There Is A Reason For That

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The only other woman I work with the aforementioned Jersey Girl. I would link to the post, but it is unbelievably long and covers a multitude of subjects other than her. This is the very same woman my sisters like to refer to as "Huarache Girl" simply for the reason she likes to wear white huaraches with everything. Everything.

This is also the very same woman who feels the need to LOUDLY critique my outfits. She mocks the fact I like to constantly look classy at work, paticularly MY all white outfit. Classy white pants and shirt. She thinks it is HILARIOUS whenever I spill something on myself or a paticularly evil car dirties my lovely white outfit. (Of course, we are referring to the Cursed White Pants that magically bring rain whenever I wear them.)

Today was the first time I have ever seen her wear white. She was resplendent in a all-white outfit. (A very loose use of the word "resplendent".) White capri jeans, white long sleeved t-shirt and taupe colored high heels. It is rumored that I have influenced her dressing up for work. Apparently, she now wears heels more often, actually fixes her hair and applies makeup. However, I refuse to take credit for white jean capris.

As of 9:15 she was whining because her naughty little son had smeared his lunch box across the leg of her pants. (WTF?!) Instead of lecturing her on disciplining her children or something of the sort, I simply smiled nicely. But inside I was thinking: A day late and a dollar short, dear.


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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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