What Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger

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I never thought I would be in this position--dying from mortification because the people at work found my blog. Not just any people, but ALL people. Paticularly those I hated and wrote the amusing, but rather unflattering, charactures.

Because of this, I have been forced even deeper underground. I do not know if it is the compulsion to share my life with the internet, the habit of writing everything that strikes me as funny or simply the familiar comfort of typing. But, it is safe to say, I can run--and perhaps hide.

Obviously, this time I will be smarter. Cover my tracks. Not let any identifying people link to me. I know, you expect me to next say--quit blogging about work. No. Absolutely not. The ludicriousness of some of the situations I am forced into is too hilarious to keep to myself. And, after all, I need crib notes for my book.

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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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