the other white meat: think pork, not pink

I Am Crazywoman, Here Me Staple!

2008-11-11T21:29:00.003-05:00

I believe I am going crazy, as evidenced by the fact I have begun stapling floral upholstery fabric to everything. Our apartment looks like an eighty year old woman who was once a gardener, tried her hand at interior decorating.

Flowers in prints, fabrics and sketches are slowly overtaking. I think I need to learn how to self-edit. Especially because most of them tend to be clashing and in shades of yellow and orange that were popular over thirty years ago.

Question::

2008-11-10T18:36:00.001-05:00

What is the difference between selfishness and emotional abuse? Are they the same? Or varying degrees of one another?

Reading::

2008-11-05T19:56:00.002-05:00

I just finished this tasty read. I stumbled upon it while purusing the bookstore. The Husband had taken me there as a consolation prize after he had fallen ill on our "date day". He knew that giving me something fun to read would console me and keep me indoors to tend his fevered brow.

I found his book fascinating, a bit long winded in passages pertaining to the (super) ancienct history of some sushi ingredient. But it was so informative. As a lover of sushi and someone who declares they could consume it three times a day (I so could) this book was full of tons of interesting tidbits. (Did you know soy sauce used to be the condiment of only the rich and wealthy?) Not just about sushi in general, but the culture of sushi, how it was brought to the United States and bastardized in the process.

Hooray! Bastardization! Nothing reads better than a good tale of Americans who like mayonaise and how the incorporate it into everything. Mmmm. Mayonaise.

This book really encourages me to try to discover authentic sushi chefs. And while I may not completely forsake my incorrect sushi habits, because being a sushi purist is quite a bit of work from the looks of it, at least I'll be conciencious of them.

The Politics Of Stir Fry

2008-10-30T17:31:00.002-04:00

Growing up, there were two sides of food taste in our family. There were those that sided with my mother, that meant you liked stir-fry, ethnic food and lots of vegetables. There was my father's side, where you liked meat and potatoes, meat and potatoes or MORE meat and potatoes. I resided firmly in my father's camp. Feed my boiled potatoes and baked chicken for weeks on end and I was a happy, happy girl. Feed me stir-fry and I wanted to curl up in a sobbing little ball. I could never understand WHY we couldn't eat potatoes and meat every night. It was so TASTY! And heck, it was so CHEAP. This was a slight source of tension to my parents when my father would sit down to a meal he considered to be "rabbit food". I would not so quietly side with my father.

Somewhere in life, where I am not exactly sure, I crossed over to the dark side. I became a lover of sprouts, weird vegetables and trying strange and mysterious foods. Of course, I married someone in the opposing camp. He's getting to be quite good at trying new things, but is at first glance, quite opposed to all things new. Let me be fair, it isn't so much the trying of new things as it is change. My dearest darling husband loathes change, paticularly in food.

While at first I found it beyond frustrating, I now find it exceedingly amusing. Things do come full circle. And all the grief I gave my mother, I am almost regretting. But not quite, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't be so prepared to deal with him.

Compromise is a beautiful thing.

Marriage

2008-10-21T18:07:00.000-04:00

Is interesting.

a word the the universe

2008-07-20T16:59:00.003-04:00

sometimes i believe it would be wholly refreshing to scream "fuck you" to the universe. but i don't for fear karma will come nipping at the heels of said rantings and give me what for. however, i have never been more tempted to wield a guttural string of curses towards the sky.

the charmingness of living in a small town, particularly a small town where you grow up, quickly wears off. particularly when the unpleasant past (though, you didn't think it THAT awful) and the contented present collide. when fate arranges that a disgruntled ex meets the present someone. unfortunately, it's of all the ex's the one that apparently bears the most bitterness--for what i am completely unsure, since he is the one that broke it off.

it's actually quite humorous. a man who got no more than a few chaste kisses and many good times is posting the banner of my scarlet letterhood. perhaps he feels jilted because i have not grown old clinging to the hope of his return? or maybe it is a streak of unhappiness because he's really just an unhappy person? or perhaps he just had the sudden realization he really was a very bad kisser.

to think of the nice things i've said of him since.

well, universe, you owe me royally is all i can say.

fat and happy or skinny and bitchy. those, m'dear are the options.

2008-07-03T10:16:00.002-04:00

having lost fourteen pounds and narrowed my rather large arse down a size, i find my waistline expanding as i settle comfortably in the routine of a relationship. this must be stopped.

i haven't forced myself to find the time to go out and find things to do, so i've been burying myself in heaps of books and achieving massive amounts of reading. recommendations for the list are highly welcome.

i've observed that the cost of eating out in salisbury is comporable to that of in pittsburgh. i find this fascinating and puzzling.

this is truly the godforsaken midwest--i don't care what anyone else tells me. people here have horrible hair, bad clothes and eat vast amounts of pork. even with said expanding ass, my eating habits are considered "healthy".

when it snows, and i refuse to go outside for six months straight--i fully intend on weighing four hundred pounds by spring, from toast and tea alone.

Leaky Eyes

2008-02-04T13:59:00.000-05:00

I find tears leaking out of my eyes whenever I think about work.

This does not bode well.

Why I Believe I May Bear Children, Yet

2008-01-26T18:24:00.000-05:00

When I was young, I am told, I was unbelievably kind, compassionate and caring. I loved children, kittens, puppies and babies. I would cuddle, kiss and cajole them to happiness. Somewhere between now and then, I became a cold and heartless bitch.

Children, as a whole, irritate me. I don't mind when they are quiet and well-mannered little munchkins who giggle at the appropriate moments. But they rather vex me when they start wiping their dirty hands on your white wool pants. When they continually interrupt your conversation with screaming. When little tyrants who manage to monopolize the attention of a crowd with their rantings and tantrums.

However. The exception, is my nephew. Perhaps this is why parents tolerate reproduction. But, my ten year old nephew is the most hilarious little person that ever was. (I say "little" because not only is he small for his age, but I will always think of him as a tiny babe.) He tolerate me trying to be a cool auntie. He tends to give me his frank opinion "Yes, that makes you look fat." He does not allow me to embarrass him "No. You cannot sign my spelling paper "Auntie Sarah" It's too embarrassing." Why is it embarrassing? Because I have crazy red hair, his friend explains. However, to the same friend, he carefully corrects the pronunciation of the word "Auntie". Not like the insect, he tells him, but with a longer, more British sound to the word. He eats my mac and cheese with delight, even when it's awful. He giggles mischievously when we decide to get into trouble. And, whenever he finds out we get to spend time together, he acts like he was just told he was the godson of Willy Wonka. "Really?! YOU'RE SPENDING THE NIGHT? How cool!"

This is why people continue to reproduce. Because they have unabashed, awesome little fans. Who happen to be miniature versions of themselves.

Going Vegan, For All The Wrong Reasons

2008-01-02T12:03:00.001-05:00

I was raised by a mother who had our entire family on the Fit For Life diet. I was eleven, I dropped ten pounds. Our mother was obsessed with healthy eating, alternative medicine and generally being the crazy mom. Since the tender age of eight, I've known that cows milk was "cow puss" (the theory being that cows expelled all their waste and dead white blood cells through milk) and that the only thing even remotely allowable was goats milk. I've had goat cheese, goat yogurt and warm goats milk. I've been the kid, who for snack time, brought seaweed for everyone to munch on. I've had grilled cheese sandwiches snatched out of my fingers by the well meaning friends of my mother. It was POISON! How could they let us eat POISON?! She tried to get our whole family to do the Hallelujah diet, but we had to draw the line somewhere.

The ally in our rebellion was our father. A solid meat and potatoes kind of guy, who groaned at coming home to dinners of meatless stir-fry's and mountains of salad. Give the man a piece of boiled chicken and a cold potato and he couldn't be happier. Whenever I got to eat "normal" food, I'd eat with gusto. So I trained myself into the bad habit of eating allot of what I liked, when it was available. Similar to, say, a survivor of the Great Depression. Gobbling up whatever was in sight (and tasty!) as to assure myself of my momentary happiness. I swore up and down I would never be a "crunchy" health lover. (I also held a special place of loathing for all those people who wore Birkenstock's and valued substance over style.)

So, now that I've moved out of the house, eaten every thing I could possibly want and gained thirty pounds past my ideal weight, I've rather fallen in like with the idea of eating healthy. Possibly even trying to eat Vegan. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore good food. Adore it. And dairy will be the hardest thing for me to give up. I love, love, love dairy. Seriously, I could exist eating only cream cheese smeared on crackers piled with onions. Or really, cheese and crackers for life.

But lately, I've been gravitating towards the idea of healthy eating. Entertaining the idea of at least venturing to go vegan for a month. However, given my extremely bad eating habits and my propensity for making sweeping proclamations that I promptly break, I think I'll start of slow. Cut out meat, then eggs, then dairy. Slowly.

This is strictly for health purposes and has nothing to do with saving animals. I believe, firmly, it is perfectly fine to kill animals for meat, leather, decoration and/or sport. I will happily continue wearing leather, keeping my dog on a leash and entertaining the idea of mounting a deer head on my wall.

I do, very much, want to see if improving my diet improves my general sense of well-being, energy and waistline. As it is, I normally kick off my day with a cup of tea and then probably don't eat until I get home that night, where I make up for my lack of eating throughout the day by inhaling whatever I can lay my little paws on.

Really, tragic.

This whole "resolution of health" makes me laugh simply because life really does come full circle. (I am not, however, brave enough to yet tell my mother. She will impress upon me tofu recipes and the incessant nagging that really I'm not completely healthy until I eat only raw fruits and vegetables.)

My Name Is Porkchop And I Apparently Attract Crime

2007-12-24T14:38:00.000-05:00

Yes, well, me and the boys in blue down at the station are becoming fast friends. First, there was the break in at the office, where the ONLY thing taken was my laptop. Then there was my arrest. Then there was the drawn out process of getting my gun/car/cookie sheet back from the police. Then there was the thievery of my wallet.

It's almost comical. But I still feel strangely violated. A stranger rifling through my car looking for money, upending my purse, ripping through my glove compartment. I would rather enjoy curling up and whimpering like a puppy.

A Snippet Of Sunshine

2007-12-20T15:46:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday I voluntarily went to church for the first time in a very, very long time. I was rather excited, simply for the reason that I have never wanted to go to church and this stage in my life is a very long time coming.

It wasn't that I wanted to go to church to feel better or to atone for my sins, but I wanted to go to church to learn and to meet other believers with the same questions.

I went, but almost left immediately. I didn't realize that Sunday School followed the morning worship and felt frightfully out of place. I didn't know where to go, didn't know anyone to sit with. I was awkward and uncomfortable. But I persevered, had a lovely time and afterwards met the assistant pastor. I vowed to go back for the next few weeks, because I think it's unfair to judge the church on a singular Sunday.

I tried going to the Wednesday night Bible study, but apparently it wasn't held at the church. So I showed up to a cold, dark church.

This morning, I was picking up a book that I had recommended to my sister, when checking out, I got to chatting with the cashier about John Piper and how he had changed my understanding of grace. She looked at me slightly quizzically and asked where I was going to church. I mentioned I was trying out a church, and said the name. She delightedly exclaimed "I go there! Why haven't I seen you?!" Because I just started?

She scribbled down her number, took mine and declared I must sit with them this Sunday. Or, if I fancy a cup of coffee, to call her. She'd love to discuss Piper with me.

I felt so welcomed. I hope I can do the same for a newcomer in church someday.

Where Is The Line?

2007-12-10T00:50:00.000-05:00

As a single woman in business, more often than not, you're subjected to compromising situations. As a single woman in business with morals and scruples you are frequently put into very awkward situations. You've got to accept rolling with the punches and not rocking the boat to a certain extent. Hell, I learned that a long time ago. You can't whine and whimper at every inappropriate made. You can't expect preferential treatment. You've got to learn to be one of the guys and be able to dish out, take it and not give a damn.

This week I was constantly being subjected to married men who were propositioning me. Which, given the scarcity of women at the conference, was hardly surprising. However, a comment someone made to me got me to thinking, where do you draw the line? When do you rock the boat and when do you just take it?

"It" being inappropriate comments, however slight. Disrespect of space and comfort level. When is it worth it to make a point and tell the letches to bug off? What is the trade off point of being "one of the boys" and being respected as a woman? Are the two mutually exclusive?

And while I have done absolutely nothing I am ashamed of, I still feel like after this week I need a good flea dip and delousing.

I don't really have answers for any of it, but it does have me thinking.

Never Say Never

2007-11-28T16:22:00.000-05:00

Just yesterday I was saying my life was dull and I had nothing to blog about. Well, that was yesterday.

Last night, as I was sitting in the back of a police car with handcuffs digging into my wrists, I thought "Well, this is might bloggable."

The Short Version (the long version will come later): I was accidentally driving on a suspended license (which they can arrest you for) but also had a handgun in the car (I DO have a permit). However, life is swell, because the arresting officer had the hots for my sister. The supervising officer had the hots for my other sister.

Moral of the Story: keep your sisters hot and you will stay out of trouble.

Missing

2007-11-27T16:04:00.001-05:00

I miss blogging.

I miss people telling me I'm funny. I miss having funny stories to tell. I miss thinking "I totally have to blog this" and knowing that the humor of the moment will be enjoyed and carried on by a few more people.

Unfortunately, in the past eight months, I've been unable to blog anything work related, given the nature and position of my work. I have more people under me and wouldn't want them to find this blog because, well, let's face it. That would be weird. And yes, in the past few months, I did have a very close call.

Also, in the past year, I've changed quite a bit. I've become, dare I say it, kinder! Granted, I'm no Mother Theresa, but I went a whole week with house guests without insulting anyone. Can you imagine that a mere two years ago? Me either.

I'm afraid I've become frightfully dull. I no longer try to mow children down who are getting on school buses, I drink more tea that I used to and even do things like eat healthy and workout regularly. In short, I'm becoming quite pedestrian and boring.

However. In spite of all that, I've decided I want to start blogging, simply because it's nice and I miss it. And I don't really give two figs if anyone finds me funny.

That's what I say now.

Why God, Why?

2007-11-02T16:26:00.000-04:00

Discussion regarding all the ugly wives of rich men we see.

Joy: "Do you really want your life value wrapped in cupcakes?!"

Sarah: pause. "Um, yeah, actually, I'd be ok with that."

Joy: pause "Yeah. Me too, actually. The whole femanatzi superhero thing wears a little thin after awhile."

Natural Selection Clearly Isn't Working

2007-10-08T16:36:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here on the world's longest conference call ever. This is with owners of other businesses, people who are supposedly smart and successful. People who should know how to use a mute button. Or, simply log into the call.

But no, we have wasted at least twenty minutes explaining to people how to log into the call, how to use mute buttons and how to generally do the things you learn to do IN THE FIRST TWO WEEKS ON A JOB. As in the first two weeks on a job STRAIGHT OUT OF COLLEGE.

People. Seriously. Use the mute button. I do not want to hear your dog barking, your kids singing or your heavy breathing.

I find it amazing you manage to cross the street safely on your own.

Why Men Hate Me (and/or) My Hate Of New Jersey

2007-08-13T10:26:00.000-04:00

A conversation from earlier this morning:

boy: ok, so i will be in DC on sun
me: how lovely for you
boy: and i thinking on my way home i could stop off to see a good friend, namely, you.
me: um, did you fail local geography?! oh wait. you're from Jersey. can't hold it against you, i suppose. or, i can and will and you can't do anything about it.
boy: what do you mean? that wasn't nice either
me: darling, no matter how badly you want to marry me, i will never stop making fun of New Jersey. it is in my blood! and it's my full-time hobby. whenever I have to fill out those stupid things to be introduced into new community events, etc. i put under the hobbies section "Mocker Of New Jersey" or "Personal Representative Of Death To All New Jersians"
me: new jersian? interesting, and clever.
boy: ok, enough.
me: i even have a little speech prepared regarding what i think new jersey is good for. oh please, don't tell me you have fond feelings that run deep in your heart for new jersey
the garden state!
your one true love!
boy: i live in philly, doesn't that count for something?!
me: not really.
boy: you are silly
me: no, it doesn't. my hate for new jersey runs deep. and it is just as much a part of me as my perfect breasts
boy: u do have those
me: i mean, seriously, how the hell can you claim that as your home state when the state dance is the square dance?!
boy: ENOUGH.
me: and when you all have a STATE DINOSAUR
boy: lets talk more about your breasts
me: no, this is more fun
boy: send me a good morning monday pic of yourself
me: delaware has wisely chosen to avoid mockery and not have a state dinosaur. i mean, can you imagine chartering that bill?!
boy: uhhh, no i couldn't
me: "hello, new jersians, i clearly have too much time on my hands, in between my busy schedule of killing people, overly gelling my hair and being obnoxious, so i thought i'd introduce a bill so we can proudly talk about our state dinosaur over dinner" "now, doesn't that sound lovely? and don't you respect me more as a public servant and leader?"
boy: that is nice
me: i think so. if i ever run for office, that will be my first bill for sure. a NATIONAL dinosaur
me: so, in foreign policy we can remind people just how badass we are. WE HAVE A NATIONAL DINOSAUR and they DON'T. so they should be quaking in their very boots. fuck nuclear power. we've got dinosaurs!
boy: i just wanted a monday morning pic of my friend porkchop.
me: i think i'll send you a picture of a dinosaur.

I Don't Understand

2007-08-06T11:36:00.000-04:00

Why I'm here sometimes. Or what life is all about. Or why it's so damn frustrating.

I'm tired of being strong and independent. I want to be vulnerable.

I might as well say I want a million dollars in gold doubloons.

I Can Say All This, Because, Occasionally Women Are Supposed To Get A Free Pass On Indecisiveness. Oh Womanhood! How I Hate Thee!

2007-01-12T20:05:00.000-05:00

I'm very careful. Very, very careful. I don't let people in. I am ambivilent, I am calculated, I do not care, people do not effect me.

That's the pathway to a lonely life, and I know it. I've been trying to remedy my ways. But everytime I branch out, reach out, open up--I end up loathing myself for my vunerability.

There is something to a life of cats and solitude. I think those little old ladies are on to something.
But even as I type that, I am ashamed of myself. While I may not be very good at relationships--I have a family who loves me and constantly reaches out to me. My little brother calls in to check on me, my Grandpa wants to help me paint my house, my Mother wants to come live with me and make me fresh vegetable juices--everyone wants to reach out to me. I must remember that reaching out isn't one way. I cannot hoard their love, I must love them back. If I can love them--I can choose to love others.

And right there--I talked myself out of being a lonely old lady with cats.

(I'll just get a dog.)

oh! to be young again! and to eat gorilla sandwhiches with relish and abandon!

2007-01-10T09:55:00.000-05:00

At the tender age of eight, or so, my family owned and operated a small diner/restaurant. (This is also where the now quite famous story of the milk crate/cash register story occurred. if you are unfamiliar with this story, feel free to contact my father, he will be more than happy to share it with you.)

It was also at this time we would rise at 4:00 am so our family could have devotions together before we trudged off to cook bacon and feed the masses. after we would finish our devotions--whatever children had been selected for the task of staffing the said diner would pile into the car and we would drive into the early morning darkness. Now, given the fact I was only eight I was frequently allowed to sleep on the way in and would nap in the car until 6 or so, when i would finally trundle into the kitchen to make pies. However, on Thursdays, my designated day for no sleep, i would have to go in. I was the chief chicken and dumpling maker. Chicken and dumplings, like time, wait for no man.

National Public Radio always accompanied these early mornings. On the sleepy drive in, my father always had the radio tuned in to the droning, hypnotic voices of the announcer. Once we arrived and started cooking, the kitchen radio was always turned to NPR. i rather hated it. i thought it stupid. Every hour they would regurgitate the same news--in the same monotone voices--told slightly different. Even though I hated, hated, hated listening to the news, there was a certain comfort to it. It was the same thing--every morning. No matter how much I protested, we listened to the news. My sisters, of course, being the intelligent well-rounded teenagers that they were, would turn their noses at me and insist I enrich my mind.

Until recently, I couldn't listen to NPR without wanting to instantly yawn and fall asleep. But other than the instant drowsiness that overtakes me when i hear the gentle monotone of the announcers, I am overwhelmed with a sense of warmth--more from being tucked into that tiny hot kitchen with three other people. up to my elbows in soapsuds or hovering over the stove stirring coconut cream pie filling, singeing my eyebrows off. Remembering those early mornings where I would make "gorilla sandwiches" with my father (two heels of bread, catsup, a sausage patty, a hash brown patty and a slice of American cheese) much to the chagrin of my health conscious mother. The restaurant was safe, we could eat whatever our little hearts created and we were treated like adults. When I listen to performance today, I am overcome with the desire to wrap an apron around my waist--well--more so around my whole body, directly under my armpits, with the strings tightly circling my body three or four times--punctuating the curve of my soft eight year old tummy. When I hear the hypnotic drone of the narrators’ voice, I’m young again and underestimated by the general public, but i have a family who believes in me and thinks my unconquerable.

I listen to NPR every morning now. I’m still young. I still have a family who fiercely believes in me. I no longer singe my eyebrows off. I still make a mean pie. I’ve been tempered slightly since the restaurant days. I no longer glare at people when they ask me if I’m too young to take their money. Now I just smile graciously. But more than getting the news--I love being reminded what I come from and how much I have.

Most importantly--a family who loves me.

merry christmas to me! i'm in debt!

2006-12-22T12:29:00.000-05:00

i just signed the papers for my new home. while i am slightly excited--i feel like i am woefully behind on the real estate curve. thanks to my father and sister. pffffffbbbbbt. my sister didn't even SIGN for her first house. she casually signed power of attorney over to one of her minions who went and scribbled for her.

the attorney was incredibly rude and condecensing. explaining words to me like i was a simple child. someone finally said "um, sir, she's a finance manager. she understands what you are saying." jackass. i was so annoyed that they used some attorney other than the attorney i requested, i was completely off my game. curses on them. may all their children be slighted and snubbed for whatever reason.

so. merry christmas to me. i have a house that just may fall down around my ears. and i still get to pay for it. the bright side is--if i die, i have something to leave someone.

flashbacks

2006-12-07T22:04:00.000-05:00

do you ever have those moments where you snap back to your life--six months ago? a year ago? you are suddenly transposed to a moment of vivid--and in my case possibly violent--emotion? for me, music normally takes me there.

"bad day"--by daniel powter was my theme song early this year. BEFORE it hit the radio and it was just a free itunes download. how many a night did i trot myself home from work, put it on repeat and scream/beat/kick my way to sleep? too many. i remember the air, it was spring. a little cool, with the windows open and all the fresh smells pouring into the sparse living room.

today some old rock ballad came on the radio that i hadn't heard in year. in fact, the last time i listened to it, my heart was bruised and i was quite sure i would never recover. am i the only one who enjoys the perspective of time?

that's why i enjoy waltzes down memory lane. i am reminded that grace comes through again and again. in a year--i'll look at my troubles/worries/problems/general situtation and chuckle. i'll chide myelf for the lack of perspective and inability to see the grace of God. i'll roll my eyes at how caught up i was in the moment instead of the big picture. i'll be breathing and living a whole new set of challenges and problems. the worries of yesterday fading fast--and often the lessons of grace just as quickly.

over and over i have to remind myelf HOW MUCH grace i have been given. it flows. it abounds. the blessings are unlimited. i've been given a brother who makes my heart swell with pride. i've been given a sister who awes me with her dedication and achievement. i've been given another sister who inspires me with her creativity and art. i've been given a father who believes that anything is within my grasp.i've been given a mother who loves me--in her own special quirky way. i've been given roots. i've been given a heritage. i've been afforded opportunities and priviledge. whenever i pause--from my worrying and whining--i am literally made speechless by the gifts i have been given.

there are not words to express the swelling of my heart when it comes to all things related to my family. but that's why i've been given grace--and the rest of my life-- to show them how much they mean to me. they've always been there. unfortunately--due to mortality--they won't always be there. but i am forever grateful for them. one of the many, many gifts of grace from my heavenly father.

something i cannot reiterate enough:

2006-11-29T22:49:00.000-05:00

i have the coolest family--ever.

please don't bother me with you petty arguements that your dysfunctional family who gets drunk together on holidays rivals our merry little band of ministrels. because, they just don't. i don't think i can ever express or describe how much i love my family. or how incredible i find them all. the just rock out with their, er, socks out.

i love them all--equally of course. i will probably end up naming my kids after them all in some way shape or form, just because i'm odd like that. but today's featured member is fredd.

fredd: where do i start with the kid? first off, see the two d's? that was his idea. something i have to say i think is super fantastic. fredd is paticularly near to my heart because i've watched him grow from the sniveling brat of a kid whom i used to beat the snot out of, into a brother who articulates his thoughts and challenges my ideas. someone i consider a friend. and someone who i can count on making my heart burst with pride everytime i talk about him. i guess it's the closest thing i'll have to parental pride until i start to force lil' tricycle motors out the ole' birth canal. don't ask me why, considering the closest thing i did to mother him was feed him unlimited amounts of potatoe soup. but, i feel a certain protectiveness regarding him and the harse elements of life, that, towards others i'd normally happily feed them to. for instance? swirling blades? sure kids, stick your fingers in! see what happens! with fredd? keep limbs far away please! see the love? see what i'm talking about? true motherly love right there. i want to name one of my kids fredd one day. actually it will be: fredderick. i love that. sometimes i cry because i miss him and his funniness. and i don't cry--really. crying is for sissies. but hey! i'll be a sissy for fredd. hmm. think that could be a shirt. anyway. when i say i love that kid fiercely--i mean it. he's within the very small limited group of people i would happily and cheerfully give a body organ/limb/skin graft/life to.* anyway. i miss him. that's that.

*some restrictions do apply.

oh magnify the lord with me

2006-11-14T22:56:00.000-05:00

do you ever have those visits with friends where you just feel--edified?

i spent this past weekend in the lovely south. with the most lovely katy~*. in a moment of sheer overabition i promised to make her wedding cake. i flew down to do sample cakes. a southern pound cake with a peach filling and cream frosting as well as a tiramisu cake which i had never made. ahaha. i packed the cake layers in my suitcase. as well as the peach filling, which leaked, and left me smelling vaguely jam-y for the rest of the weekend. barely made my flight. but spent the rest of the glorious weekend meeting katy's adorable and hilarious family. talking of weddings. speaking of happiness, life, dreams, clothes. being with katy challenged me. she everything i'm not. six feet tall and a size four. detail oriented. quietly patient. artistic. funky. i'm short. curvy. big picture. loud. the two of us made quite a pair. not just trying on clothes (which was insanely hilarious) but i left feeling so challenged. i need to be more detail oriented. i need to appreciate small things. i need to be able to praise people in their individuality.

it's amazing when you have someone like that. you can pour everything forth, and yet feel filled.

men are whiny little girls

2006-10-30T23:46:00.000-05:00

john, skyler and MonkeyTree drama, pt 2.

i thought i had patched things up with john. apparently not. he's been avoiding my work related calls for about a week and a half now. when we did speak, it was very short and abrubt. i managed to call skyler and apoligize for hanging up on him. he didn't sound like he cared all that much. but we were cool. however, with john, it got to the point where it was interfering with work so i pressed him to share why he was annoyed. he refused. i finally got ahold of him tonight. apparently, word got back that i referred to some of the girls he was with as "sorostitutes". he was very offended because they aforementioned barsluts happened to be his fiance and his best friend's fiance.

he lectured me on how horrible and heartless it was to say something like that about people i didn't know. i apoligized, but he continued berating me. i finally asked why, if it meant so much to him, did he not introduce us to the beloved fiance. he mumbles something unintelligible. i started to get annoyed and he then starts shrieking about me "having an attitude!!" and if i want to be like that he'll "terminate our business relationship!!!" and how incredibly disrespectful to his fiance it was for me to not respect their relationship. (i didn't bother pointing out he wasn't terribly respectful in the whole area of the fiance, with the whole draping himself over anything with breasts at his little frat party.) at this point, i really don't give a damn, but not really having the energy in me for a good old fashioned fight, i give a half hearted apoligy and we tersely hang up. whaaaatever.

three minutes later, he calls back. (hello, highschool. how i have missed you and all your drama.) "you know why i didn't introduce you all??? because of the way you were acting!!!" now. bear in mind. lesister and lefriend and i, were not drunk, or anywhere close. the three of us were chatting, having a good time, meeting people. however, the females/sorostitutes/barsluts he was with were clamoring all over them, drunkenly whispering and pawing over both of them and generally acting in a way i would be ashamed to see someone knew. but, whatever. apparently, WE were the inappropriate ones. (perhaps because we were ignoring them?)

i'm pretty steamed at this comment. because i have nothing to be ashamed of and i want to give him a nice little smackdown and put his girly little frat emotions back into place. but i check myself. what would be the point? i would have proven that i'm smarter than an overgrown frat kid? i calm myself for a moment and immediately switch from my irritated angry voice to soothing dulcet tones. the sort of tones you would use to soothe an angry boss, or coax a rabid animal away from the child or just maybe, rationalize with a crazy person.

"john, you are absolutely right. i am so very sorry. you have every right to be upset. you obviously love your fiance very much and are simply trying to defend her. i am so very sorry for belittling your great love for her. soothesoothesootheblahblahblahihateyoustupidfucker"

he grunts an apoligy, but i still hear edges of resentment in his voice.

"no john, it isn't ok. i was absolutely wrong. and if you never can find it in your heart to forgive me, i understand."

halfheartedly he says "it's fine. water under the bridge. you're sorry. i'm sorry. we're fine"

"but it isn't ok john. because you don't realize how very sorry i am! i was completely and totally wrong! heaponthedramaandcompletelyturnthiswholeapoligyintohimapoligizing."

him "no, no! baby, i'm sorry for getting upset. of course i forgive you."

me. sweetly, meekly. "are you sure? this is water under the bridge?"

him "absolutely. we're good. baaaaaaaaaaaby. of course. call me later?"

i was so incredulous that he fell for it, i almost forgot to be mad.

almost.

aaaaaaaand i'll be forever single

2006-10-29T20:32:00.000-05:00

there are bad dates. and then there are bad dates. this week i had one of the latter.

it was kind of a random set-up by the grandmother of one of customers and instantly started grilling me as to my relationship status. married? no. engaged? no. boyfriend? no. imustsetyouupwithmyson!!

i gave her my number. whattheheck, right? (i happen to work with this guy's niece and she assured me he was *very* attractive.) the next DAY he calls me. hmm, lil' desperate maybe? we set up a date to meet on wednesday. (not really wanting to waste a perfectly good weekend night on him.)

so. wednesday he calls me and wants to know where he picks me up. um, i'll meet you, i tell him. no, no, he must pick me up. i make up this very long story about being in meetings all day and not knowing where i'll be prior to the meeting time. we finally agree to meet at a mutual place. at this point, i'm really beginning to question this wisdom of this decision. if this guy is TERRIBLY good looking and normal, why doesn't he have a girlfriend? or why is his mother so desperate for him to be married. (i hate having the date pickmeup/dropmeoff because if it IS a flop, then you have the akward car ride back.)

i arrive and before he even says "hi, i'm bailey!" he annouces "oh. my. word. they didn't tell me you were a redhead! redheads are my FAVORITE!" um. k. ps. he isn't attractive, at all. not one tiny bit.

we walk out to his car. he drives a viper. ok. nice car. we'll ignore the fact it's a domestic. we start to the restaurant, which is a solid half hour away. we drive along, i'm trying to make conversation. he is an only child. well, he considers himself an only child even though he has step-siblings. aka. he is a spoiled brat. he also has no hobbies. mkaay. he lives with his mother. HE LIVES WITH HIS MOTHER!! he also wants to know "where i see this relationship going" first thought "NOT back to my place!" but i manage to utter out a very strangled speech about not having time for a real relationship. the closest thing being meeting someone for dinner twice a month. his response? "yeah, yeah, that's cool with me. if you want to do the whole weekend relationship thing. you know, we call each other every day and see each other on weekends..." he also lets me know he believes in "the man upstairs". what the hell is that supposed to mean?

um, no.

we get to dinner. it is a veryvery nice restaurant. but i'm incredibly creeped out at this point. i'm desperately struggling to make conversation. but there are plenty of akward pauses wherin he gazes upon my beauty (and chest). i honestly don't remember what we talked about, other than he kept exclaiming "we have so much in common!!" somehow, the fact i'm buying a house came up, which he managed to tie into a converation regarding his decorating skills of the bedroom he lives in (in his mother's house, of course) to which he gave me the memorable quote

"yes, i love the way you do your makeup. so soft, so sensous. and your hair... it all reminds me of the way my bedroom is painted. the soft sensual colors..."

did he just compare my makeup to his wall paint?

he also shared with me that EXACTLY a week ago, he wished upon a shooting star for someone who was "gorgeous, sexy, intelligent and sucessful" and HERE I WAS!! he now believes in karma. um. k.

when the bill came, i grabbed for it. simply because i knew i was never going out with this guy ever again and didn't want him to think i was meal grubbing. no. no. he would have none of that as he gazed into my eyes and told me what an absolute pleasure it was to buy me dinner.

on the way home, he somehow starts talking about politics. now, please understand, i am willing to talk to anyone about their views and listen to intelligent discussion. but, really, date conversation material? he shares that he would vote for hillary clinton if she we running for president, though he has never voted... nor is he registered to vote... nor have his parents ever voted...

i had restrained myself from lecturing or ranting all evening. (i had recently recieved a lecture about trying to be nice to people.) but i did deliver a quick peptalk about the responsibility as a citizen to vote. he promised to register. however, he started talking about issues and politicians. he thinks condi rice is "racial" (not racist) and that she only looks out for the interests of "those people". he also managed to work in the word "nigger".

his views on abortion? (not that i wanted to know) "if, you know, you're poor and stuff. and you, like, sleep around, you shoudl have an abortion because you won't take care of the baby anyway. but, you know, if you have money, you should keep the baby."

up to this point, we were speaking in the third person. all of a sudden he switches to the first person and says "i want to make love you as badly as you want to make love to me. and, you know, if you got pregnant or whatever, i wouldn't leave you."

i was speechless.

the minute the viper stopped, i clambered out and ran to my car hearing his little voice trail behind me "call me....."

i went home, took the flowers he gave me and beat them until their petals fell off and created a vodoo doll out of them.

well, not really. but if i knew how i would have.

they call me a pistol, not the sex kind

2006-10-21T11:02:00.000-04:00

there i things i just don't do: children. pets. talkingaboutfeelings.

i was the kid in the first grade who told everyone their wasn't a santa claus... and in the second grade... even when under treat of bodily harm by the older kid's siblings. it's all about the truth, baby. i just can't deal with emoting and spready the gooey lovliness of emotions everywhere. "we need to talk about our relationship" conversations never happen with me. in fact, i'd rather have a dog come stay with me and spread their awful fur over all my suits than talk about feelings. i'd rather have to entertain a brat than talk about my feelings. well, that might be a bit of a stretch.

however, men, in all the denial of emotion DO like to talk about their feelings. something i find terribly disturbing. not because they want to talk about it, but because they want ME to talk to them about MY feelings and THEIR feelings andletsalljustfeelandhug! yay! hell, whatever you do in the privacy of your own home and out of my earshot is fine. just don't inflict it on me. paticularly when our relationship is work-related.

here is my story.

my job involves relationship building with lendors. basically, i have to benice/sweettalk/browbeat them into doing me favors. this is highly leveraged by how much business i send them. however, i have around fifteen different lenders i have the choice of sending business to. each with different specialities. however, i favor about three or four of them and send them most everything. it's a give and take relationship, but to sum it up, it pays to be nice to me because i feed you business, which, in turn feeds your kids.

part of their job is to schmooze with us. come out, wine and dine us, say nice things and make them send us business. one of the lenders, let's call it MonkeyTree, has a supervisor, let's call him skyler, who i absolutely loathe. he is married. very perverted. very annoying. quite some time ago, he made a very very inappropriate comment which i found very very offensive. i told him so, but have since kept my distance and been terse and short in our communication.

i have another contact at the bank, let's call him john, who i deal with for all my business with MonkeyTree. while john isn't perfect, he's better than skyler. skyler is very unhelpful with almost all business. when i ask a question, i want an answer. not a fifteen minute speech as to why you can't answer my question. john has visited our office a few times, taken us out for drinks a few times and apparently considers us "tight". he is engaged, not that you would know it. last weekend, we went out for drinks, i dragged along lesister and lefriend. drinks turned into a frat party. the only reason i stayed was purely for blackmail reasons on monday morning.

this weekend, john came into town, again. of course, now that we are "tight" he wanted to meet for drinks again, but i really don't enjoy hanging out with engaged frat guys, so i passed on the invite. he said he would call me anyway. i was planning on ignoring his call.

i happened to run into him when catching an afterworkdrink with lesister and lefriend and ignored him. ignoring him as in: i didn't go over, break through the circle of sorostitues and scream "HI, JOHN!!" he didn't approach me, i didn't think i needed to approach him. at one point, lesister and lefriend said hi to him, having met him before. he eventually breaks away from the fawning/groping/adoring masses and comes over to say "hi" and find out why i'm "ignoring" him. generally irritated at life in general and MoneyTree (i had earlier had a very terse conversation with Skyler which resulted in me not exactly hanging up on him, but not giving him a chance to say goodbye) , i apparently said something that deeply wounded john's feelings. he slunk away.

end of story. we'll chat monday. or so i thought.

this morning, i get a call from lesister2 (who used to work with me) and she tells me that i must have done something to gravely offend john because he is very upset and is coming in to talk with me. um.kay. also, skyler is apparently *gravely* upset with me and is threatening to "cut our office off". um. ok?

my first instinct is to tell john to stop being a little girl and having hurt feelings. then, call skyler and say "please! cut me off! i'm sick of dealing with you. but before you hang up, can you transfer me to the manager who i need relay all your inappropriate and perverted comments to." (i also happen to know, even though i'm not supposed to, that skyler is being sued for sexual harassment.) then, go to my manager, tell him the story, which would absolutely enrage him and he would then cut THEM off.

i think that would solve the whole situation quite nicely.

lesister2 talks me down off my firebreathing ledge and convinces me for the good of the company to smooth things over, don't ask me why. so, john comes in and "apoligizes" which comes out something like "i'm sorry i didn't call you. you hurt my feelings. i am so upset. why are you mean to me? feelingsvomitfeelingsvomitfeelingsvomit." i soothe is battered ego and apoligize citing a bad day at work, family stresses and whatever other bullshit reasons i can think of. i also casually mention i was "so stressed" yesterday and was very short with skyler. i "think i'd be the right thing to do" if i called and apoligized. so everyone was all prancing lambs, fluffy clouds and sparkly rainbows. yay happiness and togetherness!!!

are my eyes turning brown yet? because i am full of bullshit.

to top off my indignity, as if lowering myself to pretend i cared about john and skyler's feelings, coddling the egos of grown men and all that happy horseshit, wasn't bad enough. lesister2 calls me and congratulates me on a sucessful summit. how do you know it was sucessful i ask?

apparently, john texted her "the chat was lovely. porkchop just needed a little heart2heart."

cue vomiting and self loathing.

so, apparently, i do feelings now.

i feel like a grownup

2006-10-17T21:55:00.000-04:00

i signed the papers for the offer on my house.

i feel so grown up on the outside. but scared on the inside.

clear the streets

2006-10-16T13:12:00.000-04:00

"As Porkchop and Barbie are typical Christian Singles and "on the make" all males in the neighborhood would need to take special precaution. This, of course, would mean that all single males between the ages of 17-45 would need to be off the street by 7:00 p.m. within a 4 block radius. Simply put: they are at risk. If Barbie is not mesmorizing you with her "nice studing all the time routine" Porkchop will likely be entrancing you with her "love by the sword" approach to verbal love making. Her motto is "you have to hate me before you love me." As they are plus for neighborhood--they are not without their risks."

--A friend's reply when asked if he would be a reference for moving into a new neighborhood. (heavily tounge in cheek. i hope.)

zero. means, only occasoinally.

2006-10-12T21:30:00.000-04:00

today we had "sexual harassment awareness training". i guess we all KNOW for SURE when we are being harassed*.

at the end, they gave out zero bars to remind us of "zero tolerance!!!"

*i laugh to think what used to traumatize me when i first entered the car business. now, i wouldn't bat an eye. i'd just chop off their balls and use them for earrings.

'twas a loverly birthday

2006-10-07T08:44:00.000-04:00

given the recent controversy as to whether i am nice enough to people, i was amazed at the outpouring of kindness on my birthday. since i had to (of course) work a very long day on my birthday, there was a steady stream of people into my office. one sister decorated my office to it looked as if the birthday fairy vomited--everywhere. confetti, helliumed balloons, cards, posters, a crown and a blinking button i was forced to wear all day. one sister (and her husband) sent me flowers which are most gorgeous. the other sister brought me coffee and a delicious chocolate maggott cupcake. (she also procured lovely company for the evening after work, who graciously footed the bill for all of us.) my stepgrandmama brought me a gift as well as warm coconut bread. my stepmother visited. my daddy visited me and brought flowers. my little brother visited me and helped me channelmyrage/makefunofeveryoneiworkwith. a bank sent me flowers. the accounting department gave me a gift and threw me a mini birthday part complete with brownie sundaes. a good friend brought me lunch. two of my favorite starbucks baristas hand-delevered coffee and pastries (which i am currently reheating). my bestiefriendy finally showed her face after being out of the country for six long weeks. a salesman sent me flowers. a family friend popped by, with children and drawings. a salesman bought me lunch.

it was very lovely. i was overwhelmed. a good part of my thanks is directed to the sister who alerted everyone to the fact it was my birthday so they would be nice to me. heh.

i have plenty of thank you notes to write.

artistry

2006-10-05T19:01:00.000-04:00

chatting with a dear friend:

"you remind me of a stick figure. with boobs. here! like this."

that made me laugh hilariously.

happy {early} birthday to me

2006-10-05T17:03:00.000-04:00

porkchop: i'm hungry. AGAIN. i've eaten two protein bars AND a full meal. and i'm hungry, AGAIN.

jjoyful: "you're pregnant. it's God's birthday present to you."

his mercies are new every motning

2006-10-05T11:25:00.000-04:00

last night, i was so fretful i couldn't sleep. you have to understand, if i merely misplace a lipstick, i am endlessly bothered. but my whole purse?! i couldn't sleep. my darling sister coaxed me off a ledge. as i fell asleep i prayed. i mean, my god can move mountains and part seas, why couldn't he find my purse.

this morning i cancelled all my credit cards, got a duplicate license, called the bank to put an alert on my bank account and was generally putting things in order when i got the call my purse had been found! the only thing missing was the vintage gold earrings, my favorite lipstick and whatever cash was in it. ($25?)

granted, all my credit cards were now useless, but hey! i had my purse back! my lovely little cream purse that reminds me of my sister everytime i use it. and i had an answered prayer.

everyone keeps telling my i'm "lucky" but really, i'm blessed. and i know it.

(side note: this morning, i told them i was going to be late into work because i was working on righting the situation, when really, i was replacing my lipstick. beauty first! also, i don't think i've used this many exclamation points in a very, very long time. !!!!11!!! <---for good measure)

so upset i can't sleep

2006-10-04T21:32:00.000-04:00

i hate losing things. i HATE losing things. i'm one of those people who cannot fully function if they know they have lost/misplaced something.

tonight i lost my purse.

i am horridly tired, but cannot sleep. i actually have pains in my chest. i have cried like a baby. i have prayed. i have begged God. i have bargained with God. no avail. i am trying to piece together a plan, but really, everytime i think about it, i just want to scream and cry.

i'd rather KNOW where it was. in the belly of a fire breathing dragon. crushed in a jersey waste plant. whatever! better than guessing/hoping/worrying.

now i need to cancel my credit cards, replace my credit cards, replace all my(dual state) id's, replace my social security card, replace my sales license, replace my priceless vintage clutch, replace my several lipsticks and lipliners, replace my checkbook. REPLACE MY WHOLE FREAKING LIFE.

sob.

quote of the day:

2006-10-04T11:31:00.000-04:00

"i suppose the idea where i take pause is that once the chink in the armour was exposed you drove the stake in. your signature was of saying "leave me alone or i will break your heart and kill your cat! off with your head, peasant!" "
--a family friend's thoughts on me cheerfully shredding the ego of a man who returned my card twice

that's right, snap to attention and show some respect

2006-10-04T09:12:00.000-04:00

we have a young customer who hasn't paid for her car in full, yet. i call her cell phone, a wee bit early for a young adult. 9am. oh the horror.

instead of the softspoken female voice i am expecting, i hear a sleep choked but hostile "hello?" from a young male. you can tell he's teetering on launching into a tirade against me.

i crisply ask for the customer, using her full name.

"she's in ths shower."

"far more information than i needed to know, young man." i repeat my name and title and ask him to have her call me.

his voice sounds worried and alert "yes, ma'am."

yes, ma'am. that amuses me to no end.

indulge me, once more

2006-10-03T22:36:00.000-04:00

i know all this woe-is-me bullshit is highly uninteresting to read and generally not-of-general interest, but indulge me, once more.

my birthday is this friday. i will spend it working. there isn't any point in making plans with the one person who will remember (my sister/my roommate) because if i DO make plans, it guarantees with absolute certainty that i will have to work a fourteen hour day. (the law of reality) whereas, if i simply plan on coming home to sip vodka and toy with dull razors, i will be able to leave work in a timely manner. ah. such is life. so, friday, with the law of reality firmly in place i will plan nothing, be able to get home on time and my sister will be out on her glorious date with her funny man.

now, speaking of glorious men, this brings me to my other point. i will also be spending my birthday alone because i am a mean horrible person who cannot keep her mouth shut and insists on cutting men down and putting them in their place. worth every minute, i might add, but still leaves me alone on my birthday.

take friday for instance, i met a chap i quite liked, but upon finding out who my father was, he was so dazzled by my... bloodlines that he returned my card to me twice. now, giving it back the first time was pretty degrading to my sense of dignity, but to get it back a second?! i ripped it up and threw it at him. he realized his mistake and i told him in a flair of dramatics that if he wanted my number he could call much much esteemed father and get it from him. now, in the movies, he would call my father and my father would refuse the information, but then the lad would search high and low for clues to finally reach me. wherin i would tell him he had taken to long and he would then commence a campaign to win my affection.

damn. that sounds like a lot of work. and, this is real life. he, of course, didn't call my father. and i will never see him again. and if i DO see him again, it will be incredibly awkward for him and it will be one more sad chap i have intimidated out of dating me. take, for instance, the fellow i ran into today while shopping.

(this paticular fellow, was a ex-love interest of my friend, who she tried setting me up with. i thought it was all joking friendly banter, but apparently i was ripping his soul (and his balls) out and serving them as shishkabobs over rice.)

we do the akward glances where we are both debating whether to acknowledge the other. i finally break the silence. meaningless greetings are exchanged. he says "how's the manhating going?" i express indignation and inform him "manhating" is a label assigned by him because he can dish it out but can't handle it. we part, not awkwardly, but rather dismissive.

this is the story of my life. this is why i am growing old alone. this is why i will be alone on my birthday. because i can't keep my damn mouth shut. the cutting remarks keep bubbling to the tip of my tongue. like an alcoholic at a grey goose giveaway, i just can't help myself.

fall fills me with longing

2006-09-25T17:08:00.000-04:00

i have yet another birthday approaching in a few weeks. just thinking about getting a year older depresses and tires me. it doesn't help that fall has already filled me with yearning to be anywhere--but here. i tire of being alone. i tire of having no life plan. i tire of being me.

sometimes life just makes you ache. and the only thing worse than longing is longing alone.

i feel restless, cranky and a wee bit sad. i have no idea why. i wish i did.

why we hate the terps

2006-09-13T14:37:00.000-04:00

conversation with le brother:

porkchop: "i hate the terps. i mean, for the love of pete, they are turtles. football is big! fast! violent! and they are turtles."

fredd: "couldn't they think of something better?"

porkchop: "it could be the logical explanation for why they never win. we thought football was about being slow? and peaceful?"

fredd: "venus flytraps could do more damage."

porkchop: "go get 'em. ya big fierce turtles!"

fredd: "their mascot is just this big fat guy. at halftime, they bring him out on a cart and he eats some leaves or something then they scream GO TERPS!! EAT.. THOSE.. LEAVES!!"

porkchop: "SNAP YOUR LITTLE TURTLE TRAPS!! look fierce, boys!!!"

fredd: *snort* "exactly."

porkchop: *scoffs* "exactly."

merci

2006-09-13T10:19:00.000-04:00

porkchop:

for all the hard work you that seems unappreciated.
for all the support and kindess you showed to annie in her time of sorrow.
for all the neck rubs.
for all the support and encourageing words you give to me and other just when we need it!
for all the cakes you bake with love.
for all you do for the soldiers.
for just being porkchop... the way God intended.

you are a true blessing to all.

love:

a few people

a note recently given to me by some of the staff.

please come home and save me from myself, darling

2006-09-09T13:05:00.000-04:00

i miss my little brother something fierce. this is evidenced by the fact i managed to let myself be wrangled into cooking dinner for a bunch of the guys i work with that live together. (purely in a frat-house kind of way, not gay orgy.) i cooked them dinner and in return they told funny guy stories which left me doubled over with laughter. i hadn't laughed that hard since my little brother left.

it reminded me of how much i desperately miss him. with him, i am able to indulge my secret love of guy-humor. watching super-troopers, dumb&dumber, etc. i am really quite ashamed that i find it all funny, but i do. paticularly when i am with him. i can't wait until he comes home. we'll play football. we'll watch stupid movies. we'll make fun of people. he'll tell me i'm gorgeous and that i am the coolest sister ever.

i'll pretend i believe him. but really i know i'm the one getting the best end of this deal.

dickhead, continued

2006-09-08T18:07:00.000-04:00

richard: "if i gave you $100 would you show me your boobs?"

me: "absolutely not"

richard: "$200?"

me: "no"

richard: "$300?!"

me: *steely glare *

richard: *begging* "$1000?!?!" (as if that were the largest amount of money fathomable)

me: *continues typing *

richard: "how much? name. your. price."

me: "dignity has no price. nor can it be bought."

richard: "my heart is dashed into a thousand pieces! please?! PLEASE?!"

you know, when i wasyoung and innocent people used to say "she's going to be a heartbreaker" this was not at all how i imagined it.

time to take the lipo knife into my own hands

2006-09-06T18:23:00.000-04:00

recently overheard regarding myself:

"she was smokin' when i first met her. now. she's... not so smokin'"

it's time for a diet.

sorry sir, but we're fresh out of the lunch special

2006-09-05T21:22:00.000-04:00

actual dialouge between me and a salesman:

me: "hello, richard, how are you today?"

richard: (looking petulant) "ok."

me: "just okay?"

richard: "i'd be alot better if i could see your boobies!"

me: (unruffled) "don't you get to see lonnie's* boobies every night?

richard: "yes, i do. but i'm tired of them. it's like having to eat chicken for dinner every night when you want shrimp! ALL YOU CAN EAT SHRIMP!"

me: "maybe you should have thought about this before you moved onto the poultry farm. hmm?"

richard: (peevishly glares)

*his live in girlfriend of a month who he describes as "having a guy friend. but with boobs!"

to my one remaining reader: here i am

2006-08-31T22:35:00.000-04:00

ok. punctuation and capitlization? not so much. too much damn effort. that requires typing extra. you know, stretching my already overworked little pinky over to the shift button. and folks, that just ain't happening. so, if you can struggle through the faux emo-style writing, you can catch up to where i've been. one word:

working

yep. i wish i had something exciting to say like "i went on this faaaaaabulous vacation to aruba and managed to pick up a few inexpensive housekeepers!" (that would truly make my day, a housekeeper.)

anyway. but i didn't. so i'll move on and stop obsessing at the thought of a nice little lady in a white apron who would clean my house...

i'm stopping.

the woman i work with just moved to the east coast five or six months ago. she moved because her husband was dying of cancer and his family only lived a few hours from their new homehere. she wanted them to be near during his final days. other than his family, she had no friends, no family, nothing. (she is from hawaii.) they have only been married three years. one year after they were married, they found out he had cancer. his condition worsened, he started having episodes (the cancer had spread to various body parts, causing various dysfunctions.) she would work our ten, twelve, fifteen hour days, whatever. and rush home to take care of him. i started pulling a few longer shifts, just to send her home early. at one point, she called me in the middle of the night, he had been rushed to the hospital and she had... no one. i stayed with her the night, and generally was a friend. yay for me. his family? not a peep.

he gets worse and worse, i'm taking more and more work, he is dying and his family still hasn't visited. finally, when he collapses and is taken to the hospital and she has to take off from work, his family decides to visit. he is put into hospice, she takes off work and his family goes back home.

so, let me summarize my confusing writings at this point: the man is on his death bed, she has no one to support her and his family has left.

these past two weeks have been spent trying to do both workloads and then spending the evenings in the hospital with her. i forced everyone at work to write a card with nice words it it. that was amusing.

"here. write a card for annie."

"what?? why? what do i say?"

"i don't care. just write a card, dammit."

"naaaaah."

"write the card, or i'm writing one for you that says 'sorry i was such a fucking nitwit asshole to work with. i promise when you get back, i'll buy you lunch every day and always listen to everything you say.' there. i like that. i think i'll write one to ME to. heh."

"gimmie the pen."

i was the only person with annie when her husband passed away last tuesday. not a priest. not a family member. but someone who doesn't even know how to say hail mary's.

reaching out to someone and easing their pain has been an amazing experience. alot of it was small things, things no one will ever know about. fixing her mistakes after she left. extra work. longer hours. forcing people to write the cards and then have them pretend it was their idea. buying flowers and saying they were from "everyone". generally creating the illusion that everyone cared. it has been so rewarding to watch it work. to watch her feel supported and cared for. and, in turn, the rest of the employees blossom and grow under her gratefulness. a nice little cycle, it is.

but yes. that's where i have been. i'm very, very tired. i am so tired of work and my office. i'm tired of staring at my desk. i'm so tired that today i genuinely thought it was wednesday. "oh? it's thursday? fancy that!" it doesn't matter when my next day off is, cause i'll still be there.

i need to start a hobby, or something. but it's rather difficult to find legal things to do after the hours of 10pm and before 8am. i think i'll say sleeping is my new hobby. yes! i like that. i realize i'm becoming terribly one dimensional. conversation is even difficult

"so, what do you do?"

"work. and you?"

"well, i work at blahblahblah and i love to do blahblahblahblah!!..... you?"

"work. i work for fun. i work for recreation. i work for work. i work for worship. yeah. i work all the time. all the time."

"oh. well. *silence* you have fun with that!"

my mother took it upon herself to teach me how to play bridge as a hobby. which, i thought was fantastic. upon sharing my key to a potential two dimensional life, my darling sister, who lives a multi-dimensional, sparkling and generally social life wrinkled her nose and raised her eyebrow. "bridge? what's next?! canasta?" she said bridge the way a person's grandmother who was lying on her death bed might say "negrophelia" when her grandson announced that was his new hobby of choice. sorry, joy, you can't always chose your family.

bwahaha. bring on the shuffleboard.

in related news, i recently found out a large group of people i work with think i'm in my thirties. THIRTIES! dear lord. do i dress that badly?! my figure that dreadful?! apparently so. because when they discovered my real age. their response? "no wonder we thought she looked so good for her age." so your saying that i look bad for my age? yeah. i could have answered that question.

oh yes. i'm a redhead now. which means i can have a temper. hooray tempers! i recently lost it with a salesperson. wherein i informed him that yes, i found it perfectly acceptable to speak to him as if he were a child. because, when i tell him something seven times and he doesn't listen the first six, how am i SUPPOSED to speak to him?!

also, i've become quite unfunny. i've lost that trademark spirit and fire in my family that demands we go against convention. i've become afraid of the man. i find this very sad. where once i was a trouble maker and spent my time not giving a damn, creating harsh memos for everything and generally endearing myself to everyone by saying what they were thinking. now i am all miss conventional and middle aged and play by the rules. and just typing that out makes me hate myself. maybe i need to go to a family reunion or something to get my fire back. i have no idea. but i think red hair is a nice start, no?

My Little Brother Is Far Funnier Than I Can Ever Dream

2006-08-09T23:48:00.000-04:00

"And part of me feels so good.(I bet this is how Pooh feels after burping up honey.)"--DarthFredd

I miss this kid like The Dickens. I mean, he's this funny online but just as funny in real life. And cute! And sweet! And I miss him. Me loves me some Fredds.

I'm A Dirty Little Fun Haver

2006-08-08T18:33:00.000-04:00

My Sister The (Rookie) Salesperson Who Gave Up Her Decent Job To Sell Cars:

"This is fun! I. Love. Selling. Cars! Yaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!111!!!11"

Porkchop:

"Fun? FUN?! Whatever floats your boat, dear. I mean, some people's idea of fun and a good time is having sex with llamas. So, you know, fun is a very relative word."

Completely Irritated

2006-08-05T17:18:00.000-04:00

There are times when I love my job. There are also times when my job makes me want to crawl out of my skin and scream. Now would be one of those times.

I've stayed late every day this week. We've been slow all day, but now ten minutes after we supposedly close, I have a showroom full of people and I'm expected to wait. It's far to glorious outside to be sitting in a dark office with no windows. Or, for that matter, to be locked in a building with all men who, in such weather, only want to talk about breasts and... breasts.

I want to cry.

Karma, You're My Homegirl

2006-08-01T16:28:00.000-04:00

Remember Salesman X? I understand, he's a little difficult to forgot. But I have another amusing little story about him. (Oh! If he could only read this and understand the hours of mirth I get out of telling and re-telling his tale of woe and embarassment. I'd venture to say he would need years of therapy.)

Pre Hand Job Incident, Salesman X bought a car from the company and I took care of his paperwork. I made a tidy little sum off of him (the profit off interest rates and product sales is purely at my discretion, I can choose to mark either up as high as I choose as long as it's within state limits) right around nine hundred dollars. Now, please understand, whether an employee is purchasing a vehicle or a regular customer, I am more than happy to bargain regarding product prices and interest rates. But when they don't so much as put up a fight, I see no reason to discount anything.

It was public knowledge that I actually profited the company off an employee, earning respect from my managers and good-natured ribbing from my salespeople. The general school of thought was that if he was stupid enough to let me, why not? He knew what he could get, yet he forfeited his rights of lower prices in favor of reaching across the desk, patting my hand and saying "I don't mind if you make a profit off me, as long as you make money."

*cue the wretching*

This past week, he decided to purchase another vehicle, this would be Post Hand Job Incident. He had taken quite a bit of flak for allowing me to profit the company, so he had a pretty fool-proof plan designed as to how I wouldn't make a penny. Which was more than fine with me. It's been a long month and I just wanted to get his paperwork finalized. Through the entire paperwork process he went on and on about how I will not be making ANY money off of him and how I would never "rip him off" every again.

However, his fool proof plan? His personal bank loan? Hah. Didn't happen. His bank of choice refused to loan him the money. Which meant that I was responsible for securing his loan. Now, let's all think about the logistics of this. Do you think, after everything I've been through with this sniveling weasel, I am going to even ATTEMPT to get any sort of favors pulled at the bank for a lower interest rate? You can bet your sweet rosary not.

So. He resigned the paperwork. Gratefully, actually. He was quite thankful that I had gotten him approved, period. However it was at a much, much higher interest rate than he thought he deserved. I gave him some nice little speech about refinancing the loan in a year. But the most beautiful part of the entire thing wasn't sticking him with an obscene interest rate, it was the quiet knowledge I just made the company a cool fifteen hundred dollars.

Since he was blissfully unaware of the $40 extra he would be paying in his car payment of interest alone, I was unable to say:

"Consider this a tax, for the next seven years you will be forced to think on a monthly occasion of how you should never, ever say foolish things about non-existant sexual favors. Actually, if you ARE getting sexual favors, you shouldn't be talking about it period. But that is another lesson for another day. Because, if you had just kept your vile trap shut, you would be able to SAVE that $40 and buy a handjobs on a regular basis. Any way you look at it, you got screwed. You didn't get a handjob in the first place and you most certainly won't be able to afford them now."

You Never Know

2006-07-21T12:42:00.000-04:00

Our receptionist is a lovely blonde in her early forties. She is terribly sweet, dresses nicely and is quite good at her job. She's always cheerful and rarely ever complains about the dozens of cranky people she daily has to pacify.

She and I always compare latest shoe finds and the latest sales. Occasionally she'll pop in and each lunch with me and we'll chat. Over time, she has shared with me her struggles with low self esteem, stemming mostly from childhood sexual abuse and a husband who would beat her and locked her in the closet. Like any female, I battle my demons of inadequacy. I have been able to share with her different things that helped me and simply encourage her and cheer her onward. Because, let's face it, life as a female can be rough.

Today she stopped by my office and asked to speak with me for a moment. She sat and twisted her hands nervously and started by saying "Please don't take this the wrong way."

This always makes for an interesting conversation opener.

"When I first started here, I saw you and thought 'I cannot work with her every day, I will feel inadequate and ugly'. You intimidated me! You were so perfect and pretty!"

At this point I insert some sort of comment which ended coming out like a strangled surprise.

"But then, it turns out that you, the person I was most afraid of, makes me feel the best about myself. I always feel confident and beautiful after talking to you. You make me feel like a wonderful person. And I just find it quite ironic, I was so sure that I was going to hate myself every day. I have mornings where I hate myself and I feel hideous and feel like I should be locked in a closet. But you always have something to say to me that cheers me right up. Out of all the people here, you have helped me grow the most. And, well, I love you for that. Because your kind and sweet and beautiful and---"

She was cut off by an irate manager stomping in my office to yell at me.

But it really gave me pause. I guess you never know who you touch and it what ways. And it encourages me to know that I have talents other than enmasuculating men and stuffing their testicles in their mouth.

So Tell Me, How Was It?

2006-07-18T12:03:00.000-04:00

In the business I work in, co-workers sleeping together isn't what you would call uncommon. Some places actually encourage people to date. Given how much time we spend together, I guess this could make sense. While breakups may be ugly, turnover is high to begin with.

Therefore, the only kind of sex that can be scandalous is when management is involved. Well, when management is caught, to be more accurate. This innuendo soaked environment is a breeding ground for all sorts of nasty rumors that spread like fungus unless nipped in the bud with a little caustic treatment.

Latest Rumor: That I (Porkchop) Was Giving Sexual Favors To A Salesman

What I find paticularly amusing is the fact that his salesman has a nasty habit of invading my personal space, something I have called him out on quite loudly and publicly. Even if it something as simple as brushing lint off my shoulder, I narrow my eyes, slap his hands and shriek "keep your mitts off, you handsy bugger!"

I am sure you can now understand my amusement when I heard this juicy bit of gossip. I heard it at the end of the weekend, so I had a whole day to carefully prepare my speech to this salesman who was spreading these rumors. I honed. I tweaked. I recited it for several people who not only inserted suggestions but offered bodily harm, by Monday, I was ready.

I called the salesman into my office using his full Christian name, as his mother (or the principal) would.

Porkchop: "So, Salesman X, how was your weekend"

Salesman X: "Um, er, fine. Yeah, fine"

Porkchop: "Well. That's lovely."

Porkchop: "So, Salesman X, I hear I gave you a hand job. Now, since I wasn't aware of this I was hoping you could fill me in on the details."

Salesman X sits there. Dumbfounded.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, please, humor me. On a scale of one to ten, how was it? Please be specific and detailed."

Salesman X continues to sit there. Mouth slightly agape.

I finally pause and raise an eyebrow, obviously expecting some sort of response. The salesman sort of stutters and lunges for the door.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, this conversation is not over, I did not say you could go."

Salesman X start contradicting himself, stuttering, fidgeting, leaping about his chair and generally acting like a lying fool. He finally sputters out with "Salesman Z, SalesmanY and SoAndSo made it up! I was drunk! I don't... You're going to believe all of them over me??"

Porkchop: "First of all, I didn't say anything about how I found out, obviously you said something if you are referring to specific people. Secondly, Salesman X, yes, I would believe just about anyone over you, given your past track record of lying."

Salesman X: "Is that all?"

Porkchop: "No, actually, it isn't. Salesman X, let me share something with you. Our general manager? Yes, him. He has it out for you. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. If you did decide to leave, I know the owner of ImmediateCompetion, Inc and ImmediateCompetition2, Inc, your your chances there don't look so good. Furthermore, given our policy against drug use, I don't know how pleased anyone would be at the results of a random drug test after a night of your partying."

Salesman X protests regarding his usage.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, I've seen you high."

Salesman X shuts up.

Porkchop: "I also happen to know a few state troopers who would be more than happy to nab someone with possession of illegal substances and would happily slap on a "intent to distribute" charge. Now, something like that wouldn't look so great on your record given your desire to go into pharmaceutical sales, would it?"

Salesman X sits sullenly.

Porkchop: "WOULD IT?"

Salesman X: "No"

Porkchop: "I can't imagine your father (who is a well-ranked government officer) would be very pleased to find out his son, who happens to be wasting his life in the first place, is further flushing it away with drug use, however casual."

I pause and let it all sink in. Happily surveying the nervous and twitching wreck I have created before my desk. The salesman lunges for the door again. I command him to sit down.

Porkchop: "I'm almost finished. I just want to do a quick little review to make sure we understand each other. Will there be any more of this ridiculous rubbish going on?"

Salesman X: "No"

Porkchop: "And what are the consequences of such rubbish if it to ever happen again?"

Salesman X: "You will make it your personal mission to make my life hell, if you don't start sooner."

Smart boy. He got the general gist.

Quote Of The Day

2006-07-13T10:26:00.000-04:00

"You know the only reason you and __________(insert asshole manager's name here) are different is because he makes people think he likes them before tearing into their innocent souls. You just do it from the get go."

--A Victim Of My Vicious Tounge

Just An Update

2006-07-12T18:31:00.000-04:00

I haven't taken to dating anyone. I haven't taken up any new hobbies. I've just been working.

I loathe blogging about work because, really, who wants to hear about stupid customers, cranky bosses and lethargic banks? I don't hate my job, I just work, alot. Sixty-five, seventy hours a week.

I'm alive. But I miss our blogging little family. It isn't the same without everyone.

But I am here.

Home Sweet Home

2006-07-12T18:13:00.000-04:00

I am very attune to smells. Every year for Christmas I give someone a carefully selected scent. I wear my perfume to suit my outfit and situation. As we drove through Wyoming I could smell the dust. Through Nebraska as it rained I caught a whiff of wet dirt. Through the whole trip I could smell cows, mountains, prarie and wind. But when I passed the sign that said "You Are Now Crossing The Mason Dixon Line" I could smell home. The honeysuckle, the rain, the ocean.

It's home.

And I've never been happier to be here.

It's Ordered!

2006-06-22T12:46:00.000-04:00

With a silicone case so I won't dent it and a warrenty so I won't replace it again.

It says:

she turned me into a newt! a neeeeeewt? i got better...

This is homage to my little brother who, long before he ever saw Monty Python and The Holy Grail, would act it out for us purely from script. Complete and utter hilariousness. However, once we watched the movie it was kind of a anticlimax.

burn her!

Ideas?

2006-06-21T11:14:00.000-04:00

I have killed my first 'pod. I am about to have a second one born. However, I want something pithy, scathing and wonderfully typical engraved on the back.

Ideas?

Quote Of The Day

2006-06-20T22:02:00.000-04:00

"Taking the high road sucks. Nobody waves when your on it."

Sometimes I Wonder If I'm Alright In The Head

2006-06-20T12:39:00.000-04:00

Because when I see a beautiful car, I get that same flip of the stomach as when seeing a hot boy. However, I am normally more excited about the car.

I'm Alive

2006-06-19T21:41:00.000-04:00

I'm just working, alot. Even when my best friends come into town, I work. Even when it's my day off, I'm working. And when I'm not working, I'm helping my sister buy a car. I do love cars. I really do. If you want to see some fantastic driving with no plot and horrible acting, go see Fast and Furious: Toyko Drift. That movie makes me want to become a motor head. That and The Transportor.

I suppose my job could really be wonderful if I worked with fantastic cars. Instead, I sell old people cars. Stuff I would never drive.

But yes, I'm breathing.

And It Burns, Burns, Burns

2006-06-09T10:51:00.000-04:00

When you get the bland generic postcard from the Hottie Non Ex (that would be someone you didn't really date but apparently wanted to date you but you didn't KNOW until after he got engaged) and his now wife that They Got Engaged! While In Africa! So Please Be Happy For Us! And Our Tacky Postcards!

And even though they have a lion on the front of the postcard and even though he was hot and a little weird, it still scorches a little but because I didn't have the chance to flat out reject him.

Quote Of The Day

2006-06-06T21:49:00.000-04:00

"And dressing smart is half the battle! Sorry there, GI Joe, knowing is overrated."-- AhYesMedSchool

(You may ask why the hell I find it so funny? I'm trying to find humor in the small things two hours after I should have left work, while I SIT AND WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO FINISH THEIR DAMN JOB so I can finish mine and go home to my little brother's birthday party which officially declares him an adult. There are times when I cannot stand my job.)

Drawing To A Close

2006-06-06T10:27:00.000-04:00

When I was younger I would beat the living daylights out of my little brother. Seriously. I mean it. It was fighting for our lives. Survival of the fittest. Once, our parents made this mistake of leaving us home alone for a week with sisters who worked most of the day. Home alone? We sported bruises and missing clumps of hair for weeks to come.

In short. I spent most of my childhood with Fredd incurring pain upon him. We did have a bit of fun together. We had a couple of cool playhouses. We rode bikes together. We rebelled against the older siblings. And then he grew up. Like, a foot taller than me. And suddenly I was the one reminding him "you never hit a lady" and other such helpful rules I had conviently forgotten.

And then there was the whole "I'm Too Cool For Little Brothers Stage" where I ignored him and let him fend for himself. There isn't a moment of that stage I wish I couldn't take back. I did beat up and slap around my fair share of guys who picked on him, but I wish I did it every time. I wish I was a better older sister. I wish I hadn't spent so much time being frustrated because he was smart and I didn't understand what he was saying.

People used to say "You'll see. One day you'll be best of friends with your brother." And I never believed them. Paticularly the moment when he answered to the door to one of my dates with a shotgun. Seriously? No. Not happening.

But it did happen. I love that kid. He makes me beam with pride whenever I talk about him. Which is to pretty much everyone. He's funny. Smart. Kind. He influences more people than he'll ever understand. Honestly? I'd rather take him to the movies than a date. He keeps hilarious commentary with me. Instead of shushing me. He does crazy outlandish things with me. He rolls his eyes and pats me on the head when I say something paticularly stupid. He lets me rip his fanstastic music collection. He comes over before school and says things like "You look beautiful this morning!" He picks up a cd he'll think I might like. He comes over and visits his spinsterly sisters on a Friday night instead of partying with all the kids. He drinks tea with us and plays cards. He makes me incredibly grateful.

And I'm sad. Because he leaves in a month. And I'll have no more Fredd. He'll be far away. And he's grown up. And that makes me cry. Because it'll never be the same. I'm sure it will be good. He'll come back and be the fabulously handsome brother with the glamorous life. But it will never be the same. Because I'll never have anything to offer him. And while he's still here. I'm kind of a cool sister.

I'll miss that. And him.

It's All Coming Back To Me Now

2006-06-05T23:06:00.000-04:00

Whenever I smell leather I am immediately overwhelmed with the desire to ride again. When I hear soft classical music I desperately desire to play the piano again. When someone tells me I am fat I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my lunch hour heaving into a toilet.

There was a very dark sad time in my life when my every waking moment was consumed with food, calories, weight loss. My worth was measured in how much I didn't eat. How much I didn't weigh. I hoped in my starving and vomiting that I would be good enough. I would insulate myself from rejection. From not being pretty enough. Thin enough. Good enough. Of course, when you eat three peas a day and lots of black coffee, there is no danger of this. You're very thin. You have people pinching your cheeks telling you to gain a little weight. Grandmothers offering you to plump you up. Girls jealously eyeing you, telling you how horribly unhealthy it is for you to be that skinny. And you've put yourself far from rejection. But you have also put yourself smack dab in the middle of a nightmare.

Once you push yourself past the whole "not eating" stage, you're still stuck with the demons in your head. The ones that tell you every bite of food is something to feel guilty about. The persistant belief that every meal should be purged in some way, shape or form. If you aren't dieting somehow than you're losing. This isn't a phase. You're stuck this way for years. It doesn't show outwardly, it's your own private war. And you finally get over all this. And your normal. You no longer google "anorexic tips and tricks". You have forsaken the support of other equally disturbed girls who advise you to do things like "cover your food in dish soap" so you won't eat it. You have, in some ways, become normal.

You thought you were. And then, there it is, the nightmare someone calls you fat. And, they are right. You aren't the same thin girl anymore. You've put on weight. You've gotten curvy. Cubby. Soft. Whatever you want to call it. But you no longer live on the safe side of the line from judgement. This is the moment you can choose. You can relapse, as you're prone to do, into drastic non-eating measures. You can tally your human worth in calories and pounds. You can allow the years of healing to be reduced to nothing by one insensitive comment.

Or. You can remember that you are a pearl of great price. Loved above all by the Creator, fashioned in His hands to be perfect. Placed in this life to show others that you and they are loved with an everlasting love. Regardless of weight. For in His eyes you are worth life.

Flicking You Off--Accidentally?

2006-06-01T23:29:00.000-04:00

Over the lovely restful holiday weekend wherein I burnt myself to a crisp and generally did nothing I also got in a little football with The Brothers. In the process I sprained/jammed/broke/bruised/screwedup my middle finger. It was purpled and swollen. Stiff and useless.

Wanting to get all possible mileage out of this (and it did hurt, very, very badly) I found a splint and was able to garner more sympathy than I thought possible. With the splint on my finger, it made my finger stand up rather... straight. When typing. When talking with my hands. When writing.

Once everyone realized I wasn't flicking them off, persay. I was able to use it as a crutch. Cranky managers that I thought I was going to toss through the door. I'd casually start writing a memo, finger pointing heavenward with a mischievous glint in my eye. They weren't sure whether to falsely accuse me or fall for the innocent eyes. They would stand uncomfortably in front of my desk and scuttle out. Not sure whether to be incensed or to laugh.

If I've learned one thing at my job, it's to be subtle.

Quote Of The Day:

2006-06-01T10:26:00.000-04:00

"She has more hangups than a telephone."

--A Scorned Suitor Of My Sisters

I Get It, I Think

2006-05-28T21:13:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been developing a little list of man things I secretly like. You know, thing that good aloof girls like me aren't supposed to enjoy. Beer, speaking straight to the point, remote controls. You know, all those horrible things I used to eschew. Anyway. Today I experienced something I never thought I would understand.

Lawnmowers.

Oh yeah, baby. My father has a lawn mower which cost roughly three times as much as my car. This thing is... beautiful. It drives faster than you can mow. When I first clambered onto the seat and grasped the controls, I was more than a little scared for my life. At first I took down a few small trees, gouged some holes into the turf and took out half a boxwood. But as I drove and got used to it, I realized how much fun this thing is!

Two and a half hours, a major case of sunburn and no more grass left to mow, I was hooked. I wanted more grass! More space! I wanted a obstacle course to maneuver this thing! I wanted this to be a part of my Dad's list of manly requirements: Take Huge Grass Mowing Machine Through Obstacle Course Sucessfully. (Among other things on his list of What You Need To Do To Be A Man are jumping off a bridge, taking a truck with a trailer attached backwards through a obstacle course, eating raw oysters and going head to head over theology.)

What really scared me was when Dad said "Go down to Central Tractor and sit on some of those cheap toy lawnmowers" and I totally could see why. So we could laugh and scoff about our superior mower.

I'm scared now. Really, really scared.

Falling Into The Rabbit Hole

2006-05-26T13:01:00.000-04:00

Last weekend I drove the three hour journey to visit my mother. She lives in a tiny overpriced town tucked just across the West Virginia border nestled up against the Potomac. The view is absolutely breathtaking. The drive itself was incredible, the road leading to her house winding among the mountains and against the river.

Her employer, who she lives with as part of her compensation, is a very odd man. He is eighty-seven, opinionated as a mule, deaf as a door nail and adores putting people in their place. His life has been varied and glamorous. He was an OSS officer in WWII, an acclaimed author in the seventies and the son of two prominent celebrities. He has, in short, led a charmed life.

My mother knows him from her days in scientology as the Director of Public Affairs. He wrote a book on The Secret Life Of Plants (it's basically the premise that plants have feelings, or something like that) it was huge back in the days of free love and marijuana.

Upon my arrival, I was tested with spirited conversation as well as the admonition that "you need to speak slowly and clearly, my dear. You are much more beautiful when I can understand you." Apparently, I passed, because it was only a matter of hours before he began piling manuscripts upon me to read. His memoirs, his OSS accounts, his short story of his romp with Bridget Bardot. Oh yes, and a book on who financed WWII. (He's very much into conspiracy theory.)

I felt very... Bohemian. There were unexpected guests for dinner, so we all ate a little less and they played for their dinner. We drank wine with--everything. We ate pasta and talked of philosophy. I found myself considering and thinking about some of the more appealing ideas that he presented regarding religion and life. But I also found myself quietly refuting it with scripture. It was scary, all these appealing thoughts but it's good to question and make yourself think.

Visiting her was nice. I am now able to understand her perspective alot more. Even if it is a bit weird and creepish. I am able to see how she processes her thoughts. I was able to show her that even though she now believes in past lives and godknowswhatelse, I still love her.

For she is my Mum.

things i'm obsessed with/things' i'm disenchanted with

2006-05-25T18:53:00.000-04:00

-red stripe beer/corona. red stripe is cute! and good tasting! and makes me feel vaguely original. corona taste like mexican pee. or what i would imagine mexican pee to taste like.

-my haircolor/the idea of me ever being blonde. i am in utter love and adoration of my hair. it's beautiful. and rich. and shiny. pray tell, why did i ever think i looked good as a blonde?

-white pants/khakis. i adore white pants. white is so fresh. and preppie. and summery. khakis are so... madonna/missy elliot/sarahjessicaparker. i have yet to find a pair that look good on me.

-aviators/oversized sunglasses. aviators give everything a nice edge. oversized sunglasses were cool, once. before all these little mkate&ashley clones thought it would be cool to wear them. gah. please. i'd like parts of my face to see the sun.

-pastawitholiveoilandherbs/spaghetti and sauce. last weekend, i visited my mother and her employer, who has lived in italy most of his adult life. they taught me this beautifully simple, yet delicious dish. you toss aldente spaghetti with olive oil, fresh basil, feta, minced garlic and grape tomatoes. to die for. as long as you aren't planning on kissing anyone. spaghetti and sauce? stains those aforementioned white pants.

-googoodolls let love in/dixiechicks long way around. i adore every single song on the goo goo dolls new album. the dixie chicks? not so much. i felt so unpatriotic buying the album of the bush bashing babes, but i loved the single. and now, i'm paying the price. a few of the songs are good, but as a whole, i'd leave it rather than take it.

-british exclamations/swearing. swearing is so not cool. actually, swearing IS cool. it's just a really bad habit i need to break. i'm trying to replace all my swear words with fairly innocuous and children friendly words such as "bloody" and "bollocks". however. it isn't going too well. stressful moments normally go something like this:

"shit. shit. shit. wait. no. dammit! DAMNIT! no. wait. um. i'm not swearing. um. dam--. gah. drat. bloody. hell. wait! no!"

yeah. i need some faux expletive suggestions. i know that kind of defeats the whole purpose of not swearing. but really, it's just to be a good auntie. and to avoid sounding distinctly like a sailor.

-torturingmen/aiding and abetting the clingy. i swore off torturing for awhile. i felt bad! HA! you know what they say about nice guys finishing last? nice GIRLS finish last. they are stuck with barriages of needy text messages pleading for conversation. draining little stalkers who don't even justify their existance by bringing coffee. (starbucks boy is back. but he thinks he is cool now and doesn't need to bring me coffee to justify my time. I THINK NOT!)

-hymns/ccm. ccm (contemporary christian music, for those of you that are unfamiliar) was nice for awhile. but i'm tired of it. quite tired. i'm tired of the songleaders who repeat chorus after chorus in attempts to sound more spiritual. i'm tired of the lack of harmony. i'm tired of the melodies that sound disturbingly the same and generic. sometimes there is nothing like a few hymns that have been around for the ages. hymns that have stood the test of time and faith. hymns that have been sung by the persecuted christians before us. songs that remind us of the legacy of faith left to us.

-colinfirth pride&prejudice/kieraknightly pride&prejudice. i'm not going to start out with the arguement that for the rain scene alone, colin firth wins. (even if he does.) i'm just going to point out that mr.darcey was weedy and awful in the p&p. alot of the subtle nuances that were depicted in the old one, were missed in the new. their words had to be more animated and facial gestures more violent to try and properly depict the subtle dialouge since their acting rather sucked. i really don't understand why kk was nominated for academy awards for this film. i was thoroughly bored.

-minimal makeup/lots of makeup. i am currently enchanted with wearing as little makeup as possible and still looking human. however, i need to find a happy medium. my darling sister asked if i was wearing any makeup at all. yet, the video store lady complimented me on my flush beauty. i'm trying to make the difference between the real me and the painted me minute. as in, if people see me with makeup off, they won't immediately run screaming. however, i'm quite sure this obsession will pass.

Laughing Like A Crazy Woman

2006-05-18T13:46:00.000-04:00

Because there is blood spattered on my windshield from where I ran over a bird. It's a nice touch with the dangling fog lamp that was the memory of dead geese past.

I would advise you not to let me sit your children. Or pets.

I Know You Meant That In The Nicest Way Possible

2006-05-18T00:12:00.000-04:00

Today, ignoring all fashion codes, I wore an all-white outfit to work before Memorial Day. I know, shoot me. This prompted comments like "are you going to a wedding?" and "you look like you just stepped out of GQ". (Um, GQ is a mens magazine.)

But the one comment that I found most amusing:

"Very yuppi."

I would consider myself very unyuppi. Very anti yuppi. Needless to say I was slightly insulted. I told the giver of this comment that they themselves were the very definition. No, they told me, they don't drive a BMW. I don't either. Well, they said, someone in your family does and Yuppiness travels by DNA.

Riiiight. *

*Anyone who has met my father will realize the incredible hilarity of this proposition.

What Then, My Good Friend, Is The Point?

2006-05-17T14:09:00.000-04:00

I have a rather conservative friend who is getting married in a month. Today he called me and was blathering on about missing talking to me, blahtyblahblahblah. I told him I was indeed sad I hadn't heard from him in awhile, but completely understood. Though, I was quite aware that after the wedding I would be hearing from him even less. He said he was confused. Trying to be discreet and genteel (truly a first for me) I gently said

"Well, you'll be busy taking care of your new wife and I most certainly hope you'll be fulfilling the God given command to repopulate the earth. Or at least trying." I was gently trying to make the point that he would FINALLY BE ALLOWED TO HAVE WILD MONKEY SEX, I MOST CERTAINLY HOPE HE WOULD BE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THIS OPPORTUNITY.

He paused.

"Nah. I won't really have time."

He was serious.

Behold, The Power Of Breasticles!*

2006-05-15T13:55:00.000-04:00

Part of my job involves crossings a very busy highway on a regular basis. With beach weather approaching and all, part of my job now involves standing at the side of a highway for a very long time while waiting for a lull in traffic. Simply because I'm female and have free flowing hair, I get occasional honks and hollers. But today was a defining moment in my traffic watching days. Two Mac trucks stopped abreast, full of screaming waving men, so I could totter across the now stilled highway without spilling a drop of my morning coffee.

Good to know these things will have been well-used even if I don't have children.

*The origin of breasticles involves a very long story which includes my little brother, screaming it at the top of his lungs and embarassed company.

Caffeine Fueled Verbage

2006-05-12T14:50:00.000-04:00

I have nothing of value to say right now. I'm drumming my fingers, kicking my feet, twitching my head and generally trying to burn of excess energy. I've fortified my energy sources thus far with five espresso shots and have two more doubleshots to last me through the day. Stamina, baby! That's what I'm talking about.

Yes. I stayed up late last night. Very late for a school night, as it were. Listening to the band of a sister's boyfriend's friend's cousin or something like that. Don't try to make the connection. They were actually quite marvelous. I amused myself inbetween sets by keeping snarky commentary on--everyone. I kept things interesting by flinging ice chips on the floor to watch drunken girls slip. Very evil. Yet very laughable.

(I know I'm going to hell for this. Spare me the hate comments/mail/lectures.)

Why is it that all girls under the age of twenty five must look exactly the same and act exactly the same when trying to procure themselves a drunken frat boy to sleep with? While this is perplexing, it is most certainly helpful when conducting case studies. They are all pretty much the same. Nice little pool of shiny people to experiment upon. However, last night the extent of my creativity was ice chip throwing.

Observation for the next life: never, never wear flowing knit pants. They flow into places that you just don't want flowage. Or perhaps you should think about wearing pants slips. Do they make such a thing? I think they need to if they are going to continue polluting the earth with knit gaucho/short/pant thingys.

Observation for this life: never ever, under any circumstances go up behind strangers, grab them 'round the waist and drunkenly whisper in there ear. Well, not unless you enjoy a sharp elbow in the chest, a vicious shove to the floor and the entire restaurant knowing you need to "take a fucking hike".

The beauty of soberly throwing ice chips on the floor is that you are hangover free the next morning and can still laugh about the stupid people you saw. Yes. I like this ice chip business very much. Even if it is hazardous. And probably against the law.

Yes, yes. Very much.

Playing House

2006-05-12T11:09:00.000-04:00

I sat in my brightly printed halter dress with my little white cardigan. My ankles were crossed and pulled neatly to the left. I balanced a cup of tea on my knee while speaking of interior decoration and complimentary colors. We then shopped. We tassled curtains. We framed pictures. We arranged.

It was lovely. And I'm scared to admit, I loved it.

Of All The Things I Would Call Myself, This Would Be The Last

2006-05-10T14:23:00.000-04:00

The happiest girl alive. That's what someone called me as I strode past them for what seemed the hundreth time today. I stopped short. "Excuse me?"I've become quite accustomed to everything being a veiled insult or possibly sexually connotated. I raised an eyebrow and demanded an explanation.

"No, no, nothing! I just meant to say every time you walk past you have a smile on your face. You look like the happiest girl alive."

Considering less than a year ago I took up crying and listening to Coldplay as my own version of the Olympic sports I find this to amusing, if not terribly interesting. It's amazing how time changes people. And while I may not feel like the happiest girl alive, I have every reason to be. Looking the part is the first step down the road to being the part.

This Is The Part Where The Parents Make Sense

2006-05-09T23:15:00.000-04:00

I grew up on the classics. By classics I do not mean The Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin or Pink Floyd. I mean Beethove, Ttchaikovsky and Liszt, with the occasional measure of hymns and gregorian chants thrown in for good measure and variety.

Once freed of my mother's oppresive (and in my mind--poor) tastes in all manner of ancient instruments, harpsichord, dulcimer, harp, accordian and anything else that might rake our nerves, I joyously deserted the classics. I induged myself in every genre I felt I had missed. My music collection is straining the very seams of my iPod. I'm 2 gigs shy of being full. In my collecting I've discovered much. I've delighted myself with new artists and genres. I have found songs that make me laugh and cry.

Most of all, I've realized that nothings relaxes me more than a lovely compliation of Mozart masterpieces while I'm trying to work through stressful problems at work.

I feel so old saying that. But Mom was right. Something I find myself saying more and more these days.

He's Growing Older... And I Can't Stop Him

2006-05-07T13:18:00.000-04:00

My darling little brother is growing older. Barbie and I huddled in the packed school auditorium to watch him carefully escort his date at the prom, being sure to pause at the appropriate picture taking points. True to the style of our family, we couldn't let him walk off-stage without a rousing cry of "Hooray Beer!"

I had overheard the father of his date proudly saying what a "gentlemanly young man asked his little girl to the prom. He asked me first and everything!" I am, of course, inordinately proud of him. Just thinking of his graduation makes me choke up a little bit. But I feel like a parents, reluctant to let go. Scared to let him make his own choices over two thousand miles away at college. I'll only be connected to him by phone and probably briefly at that.

I'll miss him more than I ever thought. Come to think of it, ten years ago when I was pummeling him with my fists, sinking my teeth into his fleshy hardboiled egg buns and pulling out large chunks of his blonde hair, I never thought I would ever miss him.

Thank God for perspective. Just like time brings difficult choices and changes, without either of those we would never have perspective.

I Know He's Crispy And All, But...

2006-05-04T18:38:00.000-04:00

Today while changing the lightbulbs in our pole lights, the maintinence man who was high in the cherry picker was blown into the power lines.

Eight firetrucks. Two ambulances. Police. A news crew. The power has been cut on the block. He is slumped in shock in the cherry picker basket. He's alive, but clearly in danger.

Our general manager drives by. He is quickly briefed on the situation. He pauses with a concerned look on his face and very gravely askes:

"Do you think our lights are going to be ok?"

Can You Say The Alphabet For Me?

2006-05-04T18:17:00.000-04:00

Today, this small spoiled and overly groomed creature comes into work. Her parents bought her a vehicle a week ago. For her high school graduation present. Worth more than the median income in this area. (Way too go sweetie! Maintaining that C average! Passing high school! Such a accomplishment!)

As I passed by her talking to one of our salespeople I overheard her say:

"Yes, I'm getting ready to go to college and I want to study business" As she says this, she tosses her hair and laughs an annoying sort of bray. "Oh. What do I want to do? I want to be a pharma... pharma... pharmaceutical rep!" (She bravely pushes herself through a five syllable word!) "Mhm. Yes. They do make lots of money."

I couldn't help but chuckle. I wanted to walk over to her and say "Honey. Could you do me a favor and say barbiturate? That's right B-A-R-B-I-T-U-R-A-T-E."

(I have a special place of loathing in my heart for kids who want to get into this paticular line of business not realizing how much work sales in general is. Particularly women, or girls. They think they can show some skin and be great at sales. Thus leaving the women who are actually IN sales related jobs to fight the stereotypes. Or in any profession for that matter. Anyway. I digress.)

So, I was in my manager's office telling him this story and we were laughing at it, quite hard I might add. At this moment the salesperson chose to bring her in the office and introduce her to the manager. The manager strikes up friendly conversation with her, asking the same questions and getting the same answers. Then he says "Oh! So when you're a pharmaceutical rep, you can bring us barbiturates!"

I don't know if it was the word or the fact I nearly peed myself laughing, but a look of puzzlement crossed her face. "Bar--whats?" I left the office, still shaking with and wanting very badly to say "Nothing, darling. Just bars. You know, jello shots and beer! The places wherin you find any amount of alcohol reason enough to take your shirt off!"

I am a terrible person.

Thanks For That

2006-05-04T16:32:00.000-04:00

Random Lady who had a question from our service department sits down at my desk. As I am seating myself she comments

"Oh! You have those pants on that were featured on Oprah this morning!"

(I have never seen an episode of Oprah in my life, but still, I'm a little insulted. My pants on the show that is targeted towards bored middle aged housewives? Not good.)

"Really."

"Yes! She did this feature on pants that style and how they make you look much thinner and hide all that junk in your trunk."

"Well, er, thank you?"

She leaned forward conspiratorially

"I'm going to be getting myself a pair. Because you look thin so they must work."

Quote Of The Day

2006-05-03T19:58:00.000-04:00

"Yo, bro, you totally need to hook me up with your finance manager. I need one date. That's it. I'll have her eating out of my hand before the night is over."

"Dude. You have no idea what you're saying when you say that. You have no idea... No. Not a good idea."

One Of The Nicest Compliments I Have Ever Recieved

2006-05-02T18:10:00.000-04:00

"She was so, so--full of grace."

My Sister:

2006-05-02T14:33:00.000-04:00

The only person who sends recipe instructions that read

"cook shrimp until pink and cute"

I Am A Very Bad Person As Defined By My Lack Of Updating

2006-05-01T23:11:00.000-04:00

I occasionally have funny little scraps of life I want to share with my blog (I say blog instead of readers because, seriously, who reads this anymore?) but by the time I get home from work my mind is completely devoid of all but a few commands. Food, sleep, getoutofsuit.

Life is blithering along. Work, work, work, family, work. Tonight while driving home from work I thought "I'm glad I live with my sister. If I didn't, I would work all the time." Seriously. I would probably go in on my day off and always stay late. I don't. Simply because I know she's home waiting for me for us to share tidbits of our day. I find myself very easily sucked into the energy vacuum called work in the dilusion I am needed and potentially wanted. Hah! What a farce.

Tonight we had Le Grandparents over. Such a cute little jolly couple they are. Poor Grandmama nearly killed herself trying to get up our rather steep stairs. Grandpapa said something that stuck in my mind "Everyone needs life. They need to live it." While this may sound overly simplistic, this was his response when we asked him why he didn't run away from home. Away from his emotionally and physically abusive home. Away from a father who didn't have the wherewithal to clothe or feed his ten children.

Everyone needs life.

I'm trying.

Nice Guys Finish Last

2006-04-26T23:11:00.000-04:00

This much I have learned. Children, do you know what this means? Free license to be a bitch!

May the days of the origonal Porkchop reign!

Quote Of The Day:

2006-04-25T22:54:00.000-04:00

"You look like you're ready to have a kid."

--My Brother. Commenting on my hair, not my sweater.

Feeling Decadant And Delicious

2006-04-23T02:03:00.000-04:00

This is the second evening I have stayed up late and the second morning in a row I'll be able to sleep in.

I will never take weekends for granted again. For as long as I live.

This Is What I Think Of People Who Run Off And Get Significant Others And Are Suddenly Too Important To Talk To Us

2006-04-21T11:26:00.000-04:00

"they just dove headfirst into the shallow end of the pool called SUCKYNESS"

"they jumped feet first into the pit of quicksand called douchebaggery"

"they just bellyflopped into the shark invested waters of McFuckerville"

"and if we ever see them, HI-YAH!!!! FUCKSIAN!!! and we'll whip out our poisoned chopsticks"

Life Looks A Little Boring, Let's Try Leprosy!

2006-04-19T22:17:00.000-04:00

In the past few days, my face has rapidly been taken over by small open weeping spots. It rather looks like I have chicken pox. Except there is no swelling or discoloration surrounding the spots. There are just random spots on my neck, ears and face that weep and ooze. They refuse to scab over and despite my best makeup skills, aren't concealed to well.

I found out that it's ipetigo which is caused because of staph (a strain of which is making its rounds at work). Its lovely to know these things, but it doesn't take away the fact I look like I've been attacked by a flock of gnats. Or that the itching is becoming so unbearable I'm about to cry.

I want to pin a sign on my forehead "These Aren't Zits. I Do Wash My Face. This Isn't My Fault."

But I can't. And they itch. And all this pain is starting to give me a headache. (Or is it the clenching of my teeth trying to ignore it?) They are starting to get a little deeper and chunks of my skin seem to be slowly eroding. I know in reality it isn't all that bad. But I'm not dealing with it to well.

How would you deal if you were suddenly given the skin of a fifteen year old boy?

Something I Do Not Love About The South

2006-04-18T11:58:00.000-04:00

My sister isn't there. And she can't bring me tea to work.

Here she can.

I love my sister.

Like Everyone Else, I've Found Something To Gush Over This Spring

2006-04-15T22:43:00.000-04:00

It’s official. I’m in love. I’m in love with the lazy accents, the lack of humidity, the water that leaves my hair bouncy and shiny. I love the fact that everyone lets you in traffic when you want. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been using it to my advantage. Just yesterday I jumped a curb, (another perk of driving a huge four wheel drive truck) cut a stoplight by flying through a car dealership and made a U-Turn in heavy evening traffic in front of a semi truck and cut some poor chap in a huge manuel transmission truck off. He looked slightly pissed, but after we rolled the window down and sweetly apologized, he was more than alright. Ah. Those sweet southern people.

However, be warned, the cops aren’t nice. (though I have not been stopped, two people I’m driving with, have been) Do not be fooled by their charming accents, no matter how leisurely! Even if they do sound and look suspiciously like better looking versions of ex boyfriends) They also have something here they call Speed Awareness Week, which, apparently, they take “very seriously“ and “do not give warnings“. Upon hearing this, like true northerners all we could muster up was a good “Wtf, mate?’

Overzealous cops aside, it has been the most lovely week ever. Even though I was plagued with much work, I seemed to sleep better and longer even on the nights I got three hours of sleep. The nights sweem to be longer and time seems to stretch a bit more. I am a bit worried about myself, I haven’t listened to anything but country music since I got here. Even though I’m on my way home, I have no intention of quitting.

There has been, of course, the handful of southern boys who cannot understand why I have to be so mean. According to them it is “very unbecoming to an otherwise talented and gorgeous woman”. Darlings. I have news for you. Being assholes is also very unbecoming to otherwise successful and good-looking men. Something I have definitely understood is most southern men don’t quite know what to do when a pickup line is rejected, regardless of the accent and the good manners accompanying the delivery. Sorry, boys. Though you might want to chalk it up to my genetics rather than my geography. No matter where I’ll go, this is the way it is. Because my Daddy raised me right. The line from a country song I’m listening to now applies beautifully “It’s better to be hated for who you are than loved for who your not.” Ah! A scrap of country music for every situation. I have a feeling my sister is going to quickly tire of this. She is already a little worried that a week down here has corrupted me. I think it has.

Damn the south! Now I know what I’ve been missing all along. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

I go back to my little northern apartment with my northern sister and my evil northern ways. And I still live it. Because I have my family. And there is nothing in my life that matters more than that.

Another Reason I Love The South

2006-04-12T20:46:00.000-04:00

You can spend fifteen minutes shredding a guy one hundred and eleven different ways. You can insult him. You can reduce him to a pile of quivering jelly.

You can do all these things and then have someone walk up to you and say

"I appreciate your voracity in that conversation. Can I buy you a drink?"

I {heart} The South

2006-04-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

I've fastideously claimed my East Coast roots. I absolutely adore the mid-atlantic. We're close to so much. Historic towns, major cities, prestigeous universities. I'll argue long and hard about it being the best place to live.

Where I live is pretty indifferent on the whole blue versus grey issue. We have a few that think they are southern and a few that are die hard northern. But for the most part you have people who don't care. (After all, we were a mixed state during the civil war.) You can tell I am a yankee. I talk fast. I drive like a maniac. I eat sushi.

But this week, I'm staying down south on business. I must say, I absolutely love it. The southern influences of both my parents and a dedicated friend are slowly appearing. Much to the chagrin of my sister when I get home, I am not fighting it.

My rental car for the week is a truck. I've taken great delight in driving with the windows rolled down and the country music cranked up. I smile at people. I sit patiently in traffic. I talk to strangers. I eat boiled peanuts and drink beer.

Don't worry. I haven't given up all my wretched ways. Just last night, per my warning, a forward McFucker got an open handed smack across the face. (When I say "don't touch me again or I'll slap you" I mean it.) But, to balance things out, I stopped to help a guy push his smoking and spewing car out of five o'clock traffic.

Despair not. I have yet to say fixin'.

Lest you think I am an absolute sham (which my southern accent is entirely) my grandparents were from Mississippi and my Daddy is from Virginia. I do live only a few miles north of the Mason-Dixon line.

I suppose all this is meant to say, I guess we all suprise ourselves.

Quote From The Weekend

2006-04-03T11:02:00.000-04:00

"You know, just once, just ONCE I'd like to see you cut loose and not be so serious. Just once. That's all I ask."-- A Coworker

I find this immensely amusing because I don't consider myself a serious person. Upon polling and pondering I did reach the conclusion there is no hidden side of me waiting to be unleashed with a bit too much vodka. There is much snark and a penechant for stupid dares, but no wild party girl waiting to come out.

Porky, Let's Just Take Away That Last Helping Of... Anything

2006-04-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

Tonight I was just thinking about the days when I was fat and my parents put me on a maditory fruits and vegetables only diet. My sixes were occasoinally snug.

Now my eights are getting snug on occasion and I would kill to be the size I was then. I think I'll go ahead and put myself on a non-negotiable diet plan. Even though it isn't quite the same when you put YOURSELF on it. When your parents officially make you eat carrot sticks and apples, it's serious business. When you are voluntarily dieting, it's another whiny woman who has self-image problems.

Lets just say those image problems are seriously justified if not completly right. Here's to a hopefully healthy month ahead.

I'll Be Mean Brunette If I Want, You Can't Stop Me

2006-03-30T17:43:00.001-05:00

I have gone back to a dark brunette.

This decision has been met with rejoicing by a few and grumbling by many. Most people like it lighter. Preferably reddish.

Everyone has felt the need to share their unwanted opinions with me.

I was cool with it all until the (upteenth) creepy old man stopped by and said "Girl! What the hell did you do to your hair?!" His voice clearly communicated his preferance in my grooming and styling.

I dyed it, McFucker. What are you going to do about it? In fact. I LIKE IT BETTER, because you don't like it.

Suck on that.

My Family Is One Big Inside Joke

2006-03-29T22:44:00.000-05:00

I {heart} my family.

We so rock.

We're all so different, but so alike. We enjoy poking fun at ourselves and others. We are irreverant and undignified. Every situation is humorous in some way or another. Hanging out with us is, well, an experience that will not quickly be forgotten.

So, when I was asked out for drinks tonight and had to turn it down because "I'm hanging out with my little brother and dying is hair" the guy laughed in my face. I know he thought I was making up an excuse like "I'm cleaning the hair out of my drain" or "My grandmother is beeping in" but really, I'd rather spend the rest of my life in the company of my brother than him.

I know, at the rate I'm going, I very well might have to. But you know what? That's ok. Because I can actually stand my family. And the thought of having them around the rest of my life makes me smile.

Listening To: 9-5

2006-03-29T20:51:00.000-05:00

But it really should be 9-9 or 9-12.

I'm still here.

Nine to five, all takin' and no givin'

Beneath the huge boobs and bad hair, she was on to something.