My Parents Should Have More Aptly Named Me Calamity Jane

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This morning started out well. You know those good omens like: quickly finding a professional outfit, having time to eat breakfast and having time to get your lunch packed away into your tote bag. I arrived at work early, and diligently began working on all the projects which had gotten neglected while I was out Friday.

I felt so virtious. I was sure I was emitting a halo. Our internet was down, so there was nothing for me to do but work hard. Busily typing, adjusting my glasses, printing reports, finishing piles of paperwork and answering my cell pho-- Wait. I had to find it first. So I start digging around in my tote bag which also housed my lunch.

MY LUNCH. My lunch, which included quite a bit of delicious gravy I made the night before, ALL OVER MY TOTE BAG. I start ripping things out of my tote. Keys, lipsticks, paperwork, files, sunglasses and cell phone (which was replaced only a few months ago).

I forgot everything else and started laying papertowels across my desk, laying out my belongings oh so carefully and lovingly! My cell phone screen wasn't blank! And then it shut down--I wiped off all the gravy and booted it back up--and it booted back down.

Hmm. I decide that I will visit the cell phone shop over lunch.

I finish wiping off my belongings and start wiping out my tote. There are PUDDLES of gravy in the corners. While this is quite disturbing in and of itself, I find it quite interesting that my tote seems to be tight enough to hold gravy. No sooner did I think this thought, than one end of my tote starts leaking gravy all over my dry-clean only outfit, concentrating heavily on my light colored pants.

I start laying papertowels over my lap and finish the tiring process of wiping down my belongings and my tote with instant handsanitizer. Once this is finished, I carefully disassemble my phone as much as possible and ruefully eye it. Hoping it can survive for an hour until I can scurry into the cell phone shop to get it repaired.

And then, much to my dismay and amusement, smoke starts emitting from my cell phone. SMOKE! IT IS OFF! WHY IS SMOKE COMING FROM THIS EXPENSIVE PIECE OF EQUIMENT I JUST REPLACED?!?!

Calamity frickin' Jane is my name.

All I ask is that I make it down the stairs safely to my car on my way to the cell phone shop.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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