Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Match.com Week One: A Retrospective

It's been a week now since I joined Match.com. I might be the only person in the world who cried the entire time while filling out the profile. It turns out there are many nice people or profiles out there. It's been fun window shopping for sure! There are also some things I've seen that make me question the age, wisdom, sanity, and amount of friends some of these people have.

I had a couple of friends review my profile for me. It's good to get a little perspective. For instance, I was encouraged not to write, "My uterus is no longer renting space to fetuses." Apparently it's only funny to me and checking "no" on the box that asks if you want more kids is sufficient. I was also discouraged from discussing my passion for hats and black shoes. It comes across as a tendency toward hoarding or being materialistic. Point taken.

Is your profile not getting the attention you think it deserves? Maybe you could have a friend help you round out the sharp edges! If you don't have a friend  (sad face), here are some things to consider:

1. Unless you were born in 1969 stop using 69 in your user name. It's not funny. It's not sexy. You're not 15. "1269u2day"? Are you kidding me? Also, pointing out how clever your user name is by saying, "Just read my name, doll." makes me want to throw up. Maybe on you.

2. I am sure that facial hair took forever to grow in. That fluff you're calling mutton chops and that unkempt face full of fur are your calling cards. I get it. Just a tip though, women are visual too. If we can't picture what you look like under that pelt you're cultivating on your face we are far more likely to skip right by. If you must keep the facial hair make sure it's trimmed up nicely.

3. If you are even remotely scary looking it is not wise to put a low light picture on your profile. It makes you look like a crazy basement dwelling axe murderer.

4. Spell check. Spell check. Spell check. Also is a single word. It is not 'all so'.

5. I understand. You took a marketing class. You're supposed to create a buzz, some demand, and a sense of urgency. You are not a fire sale. Sending out a message with your phone number in it warning me that you're subscription is about to expire and I'll lose my chance to talk to you is not going to further your cause.

6. Nothing says, "I'll lock you down and be a controlling prick." like an email sent minutes after your last email accusing me of being bored and then telling me that you've "figured out what my problem is." It officially bores me. Wait... maybe you're right!

7. You have a computer or a smart phone. It's obvious by the fact that it's almost 2013 and you have an online dating profile. Somewhere out there is a photo of you. Use it. Yes, there is more to life than appearances, but chemistry is a huge deal. If you honestly do not have a photo, have someone take one of you. It won't hurt. You can take more than one.

That's all I've got for today, but I'll be back later in the week with some news from the online dating world. Maybe. Unless I get married. I'll probably be back. So I'll definitely be back.

Monday, December 17, 2012

I Might Have Just Done the Unthinkable

"You know I don't understand men. So explain it." I said. I sat back and waited for some epic wisdom to be imparted on me. Even after all these years I still believe that I can be taught, if someone is patient enough to put up with me. 

"I know why you don't." he said. "They tell you what something is and you don't accept it, you read between the lines looking for something that isn't there just because you believe there is more to it." he added. 

True to form, I immediately wondered if he was referring to our on again off again flirtations over the years. Why hadn't we ever worked out? Was I so flawed that the idea of trying was incomprehensible? As if on cue he went on to explain. "I don't deserve a girl like you. I'll hurt you. Get it wrong, and because I do care for you and you are a nice person, it would kill me to hurt you and I couldn't live with that. You hurt a mean girl and its like hitting back." 

My inner child felt like dying. I started reviewing all of my flaws to determine what the real reason was. It was classic "it's not you it's me." That was obviously not the reason. Was I too fat? Too tall? Too ridiculous? Was I doing it again? SHIT!  I was doing exactly what he said I did. I read into it looking for some deeper meaning that didn't exist. I began to look at it from another angle. Do I need to be more cruel? Should I become the woman who lies, belittles, and makes her man wonder from minute to minute if he's good enough? At the same time I  wondered how long I could maintain the "bitch" facade. It's inevitable that if the guy were sweet, funny, attractive, and right for me I would end up laughing at his jokes or being genuinely interested. I would end up showing my "decent human" side and ruining everything. 

I'm really not cut out for this. I'm just a dork with a soft heart. Where is that on the dating profile? 

Personality type= Dorky, quirky, loving, considerate, understanding, and ready. I don't want to control you because controlling myself is enough trouble. 

So I decided to fill out a dating profile on Match.com and really see what sort of stuff someone might see when they look me up and undoubtedly want to call me (cough). 

I obviously don't read minds. I've thought I understood every man I loved and I got those wrong so I stuck with books.

My true headline should read, "39 Year Old Woman Attempts to Figure Out What the Fuck"


I didn't put any sex in there because sex is for grown ups and right now I feel like a child. 
After the basics it began to ask me questions with pictures. There ya go, that made me feel comfortable in a 3 year old sort of way. Angie likes. Angie doesn't like. Oooh something shiny. Ick, bad shoes. Still, I answered. I clicked through as honestly as one can when they don't know what is hotter... the classic businessman belt or the construction worker tool belt. I am pretty sure I did it wrong and don't know what the hell I want except that I can't have it. 

I'm going to really try not to over think this thing for a whole month. The very idea that after writing this stuff for others and setting up their accounts I am really going to go live with this makes me want to never open my email or look at the internet again. Life would be great if what I wanted was realistic or actually existed. If any man can show just cause, why I should not join Match.com, speak now or forever hold your...  It's time. 

Wish me luck. 




Wednesday, December 12, 2012

All About the Rim

Let me state for the record that I am a car owner. I buy them and I drive them. I know how to check the oil, the fluids, and where to go to get the oil changed. I also know where to buy tires. I'm good at those things. What I am not good at is auto repair or pesky things like knowing my tire size or anything of the sort. This became obvious some time ago. I do not actually know what a ball joint is. There is a lot I don't know. What I do know about my car:  It's a dark gray G6. It has tires. It has factory Pontiac rims. It takes unleaded gasoline. It has bucket seats and a CD player.

A couple of weeks ago as I drove down the street, a car appeared to be pulling out in front of me so I did a little swerve maneuver and accidentally "curb checked" my car. I've since been informed that the proper term is "hit the f*cking divider". It's all the same to me and the cracked rim on my car told me that the end result was the same regardless of what you called it.

After driving it and thinking to myself, "this is awfully wobbly", a friend was kind enough to call and locate a replacement rim for me. Joyous and relieved at the bargain price, I notified my daughter's boyfriend of my excellent deal and asked if he could run out and pick it up for me. He agreed. This is the conversation that followed when I looked in the trunk of my car at the replacement rim.


Me- Can you check that rim before they put it on the car? It's not the same as the others.

Zach- Angie, it is the right size.

Me- Yes, I understand that, but it's not the same RIM. Do you know what I mean? It doesn't look the same.

Zach- Okay. I'll look, but I think it's right.

This is what I expected. 
His voice sounded like he was placating a crazy woman. In my head I kept thinking to myself, "I am not going to drive around with a mismatched rim. That's just wrong. It would be like driving around with one salvage door that doesn't match the paint on the rest of the car! If I have to drive with a mismatched rim I might as well just die! UNACCEPTABLE!" I just prayed that he would look at the rim and correct the situation that otherwise would surely bring shame to our family.

And look he did. Then he went to the place where you go to get these things taken care of (uh... you know the rim swapping place). He then drove the car to my place of work and ensured me that it was driving fine, no more wobbles. Yay me! Bravo him! When I left work that day and walked around my car, I immediately noticed 4 matching rims. I smiled broadly and reminded myself to thank the kid when I got a chance.

So.... Funny thing. Did you know that the side of the rim that faces the inside of the car looks different from the side of the rim that faces the outside of the car? ME EITHER! In my defense, when I opened the trunk of my car to inspect the rim, I was looking for two things. First off, does it have the Pontiac emblem in the center? Secondly, does it have the appropriate number and size of spokes? It didn't match. I was not thinking, "Huh... I wonder what it looks like on the other side." Also, it was a sort of dirty... and not in the good way.

Here's what we've learned from this:
1. My car is dark grey.
2. Do not ask me mechanical questions.
3. Rims look different face up than they do face down.
4. I have four matching rims and my family will have to earn their shame some other way.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Christmas Letter Sneak Preview

It's almost Christmas and I think we all know what that means. It's "brag about your family" time again! We all have new things going on in our lives, but mine aren't usually as exciting as the things everyone else writes. I need to have some "one ups" to throw in there to really show people how outstanding things are around these parts. 

Jacob is competing in the "my kid said a new word" Olympics, the entry will be "Fuck." My daughter first dropped the F bomb in my presence when she was far too young to remember doing it. It was a proud moment for our whole family. I'm sure both of my kids swear a blue streak, but they've always managed to hold their tongues back around me. This past weekend though, Jacob said "Fuck"... in front of me. It was almost under his breath. Like a good parent who doesn't make a huge deal out of those things (you don't want to encourage them or make them think it's funny), I said nothing. He happened to be looking away, no doubt thinking, "Oh shit! I just said that in front of my mom!" After that he probably thought, "Sonofabitch I hope I didn't just say that out loud too!" Either way, I let it go. I wonder if he even realizes that I know. I'm sure it was accidental. He's brave but he's not stupid. He's really growing into a handsome young man with a good head on his shoulders and/or the decency to not get caught doing whatever it is that kids are doing these days. 

Alex is still dating her man of almost 3 years. Right there that tells you that I didn't screw her up nearly as badly as I once thought... or she's gotten a good shrink behind my back and is working out the issues I've caused and she's just not telling me. Bravo me! Do you know how independent and strong you have to be to seek help on your own? Realistically, we should stick with the "Angie didn't screw her kids up" story line. Shrinks are expensive and we don't have that sort of money. Truthfully, she's beautiful and smart and the older she gets the more I find that I enjoy talking to her. It seems strange to me that mothers and daughters almost inevitably go through a phase where they would rather strangle each other than speak. Don't get me wrong, just two days ago I caught her rolling her eyes at something I said. It's harder to do these days. She's become quite adept at it. If I stop walking and pivot quickly I can catch it. 

Here's what I've decided. I think it will fit nicely on the Christmas e-cards. 

Jacob turned 16 this year. It's been a year of firsts for him: First car, first job, first ticket, first word! 
Alex is 19 and continues to keep me on my toes. She's beautiful, self-sufficient, and not as sweary as her brother well spoken. 
I'm still working (at that place I go to every day), writing (here and SprocketInk), wining (red), and WINNING! No one's pregnant. No one's in jail. 
Merry Christmas from our house to yours. 











Sunday, December 2, 2012

Sunday Confession: Vanity, Thy name is Angie

My Google search history reads like an "As Seen on TV" commercial. Make me look 10 pounds thinner. Make me look 20 years younger. Make my ass round and amazing. Where can I buy Jeggings? Totally kidding. I refuse to wear jeggings and will openly mock you if I see you wearing them. Same goes for the pajama jeans, folks. Be a grown up. Wear real pants. The rest though... there all there right along with the search for the perfect pill to make everything higher, tighter, brighter, and POW! 

If you walked into my bathroom on any given day, you'll find a shelf filled with lotions, potions, creams, gels, and liquids. There are blue ones, red ones, white ones, gold ones and clear ones. They all promise me eternal youthfulness, plumper skin, radiance, and the reduction of fine lines and wrinkles. Some get used once a day, some twice, and others weekly. They get shuffled around a bit, but they are always there. I call them vanity. 

When I wake in the morning I dutifully make my way to the bathroom and stare long and hard at my reflection. It's my job. I'm a slave to the mirror. It wasn't always this way, but now I'm shackled. This vanity thing is a bitch. Part of me wants to blame the media. Every day we're faced with images of 12 year old girls pretending to be 20. Their skin is perfect. Their eyes are bright and clear. They don't have laugh lines. They need the push up bra to give them cleavage and I need it to actually push my breasts up. I bet none of them have ever walked past the Spanx section in a department store and thought, "Maybe... " Bitches. 

Still, I know it isn't the media that gets all the credit. Most of the blame lies squarely on my shoulders, which I've always thought were far too broad. If I had narrower shoulders I wouldn't feel compelled to carry the burden of this age thing. Let's go with that. Regardless, it's my fault. I want to get older without looking older. Is that so wrong? Is it wrong that I am jealous of anyone who can afford Botox or Juvederm? Is it wrong that I gaze longingly at ads that promote products that will lift this, tuck that, shrink those, and generally rewind the clock? Probably. I still do it though. 

I do my hair on the weekends in the event that someone might stop by the house. I un-tag unflattering photos of myself on Facebook. I try not to ever leave the house without my face on unless I'm working out. I don't even workout until the evening because I don't want to risk running out of time to redo my face and hair before people see me. The undone me is about as easy to spot as a Yeti. If there were cameras in my house I'd avoid them like the plague for fear that they might capture me in my natural state. The mythical Undone-Angie has only been seen by a few people. They lived to tell about it, but they wouldn't dare because I know where they live. 

The sad part is, there isn't a huge difference between me with makeup and me without makeup. Pre-makeup me just looks really tired. I know because I tried the no face thing and people kept saying, "You look really tired." So it's a fact. Not that most people would have the balls to say, "Christ on a bike what happened to your face?!" Let's just stick with tired. 

It's almost dark, so I am going to throw on my workout gear. Even that stuff is designed to make me look better than the giant baggy sweat pants do. I'll probably wear the trainers with the rounded bottom that promise to reshape my ass and never do because who knows... maybe this time. I'm turning off the front porch light so people think we're not home. I don't want anyone to see me sweat. 








Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Untied From the Whipping Post

The soft glow of the lamp did nothing to take the glare off of the harsh reality. I turned off the light and covered my eyes with a dream. Many nights had been spent in just this fashion; A snippet of a memory, a fragment of a dream, and a glimmer of hope. I allowed myself only enough to make the night passable in order to make another day possible. And it had. 

"You don't watch the news. This is why we always had problems. You don't see what's going on in the world and you don't understand how it will impact me. You don't care. Maybe you should write about that. Your writing is a joke. Write about something meaningful for a change. What do you think of what's going on in the Middle East right now? You probably don't even know. Just like the rest of the "sheeple", you just follow along blindly waiting for your next cue to perform whatever function you have been told to serve." 

I watched as more messages filled my inbox, blinking and sounding an alert with each assault. Tears stung my eyes and spilled down my cheeks burning a path through the morning's carefully applied makeup. Days upon weeks upon months of tension pulled my chest tight. The tears, which had always managed to serve as a release valve, did not ease the sick feeling that threatened to tear me down. I began to shake, perhaps out of fear or something worse. Bile rose in my throat and I choked it back, swallowing it down like I did with the insults, hurt, and shame. 

"Please, just stop. I have tried so many times in so many ways to make you understand that I can't talk to you about this. You've become obsessive. You are pushing away everyone that loves you and you need to get help. I can't do this anymore." I wanted to scream it, to make him see my tears and what had become of me. "You are making me a horrible person and the worst part is that I am allowing you to make me hate myself and everything around me. This is not who I am." But, like a child who hugs their knees and rocks to sleep with the sound of screaming parents in the background, I couldn't speak. Impotence. Emotional paralysis. 

For so long I had held on to the thread of what had once been love. Romance had long since faded into tenuous friendship. Whether it be out of habit or obligation, we continued to reach out. Each exchange more toxic than the last, until a breaking point was reached. The inevitable, "I'm sorry. You're the sweetest. I love you." messages patched a growing tear in the fabric of a heart. The problem with a patch is that it only works if the patch is larger than the hole and is only as strong as the material at the edges it attaches too. Mine was threadbare and translucent in places. 

He had once been kind. There had been love. It had been genuine. Somewhere inside I held on to those things even while I distanced myself. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of the man I had fallen in love with. He was broken in some way, but aren't we all? Doesn't everyone deserve a friend? At the end of the day, don't all people need someone to hold their hand and tell them it's going to be okay? What if I were the only person he had left? What if he wasn't safe? If something happened, who would hold him and make it okay? 

It wouldn't be me. I untied myself from his whipping post and walked away. 







Sunday, November 25, 2012

Might I Suggest Getting a Job?

According to my student loans, I should be making major bank in advertising. I am neither working in Multimedia (print and presentation), nor am I working in a trendy advertising office throwing around killer ad ideas like a modern day Peggy Olson. I should have considered my locale when selecting a major. Instead, I'm closer to becoming a less buxom, less polished version of Joan Harris... minus the sex and the Dr. husband. And it's all good. I enjoy my job, the people I work with, and the opportunity to learn. Is it my dream job? No, but our company doesn't hire for a Princess of Power position.

I'm about to say something that some of my Democrat friends will believe means I have to give up my liberal status. I work because it's not anyone's fault but my own that I am in the position I'm in. Also, bills and a mortgage and kids and sushi. I believe in social programs to help those less fortunate. Whether they are children, elderly, or disabled I believe we have a moral obligation to help those who cannot help themselves. I believe in equal rights and civil liberties for all. I do not believe in supporting people who can work and simply choose not to because they are lazy or feel entitled to their dream without putting in the effort.

I have opinions coming out my ears. That being said, here are my bitches/suggestions for the weekend.

1. Occupying Bank of America isn't going to encourage BoA to give you a job. (Thank you, James)
    You want to complain about the bonuses they give their CEOs, but it is their company. Perhaps you should be boycotting these companies that raise rates and receive bailouts yet line the pockets of their top execs. Create change by doing it the old fashioned way. Stop patronizing these businesses and encourage others to do the same.

2. Maybe if you hadn't majored in Video Game design you would have a job now. (This one cracked me up. Again, kudos to James)
    We all want to have our dream job. Those of us who came up in an environment that taught personal responsibility will tell you that you are NOT entitled to your dream job, no matter how much time and money you spent on your education. If you believe college is a requirement for you to get where you want to be, that's fine, but consider working toward a degree in a field that is actually hiring. Look at the job market and find out if your degree field is saturated. When you graduate, get a job. If you are blessed enough to have parents that support you during your academic pursuits, consider working during this time to put money aside. WORK YOUR WAY UP! If you expect to walk into a company on day one with an offer of a corner office, a personal secretary, and a 3 figure salary... it's time to wake up.

3. Stop raising entitled and lazy kids.
    This leaves with with my final bitch... directed at Tide laundry detergent.


What the f*ck, Tide? Who are these people and why in the name of God are they doing laundry for their adult children. This sort of crap makes me less inclined to buy your product. Why not show parents who are teaching their kids to be helpful, responsible, self-sufficient people by teaching them to wash their own clothes using Tide? Maybe something along the lines of a couple teaching their post college child how to use the washer and when the kid whines, "Why do I have to do it?" the parents could respond, "Because you don't have a job!" Then they could pat him/her on the head, and leave the kid to finish up. See how that works? Promote good parenting, promote your product, and still address the fact that many kids come home after college.

Burger King, McDonald's, Wal-Mart, Target, Subway, and half the call centers in the country are hiring. If your kid is not "employable", they aren't looking. My message to these parents is simple. Knock it the f*ck off. My 16 year old son has known how to do his own laundry since he was 11. We all work at my house. Every single one of us. When the kids weren't employed, they helped out more around the house. That included doing their own laundry.

When do we stop blaming the government (officials we continue to elect) and start making change ourselves? Any job is better than no job. When faced with possible downsizing, a former boss told me, "I had a job when I found this one." What happened to that mentality? Fight for what you believe in, but for the love of God, go flip a freaking burger while you're doing it. It's not your dream job, but it is my dream burger, and you can fight for your dream when your shift is done. 

PS. Note to my kids: Mommy loves you, but those dishes aren't going to wash themselves. I cook. You clean. That was the agreement. Also, stop putting empty boxes back in the cupboard. I got psyched for a Pop Tart and the box was devoid of all Pop Tarts. I was heartbroken.  


Friday, November 16, 2012

I’m Possessed


Surprise!  I’m not Angie, at all.  In fact I am your new found Dad blogger doing a guest post for Angie, who happens to be on my blog today.  Confused?  Yeah me too, just think of this a dimensional shift and an opportunity to expand your horizons, here we go…

Well it’s official, I’m turning into my Dad.  Actually I don’t think I am turning into my Dad, I think my Dad’s poltergeist has inhabited my body since he passed away in April.  This has just started recently too so I think  that my Dad has been sitting around in the afterlife, enjoying the quietness that he so desperately craved and got bored.

He looked down or up at me, thinking that it would be fun to have me endure what he endured while he was on this Earth, after all I did live in the same house with him and Mom for 22 years and I know I was not an easy kid to raise.  I know I tortured him growing up, making him go insane with the stunts I pulled (see?  That is something he would have said, it’s happening now).

Sometime in September he figured out a way to inhabit my body because this is when everything started happening.  At least he let me enjoy the summer…kind of. 

I've got more gray hairs than ever before.  I've always had a few strands of salt in my pepper but nothing like this.  I noticed this while I was brushing my teeth, the lights in the bathroom reflected on my hair and as I looked in the mirror, I noticed my hair looked like the cat slept on my head and left his white hairs there.  Well I guess it could be worse, my Dad went bald at the ripe old age of 22 so I dodged that bullet…I hope.
Speaking of hair, I noticed my left ear was always itchy and it felt like something was tickling it.  I ran my finger over the lobe and the hard cartilage part that connects the lobe to ear and I had a fucking forest growing there.  I swear that I was able to see Ewoks celebrating the destruction of the second Death Star that’s how much hair there was.  It’s only my left ear too, not my right one.  I never once thought I would utter the words, “I’ll be back, I need to shave my ear.” to the Trophy.

Of course now I’m paranoid, so I do the quick look over in the mirror and sure as shit there they are, the rogue hairs that my Dad had.  My right eyebrow has this hair that grows freakishly faster than the rest of the hair cluster so I have to pluck it.  If you can’t pluck it, fuck it, that’s what I always say but the Trophy thinks otherwise and I get the “hold still” tweezer attack from her.

I also have to trim my nose hair more often than I did, I mean I've always had to trim that shit but now it’s like once or twice a week.  I remember my Dad having so much nose hair that it would hang down like vines monkeys could swing on.  That shit ain't happening on my watch so I keep my nose hair trimmer charged at all times.

I am complaining about sleeping wrong.  I've stated this before, but how the hell does one sleep wrong?  Well now I know, you sleep and it’s wrong.  Plain and simple.  I wake up and I have to take a pain reliever religiously every day with my vitamins.

I have a recliner.  Well we've owned it for a couple of years now but I rarely used it.  Now I find myself, not only using it but falling asleep in it watching TV and not only falling asleep in it watching TV but wearing slippers and a robe…what the fajita?  I've worn slippers before but these are old man slippers now and a robe?  Damn you Dad.

Although these things aren't that bad and can be taken care of, the worst thing that I have been possessed to do is putter around.  I have never puttered around before, I always had something to do and I did it.  Now I aimlessly roam around the house, the garage and the yard doing miscellaneous tasks.  I am literally looking for things to fix and what’s worse, when I find something that needs to be fixed, I don’t have to go to the hardware store to get the items needed because I have them squirreled away (fuck, another Dadism) in the shed or the garage.  I have been reluctant to throw things away because you never know when I might need it.

Sonofabitch, I need an exorcism.



Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I Want to Get Married. Maybe. I Think.

I want to get married.

Calm down. Breathe. I'm not talking about you, probably. I'm not even talking about this week... or month. It's just something I think you should know about me before we take this to the next level. Coincidentally, the next level is when I tell you that I want to get married. All commitment issues aside, I do.

I've done it before. It was a long time ago in a land far, far away. I was very young and probably not nearly as good of a wife as I could have been or tell myself that I was. I was certainly not as good of a judge of character as I am now. Maybe. Shit, scratch that. I'm still not very good at spotting the douche bag when it comes to my own choices. I can spot yours a mile away though! Get with me, we'll talk. Anywhoooo, my first marriage doesn't count.

1. I was pregnant.
2. He never actually asked me to marry him.
3. We got all 3 rings for $38.50 and $8.50 of it was for rush shipping.
4. You don't even buy perfume without seeing what the chemistry is like! Same. Same.

I used to have this grand, princess-like idea of how marriage would be. Even post divorce I imagined myself to be on the path to one day becoming a trophy wife. Unfortunately, as it turned out what I was thinking of was "kept woman" and those two things are not exactly the same.

It has now become painfully obvious that I will never be the trophy wife I had hoped to become. That realization was rather disheartening considering I'd been practicing blinking with a fake smile plastered on my face (Botox, Restylane,  and Juvederm would make it easier). I worked on spending money and got pretty good at it when the economy was with me. I even had a list of the charities I would support. Alas, it just doesn't seem to be panning out. 

This is not to say that I won't be a prize for some guy, but it's unlikely that I'll become a bombshell who has amazing brand new boobs, no physical flaws, and learns to keep her opinions to herself. That part seems almost impossible. So I've been examining my options.  

1. Trophy wife to a really old guy
I think it would go down something like this, "Hey, Burt! Look what I got! They didn't have cash at Bingo today, but I got this really cool trophy wife instead."

Pros- I could still voice my opinions without fear if I stole the battery from his hearing aid.

Cons- It's a really old guy from a bingo parlor. 

2. "Thanks for participating ribbon" wife to a guy who couldn't get the girl he really wanted. 
Life has worn him down and he is just ready to have someone in bed with him at night so he doesn't have to be alone.

Pros- He's already broken.

Cons- Marrying someone who is openly settling means you're settling. No one likes that.






3. Great sex - Low expectations - Separate lives
I'd be willing to give this a try. I'm pretty good at the separate lives thing already.

Pros- Great sex and low expectations.

Cons- I'm not seeing a con here... yet.







4. Traditional plan
This is where you join clubs and meet people and at some point, someone asks you out more than twice. You like him. He likes you. Sex is mediocre, but at least you make each other laugh. After a suitable amount of time set by his mother (likely), you get engaged and eventually married.

Pros- Friendship. Regular mediocre sex... or not because you don't care. Practicality. Historically, the more boring the marriage the longer it will last (I just made that up).

Cons- Mediocre sex. Practicality often seems like lack of passion.


I'm sure I'm missing some options (like love), but right now option 3 is looking better and better.







Thursday, November 8, 2012

Full Of Excuses

Jill offers peace. Drinks at Paramount....
New research shows that people who participate in pre-drinking or booze front-loading (drinking before a drinking event) often drink twice as much as they would if they had just started drinking at the event. Also, pre-drinkers are also more likely to suffer hangovers, injuries, blackouts, and have unprotected sex. I heard it on the news just now so it's obviously true.

I pre-drank with the girls on Saturday for lunch. I followed that pre-drinking with regular drinking. I followed that with dinner and drinks with one of my girlfriends. I didn't get a hangover, a bruise, a blackout, or sex. I might have done it wrong. I probably did. Either way, that was pretty much all the partying I have left in me for the month.

It's been a few days (let's not count okay?) since I've shown my face here. How dare I come around here acting like I own the place! Right, because I do. I've been a busy little bee-atch. So here's what's been going on. It's pretty random. My excuses for my absence are as follows:

I... 

■Took second place in the DudeWrite Dudette writing contest with my Allow Me To Age Myself post! That was pretty damned exciting to be honest.

Sake at Tokyo Sushi!
■Spent some time over at SprocketInk where I wrote about drunken sailors and, more recently, made a really lame attempt to tie Mark Twain's War Prayer to a man getting his leg crushed by a crucifix. It's a bit of a stretch, but...

■Rescued a man (that I initially thought to be dead) from a nice nap (sleeping off his buzz) in the flower bed of a local nursing home. I think he is one of those pre-drinking booze front-loaders. Just a guess. He fist bumped someone while he attempted to sit up then promptly laid back down and decided he wasn't done sleeping.

■Voted. Thank God that is over. As it turns out, my vote (just mine) destroyed my former flame. I was informed of this in the form of email, IM, and text message. Voting is powerful, people. Next time someone pisses you off, find out who they are voting for and vote against them. Apparently it works. I'd been dating other people to destroy his life. One vote was all it took. Victory is mine.

■Did laundry and dishes. I'm still amazed at the way my kids can keep adding dishes to the sink without ever giving any thought to washing them. "All the forks are dirty? Well I guess I will wash one, but only one." Seriously, folks! What the hell?!

■Worked. Lots of that. I keep making excuses for going to work. That's how I know I have gotten old. I wake up in the morning with every intention of calling in sick. Sick of being responsible or something or other... then I lay there and make up reasons why I should just go to work. Money and whatnot.

■Ate eel. I'm not kidding. It's not quite as weird as the sea urchin I had in Montreal, but I approached it with excitement and a wee bit of trepidation. IT.WAS.AMAZING! Loved it and will be adding it to my Sushi-Sake-Saturday-Staples.

■Learned to use the self-portrait function on my phone. Sort of.

Let's pretend I meant to do that. 


Monday, November 5, 2012

Why don't you come over and see me sometime?

I couldn't really be here today because I was busy being somewhere else. I'm over at SprocketInk today being sassy and asking the big questions. Do you know what to do with a drunken sailor? Let's find out! 


US Navy Answers Age Old Question of What to Do With a Drunken Sailor



Thursday, November 1, 2012

Those People

Pre-nap angry bitch "those people"
We're those people. We being my kids and I. Yesterday when I left the office in my Mommie Dearest makeup, I could think of only one thing. No, it wasn't, "Gee, how exciting will it be to see all those cute kids in their costumes tonight!". It was more along the lines of, "If I don't sleep someone is going to die. Maybe me. Maybe someone who pisses me off. Someone."

I drove home with my eyes begging me to let them shut, even for a moment. I refused the request and drove home looking a bit like a coked up 80s office executive. From the moment I walked through my front door I began to let them droop. I feigned interest in all text messages that came through as I prepared myself for a bit of slumber. As I climbed the stairs to my room I was stripping off clothes like I was about to stomp onto the screen of a porn film. It's not as sexy as you think. Chances are if my shoes were high enough or my pants were long enough, I rocked those kick ass heels with gym socks. I sit close to the front door, dammit! My feet get cold during the day!

I tucked my feet under the covers and pulled the comforter up tight under my chin and drifted ALMOST to sleep. "BANG BANG BANG!"

It doesn't matter what time of the day it is. If you live in today's world there is no reason EVER to knock on my door unless you know me. Obviously with everything there are exceptions. Dead person on my door step? Sure. Knock. My house is on fire? Okay, let me know. Police? Gotcha. Coming out. If you're selling insurance, water, lawn services, or trying to give me a free turkey because God knows I'm poor... f*ck off. Okay, if God wants me to have a free turkey based on my neighborhood, leave the turkey. It's cold enough out there for a frozen turkey to survive until morning.

Of course with all of these things in mind I couldn't imagine why anyone would knock on my door, especially since my daughter and her boyfriend were in the garage... staring at the aforementioned offenders. "WHAT?! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT!?!" So I ignored it. Many times. When my phone beeped with the ominous, "you've really been ignoring shit", sound, I sat up angrily. Why the hell can people not just let a person sleep? Seriously! I just want a little time before I work out so I can do it without passing out. What the hell is so wrong with that?

As it turns out, Halloween was what was so wrong with that. Those loud, demanding, extremely obnoxious knocks were from trick-or-treaters. Minutes later my phone chirped at me again. "Do we have candy or is the light on the front step on by accident?"

Now let's be clear about something. We are not THOSE people.. you know... the ones who run out of candy and forget to turn off the light because whomever is supposed to be watching the bowl just spaced it off. No, we're certainly not those people. We are the other THOSE people. We are the ones who stopped handing out candy when our co-workers started bringing their kids to work for handouts. We stopped thinking those damned costumes were precious when our little ones milked us of our last dime getting the latest greatest light up costume known to man. We're the ones who have been dieting and avoiding the candy displays for the last 8 f*cking weeks. You know, we're the ones who put an empty bucket outside their front door with a sign that reads, "If the bucket is empty you got here too late.", but never put any candy in it in the first place. We're the people who can't believe that anyone is trick-or-treating at four in the God Lovin' afternoon!

So, in a round about way, I am trying to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry to the million kids who knocked while I laid in bed crying, "F*CK RIGHT OFF!" Next year, might I recommend going to one of the billion publicly funded trunk-or-treat events sponsored by the churches. Maybe try the local zoos who seem to be fond of giving out sugar on 10-31? Perhaps you can hit up one of the really fancy neighborhoods that hands out full sized candy bars. Let's be honest. If I buy anything next year it will probably be one tiny peanut butter kiss nasty piece of candy. Even then, one of my co-workers suggested gluing that one piece to the bottom of the bucket to taunt people. I'm not those people. Or maybe I am.

Which people are you?

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Allow Me to Age Myself

Does anyone know which wine goes best with egg whites and turkey bacon? Me either, but I settled for the pinot grigio. Tonight's post is brought to you by the maker's of Dude Write, and my personal sponsor in this epic Battle Royale (and life itself), Scott of It's My Mynd. So Pinot in hand, I bring you.... That's when I knew I was old.

Next month I will be 39. For those of you who haven't done the math thing in awhile, that's almost 8 hands worth of years. It's almost 4 decades. It's 11 years short of a half century. Just so you know, I'm not dwelling on it. I went out and bought some ultra low rise jeans the other day just to make sure I could still rock them. I not only rocked them, but if they were a concert, they would have had their own back stage passes! Okay, maybe I am exaggerating that last part. Still, I'm not sweating it. I've got a full year before I begin my breakdown. I'm going to go ahead and embrace this midlife crisis with both arms, in a bear hug, and maybe a little tongue action on the kiss.

There are a few things that warned me that I might be approaching "that age". I've held up okay over the years. To look at me you wouldn't guess me a year over 37. I credit moderate drinking for my lazy smile and my ability to look moderately cute when confused. Who needs all those brain cells right? Also, I have never been able to cultivate a good drug habit to give me that sunken and sad 90's Calvin Klein look. Fat fills out the wrinkles, ya know? Yet, there are things that gave me pause and made me wonder, "Angie? Are you getting older?" Here are a few examples:

What I don't have enough of.
1. The other day I went in for a standard check up. Things looked great. My blood pressure was low and they had to check twice to make sure I wasn't dead. My liver functions were dandy. My reflexes were sound. My hematocrit was above normal. However, when everything is going good, something is bound to screw it up. "Your protein is low. At our age (said the nurse, who just went to her 30th high school reunion), we should consider eating more yogurt, fish, spinach, and nuts. Oh, and you might consider taking an iron supplement." I advised the nurse (who is cool as hell) that if she started talking about bowel movements I was out of there.

Image Source
2. I recently purchased the Samsung Galaxy S3. I love it! As part of my vow to never lie to you kids, I will tell you that my first reason for choosing it was that the virtual keyboard is easier to use than the iPhone. With Swipe technology I don't even have to know what I'm trying to type and it figures it out. That ended up not mattering a lot because I found a case, screen protector, data cable, and STYLUS online for $10. That's right. I said stylus. I am that old lady you see writing on her smart phone with a pen. It's cool as hell and almost makes me forgive myself for letting technology make me it's bitch.

10 Points that will earn you nothing...
3. For Halloween this year I was asked to send out a company wide email informing everyone that we would be catering lunch and having a costume contest. At fifty dollars to the top 4 costumes, I couldn't help but to be a little excited. I thought back to my favorite scary movie moments of all time, and decided on my costume. Joan Crawford topped the list (and also provided the perfect costume for moisturizing all day long and not caring how I looked). As I was excitedly telling one of the staff about my costume I said, "All I have to do is show up in face cream with a coat hanger and yell 'NO WIRE HANGERS EVER!' and I'm good." The staffer gave me the blankest look I've seen since I asked my son if he knew at which hand of God Jesus sat. Clueless. Five points to you if you know which hand. Ten points if you know the movie.

Except in front of a less fancy house.
4. In the last year I have had one of my children tell me they are getting married and one of them got a driver's license and bought a car. Both of my kids have jobs, one of them still lives with me because they want to, and one of them made a political comment on my Facebook account. Add to that, one of my kids works in my office. Add to that I just got my very first old person (early) Christmas gift. My someday-son-in-law just bought me a snow blower. My response was, "Oh, AWESOME! Now if you can teach Jacob (my son) to use it Christmas will be complete!"



Of course that isn't all. There are many things that tell my age. Things like...
- I can tell the difference between Pica and Elite.
- I remember what it's like to play cops and robbers.
- I played kick-the-can and Ghosts in the Graveyard.
- I know who Robert Downey Jr. was before he was Sherlock Holmes or Iron Man and before he was a junkie, but played one.
- I understand the reference to "gag me" and don't think it's sexual.
- I find it hard to think of Patrick Dempsey as Dr. McDreamy because I still see him in Loverboy.
- I remember Facts of Life, Little House on the Prairie, Arnold before he was the sperminator, why Frank never wants a second cup at home, and where Lolly can get her adverbs.
- I know the best way to rewind an unspooled cassette tape.
- I know what a 45 adapter looks like.

What are your memorable "WOW! I am that old!" Moments? 

Now while the iron is still hot... go vote



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Commitment Issues and the Year of Yes

One of my best girls and I were talking the other day about her long term relationship. After years of being together, she was a little sad that they were still not married. "You don't always want to dance, but you still want to be asked." she said. We discussed the possibilities, and me being me, went right for the heart. "Your youngest is the same age as mine. Do you really want to push this guy to ask you to marry him when in a couple of years you will be free to leave? Do you want to stay here? Is this REALLY the life you want or is it what you're supposed to want?" Sometimes you really just want to be asked to dance, even when you know the answer you will give will be, "No, but thank you for asking." It's complicated. 

The tables were turned when I came back to work on Monday. As I discussed my thoughts and feelings on relationships, this same friend said, "M and I were talking about you and I said, 'She's adorable. I can't believe someone hasn't scooped her up.' and M said, 'Yeah, she must be really picky.'

When I asked for clarification, she said, "Well picky was all we could come up with." 
Jesus wept, this is me. 

She and I know each other pretty well. We have very similar lives. I know she was being kind when she agreed on the term "picky". She and I both know it's called a "commitment issue". Still, it got under my skin enough to evaluate it and overcome it like a mother f... 

It all comes down to that first relationship. It's like a bad Savage Garden song. "Daddy never loved her much... that's why she shies away from human affection...  somewhere in a private place..." (Sorry... I knew that song always stuck with me for a reason)

In some damaged corner of my mind, I decided a long (12+ years ago) time ago that any man I chose would eventually leave. In order to prevent ever being hurt like that again I did two things.

1. I only chose men with a terrible relationship history of being leavers. Deep down I knew they always left, so I wouldn't commit to them even if they asked. (I still wanted to be asked to the dance, dammit)

2. If anyone got close enough to like me, I shut it down. There are a couple of schools of thought there. 
    a) I don't want to be part of any club that wants me as a member. Seriously, if I am your ideal you must have really low standards. Therefore you are NOT the man for me. The man for ME has really high standards. I only want people who don't want me first. 
    b) I really like you and I'd like to see where this will go, but you obviously won't love me once you really know me and then you'll leave. Therefore I cannot ever want you because you will leave. 

I'm not picky. It's not like I sit around saying, "Oh he's got blonde hair? Pass. He's a driver? Pass. He only makes ____ per year? Pass. Oh he's a Republican/Democrat? Pass." I have dated some incredible men. They were kind, courteous, generous, attractive, wealthy, both foreign and domestic, and all around impeccable specimens of the male species." I still pushed them out. Many times I made the decision for them. I faded away before they could. It's been very reminiscent of the days when I made fat jokes about myself before someone else could. 

My mom really drove it home tonight. "Keep analyzing it and I'm sure you'll figure it out." She sounded sincere, but I know my mom as well as I know myself. I've been studying that woman since birth. What it meant was, "Stop over-thinking it, Angie." She said it with heart... because she loves me. The right choice isn't always the logical one. Sometimes you can think yourself right into the wrong decision. Sometimes, as my friend Brett will tell you, it's about following your heart. It's about following your heart when your head tells you to be practical. 


So this is my year of, "Yes". I will spend the year (Nov 2012-Nov 2013), money permitting, saying "Yes", unless it is morally reprehensible. You know who you are. 

What are the things you wish you had said "Yes" to and backed down because it didn't seem logical? 


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Nudity and Advice. Promises Kept.

Let's just get this out of the way right now. I promised some things last week that I didn't deliver on. I'll make my excuses now and get on with it. I got an impromptu side job and pretty much blew my blog off in the process. I am a horrible blog owner. I should probably be beat with a stick. I'm sorry. Here's your nudity...
Everyone wants to spoon. No one wants to fork. 
Now that I've delivered on at least one promise, I'll move on to something I know absolutely nothing about. Let's talk about how I have no idea why people would ask me for relationship advice, shall we? Yes, let's! 

Do you know me? If you've been here more than twice you probably do. I'm a bit of an open book when it comes to my failings, successes (lol), and the like. You would think that anyone who knows me in real life would know me a little bit better. Well, as it turns out, that's probably not true. Some people in my real life still feel compelled to ask me advice on their love lives and dating situations. I'm not sure if the joke is on me or on them. 

So let's get this part straight. I am incredibly good at establishing relationships. Do you want to know how to get him or her to notice you? Ask me. Do you want to know how low cut your shirt should be to catch an eye but not garner disgust and nasty glares from the other girls when you go out? Ask me. Do you want to know how to how to create the perfect smokey eye? Ask Becca.

When it comes to lasting relationships I am probably not your "go-to" girl. If you're looking for a fountain of wisdom on how to get your ex to want you back, it's highly unlikely that I would be your first choice in filling your relationship advisory council, if you know what I mean. That being said, I'll address two questions I've encountered this week. If they apply to you, you can do one of two things.

1. Take my advice and fly by the seat of your pants.
or
2. Do exactly the opposite and let me know if the results are different for you than for me.

Q. How do I get over my ex? 
A. Cry at home in your room. No one wants to see you being sad. Do not date other people for at least a year. Everyone can smell the desperation on you the moment you walk into the room. You can't transfer love by insertion. If you're going to have sex, have sex, but don't mislead yourself or the other person that it's anything more than it really is. Get a hobby. You know what you could do? You could write a blog. That's what the cool people are doing.

Q. How do I get the man/woman of my dreams to see that I'm not like all other men/women?
A. For starters, don't ever tell anyone that you're not like everyone else. You're unique... just like everyone else Snowflake. The person of your dreams won't need you to tell them you're different and worth their time. If they do... your dreams suck. You go out and be you. The person of your dreams will see you being a dork and will love you for being a dork. Any time a man has ever said to me, "I am not trying to get in your pants." it turned out he was trying to get in my pants. I would feel the same now if some guy told me, "Hey girl (that's for you, Bill), I'm not like the other guys." The most genuine people I know have said to me, "Listen, I want to get in your pants." Then I laughed at them and we became great friends that never had sex. So if you'd like to never have sex again, this is also good advice.

If you're looking to find that perfect aging playboy bunny with a slight limp and a glass eye, my friend Rook can hook you up. I'm told his methods are questionable but reliable all the same.



Monday, October 8, 2012

I Need a Hero

I put out the signal and screamed his name. I waited and waited, but Batman never came. Here's why.

I'm over at SprocketInk today covering all the news that's fit to be printed... okay just one piece, but there are others too! Check it out!

Friday, October 5, 2012

Confession of an Unexcited Parent

I love my kids. I love them like a fat kid loves cake (I was a fat kid so I can say it). I love them in a way that only a parent can really understand. When they are messy, crabby, and selfish I love them. They do things that make me want to pull my hair out. They sometimes make choices that make me wonder who they are and where they came from. I have even sometimes wondered if we're related at all. When there is understandable reason to want to put them out of the house with every filthy thing they hoard in their rooms, I still love the hell out of them. They're my kids. That's how I roll.

Now that we've established that I'm not some cruel, heartless, despicable excuse for a mother, I need to tell you something. Their school events do not excite me. The thrill was gone for each event after the first time. When event day rolls around I check the clock, count the minutes, and make plans to shift my ENTIRE LIFE around to attend. I know what you're thinking, "Angie, we see your Four Square checks ins. You go to work and you go home you lazy twat." All I have to say to that is, "Okay, you're right. I have no life."

Today I sent a text to a friend mentioning that I'd be attending my son's Cadet Choir concert tonight. "Excited?" He asked. My response? "Me? LOL No. I am always proud, but if you think parents get excited about these things you will be really let down when you have kids. I just checked with the parents around me and we all agree the thrill is gone after Kindergarten."

For the most part, I was being honest. The other parents did side with me. We're minute counters. We gaze lovingly at our children on the stage. We cheer when they do something great on the court or the field. We shout encouragement when they hit a rough spot. However, excited we are not. Truthfully, half the time, even our kids aren't excited. Nervous? Perhaps. But unless it's a big showcase event, you won't hear, "I am so excited!" Not from any of us.

Both of my kids played instruments. Listening to them practice at home was torture. My daughter had the squeaky, screeching tenor sax. My son had the booming tuba and the low droning and sometimes squeaking baritone. Going to band concerts is a proud moment of seeing your child walk onto the stage and take their chair. After that, it's an hour of squeaking and often off-note hell. Do I enjoy it once I'm there? Sure. Do I roll my eyes the entire day leading up to it when I think that I will need to leave work early to make dinner, get the errands done, and get my workout in before I have to get ready? Yep. 

Football was much the same. The game was exciting when my son got playing time. It was exciting before I felt ostracized for becoming the loud coachy side lines mom. Afternoon games stretch into the evening. The warmth of the day cools and settles into the bones. I started counting the minutes until I could take my child to Burger King or McDonald's for a celebratory treat. The treat was always offered as a reward for a job well done, but really, it was a celebratory treat for me... for making it through the event without calling my own audible. "OMG CAN WE JUST GO HOME ALREADY?!" Yay me!

Tonight though, at the day long dreaded Choir Watch 2012, I paid my $5 and sat in the auditorium. I watched my son climb the stairs to the stage and take his place on the risers. When the Cadet Choir took their turn in the spotlight, I focused on his face and the glare off his glasses, watching as he sang. To my surprise, out of the group of approximately 75 students half an auditorium away, I heard my son's voice. The smile on my face grew by a mile and my heart swelled with pride, but it wasn't excitement. Maybe it was something better. We didn't even need a treat on the way home to make it all worth it. It was that good.

Just off center, inside the red circle, is the man, the myth, the legend, my son. 






Thursday, October 4, 2012

Guess what! No, guess again...

It's Thursday, which means I'm over at SprocketInk being all judgey, preachy, snarky, bossy, bitchy, and gossipy. You know that sounds like fun. Don't deny it. Stop over. We'll have a play date.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Android Love

Today I'm over at SprocketInk talking about my new love affair. There's touching and smiling and cooing and... effusive praise.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Vaginas for Jesus and other Dennyisms

We've officially entered birthday season in my family. My brother tried to kick things off with a birthday at the end of July, but it didn't stick. The rest of us fall between the end of September and late November. This past weekend we found ourselves gathered together to celebrate a few of those memorable occasions. I'll start this by saying a big happy birthday to my baby sister, Jeana, my sister in law Christina, my brother in law Denny, and my wonderful mother.

It was predicted to be the party to end all parties (drinking until you begged God to just kill you). I headed home to Iowa to hold my sister's hair so she could vomit after too much while celebrating for her 30th. The day began with shopping for shoes without heels, because we'd worn heels and decided that the lengthy day would be best served in flat shoes. I am not capable of buying shoes without a heel. I looked and looked, but couldn't find a damn thing. Instead, I fell in love with these. I thought, what better shoe to have when you need to really dig into the ice? Warm, gives the ass a nice lift, and check out the soles on those babies. Hot! 

After deciding that very few people in my group would appreciate the beauty of these weapons hiking boots, I left them on the rack and proceeded to make my way with the girls down the strip mall to the various stores. 

The rest of the day proceeded as planned. Shopping was accomplished, drinks and snacks were consumed, and our feet were properly pedicured. By the time we finished with our family and friends dinner at Red Lobster, it was clear that the birthday girl would be having none of the party she had planned. The last great quote of the night was, "Julie, if you want to bar hop on the way back you can, but I'm staying in the truck." Alas, a bit of partying the night before had rendered our birthday girl down for the count before 8 PM. Turning 30 is a cruel joke. You still look young, but your recovery is much slower. 

There is still fun to be had though! From the folks that brought you "He laid his wiener on it" I give you the Dennyisms of the weekend and other fun stuff. 

Vaginas for Jesus- My mother is a proud member of the First United Methodist Women of Southwest Iowa (long name, eh). My brother in law has decided the name of the group should be shortened and changed to Vaginas for Jesus. We are waiting to see if Mom will call for a vote to change the name at their next meeting. 

Angie's G-Spot- I drive a G6. I cannot imagine how this came up in conversation, but apparently before I got to town Denny made a comment about how I drive a G-spot. For the record, if my G-spot were big, gray, and had 4 wheels it would be a hell of a lot easier to find. 

New Smooth Spot- Three times over the weekend my attention was called to a very small strip of highway between my parent's house and town. When you come from a small rural community words like "our new strip of smooth road" and "the new smooth spot" are immediately identifiable. Apparently, it's very exciting when the county lays down $85K worth of smooth black top on the road. I would like to know what it will take for them to fix the rest of the freakin' hi-way. 

Council-Tucky- Let me preface this with the fact that I don't know many, if any, people who are actually FROM Kentucky. I'm sure they are wonderful people, but the mention of the state itself brings to mind images of hill-folk with missing teeth and a fierce love of Nascar. The place we did our shopping is lovingly (ahem) referred to as Council-Tucky. You are 10x more likely to run into a person wearing a Nascar shirt and missing teeth as you are to run into someone like my people. We tend to look like a cross between LA and the Jersey Shore (my sister carries a giant can of aerosol hairspray just in case). We wear the latest fashions, and many of us wear heels even when the weather isn't appropriate. There are times when it would certainly be wiser to dress like a Counciltuckian. 

That's about all I have for the weekend recap. I'll be over at Sprocketink tomorrow, so come and check it out and see what fun we have over there! 




Thursday, September 27, 2012

Come On Over!

Today I'm covering up my Uncovered self and heading on over to SprocketInk to talk about giving a shit. Do you? Could you? Would you? Let's find out.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Office Tips for Newbs

Welcome to the office, Newbs! Its fall, which means all of those high school and college grads are flowing into the workplace. It's understandable that not everyone grasps the rules of office employment. Below is a list of very important tips for those who are entering the office life for the first time, or even for those who have worked there for a while now and don't understand why they haven't received that promotion they've been aiming for. You may wish to print this and hand it out at meetings. 

1. Hickeys are not an accessory.
Remember back in high school when your parents offered your boyfriend/girlfriend extra food so they would stop chewing on your neck? Hickeys were stupid and looked disgusting then. They are completely unprofessional and revolting now. Have some class. This is the real world where your future is influenced by the people you meet on the way up. You look like a whore. There are a few positions in your future, but I doubt any of them are corporate.

2. Dress like a grown up.
This is an office, not a fitness club. No yoga pants. Maybe they are black or dark grey, but they are not slacks/dress pants. We don't allow men to come in in black sweat pants. You are not allowed to wear yoga pants on business casual days. Also, there is NO day when we should be able to see your under garments. White under white is almost as bad as black/red/blue under white. Your underwear playing peek-a-boo with the top of your pants isn't acceptable either. Learn to dress.

3. You can afford to contribute to the pot luck.
"It's so expensive to feed a crowd!" Yeah yeah. I see you with the Jimmy Johns every day. We're asking you to make a salad or an appetizer. You don't need to roast a pig for us. We have pot luck professionals that will out do any grand attempt you make. Stop whining about the cost and make a jello mold or something, ya lazy ass.

4. If you don't bring anything for the pot luck, you don't eat.
Everyone forgets sometimes. If you're a chronic offender, everyone knows your name. Don't be a lazy mooch. Also, we have paper plates and plastic silverware. No one here is worried about that. We provide those things out of the main budget. You're bringing something we already have. Lame.

5. Your broken heart isn't an excuse to call off.
Broken hearts blow. There's no easy fix. Do you know what I recommend? Going to work. What are you going to do at home? You'll sit there and cry. Then you'll eat junk food in some misguided attempt to fill the void that your lover has left. Then you'll get fat and be sadder. Eventually, that will increase your illnesses and likely your use of our insurance plan. That raises everyone's rates. Then we like you less. Don't make us like you less.

6. You won't be here. We don't care why.
Just stop talking. We get it already. If you have a valid excuse (death, illness, etc) we simply need the very short version. The more you talk the more we are irritated that your absence is going to screw with everyone's schedule and deadline.

7. Children should be seen and not heard.
We don't mind you putting up pics of your kids. We do, however, get sick of hearing about them. Don't blather on. If you want to do that shit, get a blog.

8. The bathroom is not your personal phone booth. 
If I had a dollar for every time I have walked into the ladies room and straight into a verbal confrontation between some lady and her man I would have enough to get two pumpkin spice lattes. It doesn't sound like a lot, but have you been to Starbucks lately? Take that business to the car on your break.

9. Save the pretty fonts and colors. 
In the name of all that is good and holy. I received an email today from a staffer that had 3 colors and the most God awful curly handwriting font in the signature. The body of the email was done in hot pink. If you expect me to take your request for my toilet paper, hand towels, soap, copies, or insurance paper work seriously you will use either black or dark blue on a white background in a plain font. I don't want something that looks like it was written in crayon by someone who just learned how to write in cursive. Often these emails have to be escalated. Remember that.

10. Above all, don't be the reason for new rules. 
Many offices begin their lives with very lenient policies. There is a hope that since adults are being hired that adult behavior will be adhered to. When you notice there is a lax policy on attendance, dress code, time usage, etc... try to follow the rules of common courtesy. We don't have a lot of rules. We create them as they become necessary. If you're the reason for the rule, you will find yourself very unpopular.

I hope these tips will help you become well liked in your current work place. If you obey all of these rules and people still don't like you, it might be you. 

Monday, September 24, 2012

Apple Fights Other Well Rounded Rectangles

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Good morning, kids! I hope you all made it through the weekend without scrambling for bail money. In the event that you showed up here for some sort of weekend run down, you're going to have to wait until tomorrow. Today I'm over at SprocketInk talking about how Apple Corners the Market On Rectangularity.

Go. Read. Learn something. Laugh a little. You deserve it. Heck you've probably been awake 2 hours already. It's break time!


Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Crazy Factor

I'm an out of sight out of mind type girl. I forgot about the living room in my own home for 2 weeks straight because I didn't walk through it or use it. I do, however, obsess about the things I can see. Take my phone for example. I check that far more than I should. If we dated in the past you can pretty much guarantee that your number is no longer in my phone. It's not that we're not friends. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. I just don't need the temptation when I see your name. If you've wondered why you haven't heard from me in awhile, now you know.

I  never wanted to be THAT girl... until I learned the truth about being crazy, that is. I did some real life research and talked to a few Tweeters and it seems many men really like that crazy factor.

My daily life guy friends (3H) expressed that they expect a certain level of crazy with every woman. Stereotype much? I digress. They also agreed that the hotter the girl is, the more insanity they can expect. While I'm not sure when this pattern was set for them, the three that I speak with most frequently all seem to agree that the crazier she is the better she will be in bed. (Screeching halt) "Whatever. You're full of it." I said. Then I saw this on Twitter:

This explains so much! 

Apparently Kim knows. It is an established fact. It's even on the internet. #MustBeFact 

This does explain a lot about those guys who will continually chase after a hot girl that turns them on, turns them down, pulls them in, and then pushes them away. It seems like if she's even slightly unhinged, her crazy factor will elevate her another rung on the ladder. As I write this, I've just been informed by one of the 3H that the tweet above IS accurate. One of the H team said, "If she will stab someone with a fork you really have to see what she'll do in bed."

I do hope there will be a few men out there that can tell me this is not true, or at the very least give an explanation as to what it is that they find attractive about the headcase drama. For the guys who follow this way of thinking, how long do you usually put up with it?

Talking to my girlfriends gave a much different response. I asked, "Is the sex ever so good that you would put up with emotional abuse?"

Right on girl! 

So what exactly does make a woman put up with crazy? Love and/or low self-esteem seems to be the most common answer. I've dated my fair share of men who played head games. The more distance I put between myself and those times in my life, the harder it is for me to determine if it was love or low self-esteem, but it was probably a combination of things. I'm not alone in that either:

True that, homeslice! 
Then there's the theory that behind every crazy woman out there is a man who made her that way...

Been there. 
It has taken me many years and many mistakes to get to where I am today. My choices in who I will date have improved by leaps and bounds. These days, I am more inclined to follow Jewels' advice than to put up with the head games, no matter how good it promises to feel for a few minutes.

Well said! 

Have you ever dated or stayed with someone that played head games just because the sex was good? Where is your line in the sand? 

My Zimbio
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