I go to the gym as a means of meeting people. I also do it for health and fitness reasons, which in someways makes the meeting people thing harder.

Everyone has suggestions. Everyone has solutions to the dating thing. And now I'm interested in a guy. And thats normal and all but everyone has suggestions ideas of how to make this work, not that it isn't working itself out. This guy and I, sort of. It's tricky but then again people my age don't really date well so tricky is ok. My favorite advice, other than I need to get over myself, was from my younger sister. She said, "Don't be too serious. You're still young." It is ironic advice. But good advice nonetheless.

Trial one (?) of this experiment is a go.

*Sorry Ginger friends, not a fan. I have enough sunburn in my life as it is.

Cats: Who thought that was a good idea?

Yeah, I'm actually questioning an entire genius of animals. What of it?

So my sister has this cat. It lives at my mother's house with me. He is named Baby. Sure, I'll repeat that, his name is Baby. Which might have given him a bit of a complex. But I can't say for sure. He is useless for hunting, he thinks its amusing to rip my arm to shreds and open my door in a creepy, squeaky fashion while I'm trying to sleep. He takes up a good bunch of the bed which isn't big enough for me let alone him.

He loves to go outside, but only if it is warm and the sun is shining and he doesn't have to touch the door jam and there aren't any bugs near the door frame. Last night he was crying, it sounds much like a dying fox, to go outside after dark. So to shut him up I let him out. He wouldn't come back in when I called.

So we're just hanging out upstairs in the house and my sister barges out of her room cursing the noise the cat is making only to discover the retard cat has found another cat and they're fighting. Or at least they think they're fighting. Baby is making lots of noise and jumping straight up in the air. The grey cat who hangs out on a regular basis is also making noise. But it's dark and there isn't much scuttle. So we get a pot of water to throw on the stupid animals but the opening of the other door sends them running in fright. My mother rescued Baby, who just wanted picked up so he didn't have to use his legs. His tail was huge and once he was back in where he could use his litter box he was fine.

Today he's feisty though. His little adventure makes him want to fight and I'm not up for it. Won't use his teeth in battle but when I'm petting him he surely will.

Easter

Went to church this morning. Not that unusual of an activity as it were. But seeing as it is Easter, I gussied up and sat up straight while I listened to one of my least favorite priests (from a preaching perspective) blither on about the "other" Christians (hence my dislike).

There was a very nice family next to us, and the little girl from story time was there too. My entire pew was dressed up. The church other the other hand was filled with women in capri pants and men in jeans. I saw more than my fair share of tee shirts and an entire pew filled with girls in slutty dresses with converse high-tops in varying shades.

What happened to Easter dresses?

Friends and Circles in the Newspaper

I was reading an article in a newspaper that had a diagram of friendships and their influences based on iPhone and Android technology. The circles in the diagram showed that your closest friends don't have as much influence over you as the people you spend your time with. The circles got me thinking. And before you go and get worried that I've fallen into the hands of the crazies again cool it, I am writing this on a reflective note, I am neither angry nor sad.

But I was thinking. My close friends are not really in the vicinity any longer. Some of them never really were, we met in other places and in some cases our friendships are better for it. But my closest friends and I we're so spread that months and years pass without seeing each other. That upsets me a little but not as much as the fact that my close friends that live within ten miles of my mother's house don't have a better track record.

The lack of connection comes as no shock. As a generation of boomerangs we work too hard and drink too much spend the rest of the time we're not commuting and boozing working on finding real jobs in places far, far away. We are a generation of lost boys. We are aging. We can feel it, in our bones and in secret we talk about how it feels to be older. And after laughing it off we go home and cry about feeling old.

My friends and I, we avoid each other because as Logan said the other night "we always have the best plans" but we are mice and men if we are anything.

So I will plan some more. Maybe do a bit of traveling this summer but where I don't know.

Summer: The Season During Spring

Between the periodic rain storms and mild floods summer arrived (I know it's April but hey, I live in VA). Today while mowing the grass I was attached by my first tick. I now have a farmers tan though its not particularly severe for once. And, and this is the best part, I have a red neck.

Please don't confuse these things with actually being a Redneck which I am not. I do live in a relatively rural place though hence the mowing my own grass.

The other thing, the tick thing, doesn't bother me as much as it does you (you vommed when you read the word tick, I could sense it from in front of my computer). Ticks are disease carrying creatures that do indeed get a flush when I find them, but I'm not upset by them because I've invaded their habitats and mucked it up a bit.

Don't Lyme Disease at me, I've had my scare and expensive testing! Just know that other ticks also leave bullseye rashes. It's a pain in the ass but knowing whether or not you're going to suffer a long slow painful ailment or not is kind of nice.

You can take that as my endorsement for deet and a very high SPF.

Wait, Wait, What the Hell?

It is no secret that I'm a fan of Mumford and Sons. This occasionally turns into a bout of musical assault upon my other tellers. Ironic since it is some of the least offensive music out there (what's with old people and Rhianna and "S&M" they're always bringing it up and singing it then scoffing at the gentler music that I tend toward).

Then my friend Nora brought this to my attention:



And your thinking, not a bad song, and I tend to agree but then when you do a search of the song there is not mention of where the other voices are from...



Read an honor code much?

OH the Pain

So the domicile abuse we discussed recently, yeah that broken finger is causing typing to be super duper painful.

Tomorrow to the doctor, but for now, blog rest.

Domicile Abuse

 I am in an abusive relationship.

There I said it, it's out in the open. And I know the house loves me so I'm going to keep living here despite the bruises and broken bones. At least until I can find a house that loves me better. Though even then I'll probably keep coming back.

This isn't anything new. I keep making excuses, saying how it's my fault but really is it? That concussion, I said it was because I flipped my head while drying my hair. I might be blind and clumsy but the house uses this to its advantage.

The beatings have become more frequent of late. My elbow bruise hadn't even changed color before my finger was broken. My feet have bruises top and bottom from bottles of shampoo and bars of soap being tossed at me while I'm trying to bathe.

I'm not leaving. Not until it's bad. Bad is a broke fever or cancer or something.

If I don't make it give the sheep a kisses for me and the teddy bears too. You can have my shoes. I love you guys but I love the house too.

Deluge

I've been waiting to say deluge all day.

It just doesn't fall into conversation well in the company I keep on Tuesdays. But it deluge is the only word that can describe what I drove to work in. I was late, there was an accident and it took me nine minutes to get the next exit, 2ish miles, so that I could skip the traffic.

One hour to drive 21 miles in a deluge. I had to call my boss to tell her that people were retarded. She agreed and told me to hurry up because there was expletive to be done. 

So I waded through the river that is occasionally a parking lot and worked. The deluge ended during the time I worked today, which made my return commute much nicer.

A Lament for TOMS

I would like to invest in pair of fancy canvas shoes for the summer months. I don't ususally keep my feetsies covered when the weather is warm but I'm growing up and it occasionally rains so having a single pair of closed-toe summer shoes might be the adult thing for me to do.

I was investigating the TOMS website today at work, picking out just what fancy pattern I'd like to put on with my occasional shorts. I just happened to read the description as I was getting giddy about elephants and in happening to read I saved myself a little trouble but was blasted into instant heartbreak.

TOMS have latex arch supports.

And to be sure that these shoes would be life and death for me I contacted the customer service folks. And they as nice as they are confirmed that the shoes are not compatible with latex allergies. So I have to find Vans or Keds with elephants, unless of course they're also secretly latex filled, then I'll stab a bitch.

Disclaimer: Do not boycott TOMS on my behalf, they do good things.

Mouse Traps

I have this whole humane thing when it comes to animals, so the mice kind of roam free in the house (as long as they don't get in the food, that's gross). There have been some very interesting personalities this year among the mice and they are super cute to boot. Our latest visitor is a bold little mouse who stared at mother while she read in bed before exiting her room under her door and teasing the cat for a little bit and heading into my closet.

This isn't a big deal the mouse in the closet, the cat routing around my shoes, no biggy.

So I went to bed and slept and the cat came and went from my room several times. At 5:30 AM I woke up to something crawling up my back. It was that mouse. The cat was asleep at the foot of my bed growling in his sleep as he always does. The mouse was on my back, scampering around. The cat was asleep at the foot of my bed.

So, yeah, the cat and I aren't on speaking terms. I had to stand up to get the mouse off my back, strip my bed to make sure he wasn't hiding in my blankets and then try to sleep for another two hours in fear of another attack.

Someone want to trade me cats?

A Little Work Place Tension

Word on the street is the new teller at the bank I work at can feel the tension when she's working with either myself or the assistant manager. And, though I don't know if it would be better or not, she's not talking about sexual tension. She's talking about me spewing hate and him being intolerant.

On the spewing hate thing, I love the people I work with, we get along very well. Some of us have some added stress and it makes us grumpy (myself included, especially this week). So the grump thing is usually stewing in silence until it is interrupted. It isn't directed at anyone but most people notice it and either let it be or ask whats up, but this lady, she needs to take a chill. She screwed up 95% of what she had done and was cursing out loud at her computer, I ignored her mostly, cussing is one of those things that I find ok in conversation but rather offensive to be shouted for it's own sake. But after a while she's screwing up again so I help her, and when I'm done I'm rearranging her station so it's a bit easier for her to use, knowing full well she's coveting my station (sinner!).

 She just blurts out, "I feel like you're mad at me from last week." And after I've reassured her that I'm just dealing with some stress she keeps blabbing about how I'm mad at her. So yeah, in the end I'm mad at her, she's a smart cookie!

After the third teller shows up I leave to go to the bathroom or something and the new teller goes on about how tense the place is.

Bless the new teller's heart. By this point she's in a bad mood and refuses to be nice. While having a bit of lunch chat with the assistant manager she insists on talking over me (for the record plenty of adults who think I'm too young to know anything or have a valid opinion or curiosity enough to ask questions just talk over me) making herself feel bigger.

So I start the day spewing hate in her mind and end the day actually spewing hate. She's like a psychic!

In all honesty I think the problem lies with the age difference, I am the youngest person in our branch, the assistant manager is only a few years older than I am and the rest of the crowd are a bit closer in the 40s to 60s range. This particular teller sits at the top of that range and I think feels that the youngsters in the branch shouldn't be telling her what to do.


Also I insisted on buying concert tickets yesterday and told them I wouldn't be working for the ten-ish minutes it would take to do that. We had one costumer during that time and I refused to take it. Such a stick in the mud, at this point in my life I cannot live without live music and it is an expense so I have to be choosy. Had the tickets been less likely to sell out in minutes I would have helped, had there been more than one person that needed help I would have helped, but do not call me lazy when I am grasping for the few straws that keep me in my right head space, that could end in an ugly way.

Ticket Take Over

So my new game is to try and buy concert tickets before the shows I want to go to sell out. The sad thing is that I have to do this from my work computer and because I'm working I usually missed it by like 30 seconds and my life is over. Tomorrow I am determined to get this freaking tickets, I couldn't get Iron and Wine, I couldn't get Adele and I'm not telling you who I'm going to try to get tickets for or when the sale goes on but lets just say I missed the effing presale because my work computer got confused.

My heart is sad about this.

Tomorrow I'll beat the game.

PS My boss looks like the lead singer when you can't him at a distance in profile while kneeling and yelping like a dog when his hair is braided and his shoes are untied. (The first part is true but just in case you know my boss and the lead singer I'm talking about).

I want those effing tickets!

Phone Interview

Oh, hey my phone's ringing and it's a random number. Usually this isn't a gut-wrenching, nerve-shredding event unless you were expecting that call seven minutes ago and you are faking a personal appointment, sitting in a parking lot one away from the one your boss can see from her window and wishing that you weren't thinking of jokes that you can't tell people or wearing pantyhose in the car in the sun.

I did this all for a phone interview... I mean I was meeting with my dealer/gyno/priest (options not one person...or is it?). And what do I get for said sweat fest? Not drugs, a pap, or salvation, of course, but rather a bit of potential hope and an upset stomach.

This false hope thing is exhausting. I spent the last year hanging out with it (not to be confused with Hope who I have also spent the last year hanging out with but she is a proper noun) and its worn me down. So, they say, I'll call you or she'll call you. And I expect a call, silly me. So I check my email on my coworker's smarter phone, maybe she meant email when said call, it could happen. Nah, nada. So tomorrow I'll go to my job instead of a real live interview, all because I don't get inDesign (I'd assume).

I mean come on, I said things like adolescent and tutor and maybe confessed to transferring colleges. I didn't even visibly sweat. What else could have I have to done to impress these folks?

Twinsies!

My mother has the same shirt as me, hers is orange and mine is blue. I bought mine first. Today we are both wearing them and I'm wondering if I should change. But then again we're not hanging out so maybe I can keep it on. But then again she wants to go to the gym at the same time today so goodness no I must change.

Help. Help!

Haircut

Today I am going to get a haircut. I am excited and frightened. I'm going to have to go somewhere other than my usual place because I'm running low on fundage so thats the frightening thing. And last time I did that I cried for days, but getting my hair cut sometimes does that to me.

Wish me luck!

Thunder Thighs

I've got awesome legs. Short chubby awesome legs. I'm not claiming they're perfect, they'll never be asked to grace a runway or be asked to model shoes. My legs are my very one little thing and not conventionally attractive.

Today I was at the gym making my legs wonderful and was super frustrated with them. No, not my legs I supposed, rather I was frustrated with my shorts which kept grabbing my thighs and restricting my range of motion. I mean really shorts why must you stick to my legs so?

So to fix my short issues I'm going to plea with the people who make athletic shorts.

Dear Athletic Short Makers

Would you be so kind to make your leg opening in your shorts just a bit bigger?

Thanks!
Thunder Thighs

Pen and Ink

I don't have access to blogger at work.

I don't have access to a lot of things at work. But everyday I bring a little notebook and a nice inky pen and I write. I write a lot and not all of it is work its weight in anything but I'm writing. But by writing in the old fashioned way I am neglecting you a bit, I don't mean to, I just have been working a ton.

So I'll be back. Maybe I'll have a multipost day or something. But be patient.

A Messy French Affair

I'm not a nail painter. I don't really have to patience for the up keep nor the money for it to be done professionally but occasionally I'll catch a whim and paint them.

I did this recently with a fancy polish called "French Affair" and despite it's fancy name and pretty color it was a mess to get on, too thin and runny. After the third coat it looked fairly good with only a few fingerprints and small uncovered spaces.

What I find interesting is that my strangely pink nails received a lot of attention. I walked around with my heavy feeling fingertips receiving complements from strangers and friends alike. I have some trepidation about the whole praise thing, I've become rather insecure in my old age. So I'm walking around and people at random are telling me that they like my nails and I'm wondering if my nose is bleeding or if my hair is missing a large patch in the back or something.

By the time I removed the polish it was badly chipped and I had indeed suffered a few bloody noses (probably more to do with the try air at my jobs and a self-diagnosed sinus infection) but I was beginning to like the color and half expected to see it when I looked down at my hands.

So here's to taking complements for what they are and lamenting the only French affair I've ever had has been on my nails!

You're like a Pro!

Pro as in professional not pro as in prostitute but then again prostitute may be more flattering than suit fit pro. Now you may not understand the upset this causes but it makes me seem like a lifer. I don't want to be a lifer I find it so offensive and sad that that is the best that people can see in me, or worse that it's the best that I can do. I don't want to go to that dark place again but its looking like the next best thing to a happy place.

I may have four, count them four, pants fit certifications and for that I should hang myself. I know a little melodramatic, but kind of true. And I've taken it upon myself to train the new people at work since no one else has. I mean these girls can fold clothes and create holds for the fitting rooms but thats about it and with the DM looming no one is going to train them.

Wait! Why would I do that, I only make $8.10 an hour (that's right Ann Taylor, I just published you're hourly wage. Suck the big one.). I do this so that I'm not bored. What does that say about my work ethic? Why can't I get hired?

From now on I'm going to wear glasses to my interviews. Maybe tighter skirts or something. I thought looking cute was enough, professional cute. But here I am working two jobs, some days 12 hours (two days this week) and not making enough to pay my bills on time.

Tell me again that the economy is taking a turn for the better. Then take a look at my finances. Tell me that I've got everything to look forward to, I'm young and I'm unattached then spend a week-no a month- in my shoes and keep smiling.

So here's to Ann Taylor sucking the life out of me and killing me for being a good employee. Thank you for your financial support and care Ann. If you were a real person I'd consider arson or murder. But instead I challenge the top dogs, the cooperate honchos to live with the decisions they make me live with. Give up the savings and the cooperate perks, live with the wage and smile through your teeth as a third of the people you are forced to help treat you like dirt because they married men with bachelor's degrees who make an excess of $100,000 a year. If only I had obtained some type of degree, then I could go somewhere with my life.

Oh, wait I have one.

MetaDreaming... What's up with that?

I fell asleep when I got home from work today. I was in bed in my dress pants, sweater and knee highs face down dreaming about being in bed in my dress pants, sweater and knee highs. I managed to get my glasses off before I started dreaming so I knew I was dreaming by how well I was seeing in said dream but thats where it gets weird.

So clearly seeing the darkness behind my eyes and freaking out silently in my mind as I gaze into the darkness that is the space behind the eyelids because I'm paralyzed. I can't move and I know I can't move and I wouldn't  have been moving if I could have moved because I was asleep. But in my sleeping head I knew all this and was still screaming silently through my closed mouth.

The radio downstairs wakes me up at 5:07 PM and I'm not entirely sure where I am and I'm still not moving at the rate I feel I should be, it's exhausting and the cat keeps walking in circles around me while I stagger from place to place.

Then I woke up at 1:13 PM and still confused am now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. It took a few hours of mind rest on the couch to get back to normal though I'm still afraid that my face is paralyzed or that I'm still sleeping. Though the radio is finally off so at least I don't have to listen to easy-listening any more.

What ever happened to good radio?

Waiting for "Next Monday"

Fortune cookies are the single most amusing bland dessert ever. They bring a bit of fun to the overstuffed and create a wonderful decoration for "my" work computer (which is not only not mine but I share it with plenty of people). Last week I was having a craving for gross-heavy eating so I went the Chinese route for lunch. My cookie had an oddly specific fortune: Opportunity awaits you next Monday.

So I waited. Yesterday, "next" Monday came and went and nothing special happened. I did take a class at the gym, a class that I've taken plenty of times before but this time with a new teacher, it was a small opportunity and today my shoulders and abs and hips and back are thanking and hating me. I helped win an electronic scrabble game but as it might have been an opportunity I don't know for what. I wrote a letter for my mom. Made a salad and ate the leaves (hate the leaves) but thats only an opportunity to eat more fiber.

So do I take it that the fortune has bad timing? No, I think my fortune cookie tricking me into laziness.

Spring is Springing

Not sprung just yet so hold on a bit longer. I did see some leaves today, little tiny green leaves all over a strange tree that was half hanging in the road where I was walking this morning.

The daffodil leaves are up but no yellow buds, the grass is greening up and the mud is out and about. All is well on this here first day of spring!

I'm Writing a Rash Post that Will Bring Out the Tree Hugger in Me

So I got a text message today. It's not a first but it was interesting. It asked if I had gotten the news, I replied that I hadn't because if I had I wouldn't have been utterly bewildered at what news it could be. Then I got a response to my reply, and I feel a bit bad about my reaction here guys, the text said "Max passed away, he was killed by a bear." In my head I'm like: who is this Max?? And after running though a list of people Max is not I realize a second before asking my sister, who seems upset, who he is it smacks me in the face (too soon?) Max is-was one of my father's cats. He was a 25 pound orange cat with paws the size of my palm and fur so long and soft.

And he's dead. Killed by a bear. This isn't surprising though, my dad lives in the mountains with black bears. He has, for as long as he's lived there, thought of them of giant wild pets, feeding them (illegal) and getting unreasonably close to them (stupid). Recently my dad decided that his four kitties were outside eligible, all of them were raised indoors (stupid) and two of them are declawed (inhumane). Mind you outside cats get fed outside. Bears have been counting on food from my dad's front porch for a few years now-- are you getting where this is going?

So now my dad has a permit to kill the bear and my sisters all we're going to make a rug out of you m***er-f***er (is there a hyphen in that?). So the bear will get it and all will rejoice.

Am I the only one seeing the injustice here? Animal cruelty perhaps? What I'm saying is that killing a wild animal for competing for its food (natural) seems rather unreasonable. Also putting cat food on the front porch might be good for the cats but in a place where you can't store trash outside or food wrappers in your car why would you leave food where the bears could compete for it? Why would you put inside cats outside? Why would you put pets where they could become prey for coyotes (they eat cats too) and bears (though he wasn't prey from what I understand, he was an obstetrical)?

So my friends, I'm thinking that given the amount of criticism I receive for ragging on the family I will not go too far with my judgement of my father. I will only say that occasionally one gets what is coming to him. And if there is a God then he will make a special case of reincarnation to the swell fella I call Dad.

Plight of the Feet

Here us now!

We are sore, and don't claim rest and recuperation! Get new shoes!


The feet are right. I need to get out of the habit of buying cheap shoes (which I spelled schools the first time I typed it, sup with that Freud?) and go back to buying shoes that are cute and well built. I have a bruise caused by my shoes, under my big toenail, you know the one toenail that you can't just cut off and be done with it.

My feet are especially angry after about an hour of numbness at the gym. They think that tennis shoes that fit my foot structure might be better than ones that my feet fit into and were on clearance at Ross. And though my feet know how I've been working this past year they've somehow neglected to consider the financial impact of all the work and all the bad shoes.

I wonder if I could find a podiatrist?

 Don't be silly feet, I'm too cheap to pay to see a doctor!