Wednesday, February 29, 2012

What Is Your Face Saying Behind Your Back

Whether it happened in your school, office, family, or group of friends most of you have probably had someone say something "behind your back". It hurts, because it's usually untrue. At best it's half the truth and half a mixture of idle gossip and conjecture. When someone is talking about you there is an opportunity to set them straight and make things all good again. You can vindicate yourself! Everyone loves a good vindication. If you're unfamiliar with the term, think just north of revenge.

But what happens when it's your face that's doing the talking? I'm not referring to the flapping of your gums, running your mouth, or the way you chew, though some of you should learn to chew with your mouths closed. Really. It's disgusting. Knock it off. What I'm getting at is your facial expressions. What sort of messages do your facial expressions send to the people you interact with?

I am a very expressive person. My face shows every emotion I experience during every interaction I have. So much for my dreams of winning the World Series of Poker. There won't be any offers for acting jobs coming my way. My only saving grace is that unless someone actually engages me, I am usually off in my own little world where all the voices know me and only say fun, nice, and inspiring things. Now you know why you sometimes hear me giggling when no one has said a word.

Do you know what butt-brow is? It's the crease between the brows that doesn't go away. Butt-brow happens to people who spend a lot of time squinting and to people who are constant malcontents. I can tell the difference between the two types of butt-brow owners in the space of a single conversation. The squinter smiles. The malcontent just looks irritated, like you interrupted their game of Angry Birds Rio. I'm a squinter. This is why my first reaction to a new interaction is a smile.

People who complain constantly are a drain on your energy. The sound of a whining person is so grating that even someone with a naturally whiny voice will find it difficult to make friends, regardless of their personality. The same can be said about the person who always has a scowl on their face. Yes, I realize that at times we all have important things on our minds. Everyone gets down once in awhile. Frustration abounds in the world, but does that really have anything to do with the majority of the people around you? Doubtful.

When people see you from across the room are you scowling? When you are talking to people do you project a positive impression or is your face telling everyone to f*ck right off?  When the checker at the grocery store speaks to you, do you smile or do you answer dully and and avoid eye contact? Your face is speaking for you, whether you like it or not. What do you want it to say?

How do you react to a new conversation? What is your face saying about you when you're not paying attention?


Tuesday, February 28, 2012

It's fun for a girl or a boy!

Nope. Not a Slinky... guess again.

It's smaller than a breadbox and larger than a breadbox.
It's neither animal, mineral, or vegetable.
It shines brighter than a brand new penny.
I have one and so can you!

What is it?

It's the Liebster Award!

I specifically asked Santa for a new treadmill, but this is better! You know what they say, Santa doesn't always give you what you want, but he gives you what you need. Maybe some of that is from the Rolling Stones, but all the same... it holds water. So do buckets.


Today started out so dreary. I am spread so thin (shut up, Marcus), but sometimes someone does the nicest thing and you just perk right up. I was over at Pish Posh, learning a little more about her activities with the IRA and became totally enamored with her (Like I wasn't already? Who are we kidding) ability to speak in Irish Gaelic. I thought I'd gotten over my infatuation with the leprechauns, but she's revived it.

As I was reading down the page, I noticed that Shane gave her some "lurve" and a very prestigious award. Imagine the look on my face when I noticed she gave some "lurve" to me! I totally looked like this...
To be honest, I'd been practicing my surprised look since Oscar night. Unfortunately, today I didn't have on the ball gown and fancy hair and diamonds I wore for Sunday night's show. Plus I sort of look like I just burped in front of my Grandma here... Sorry Gran.  

If you don't know Pish Posh, you probably don't know Jack. She's the sort of blogger I would actually have that cup of coffee with... and then I'd drag her out to have drinks... and then we'd talk about her brief stint as a vegan, my poor grammar, and then point out people with fat elbows. It would be a hoot.

I've decided to pass this little ray of sunshine on to three bloggers (I already gave it to 5 others so "shut your mouth while you're talking to me!" - Brett) who completely knock my socks off repeatedly and who deserve more attention than I can give them myself. Drum roll please!!!

If I Were God Have you ever wondered if God is cheating on us? IIWG has. Though he's Not Actually God, depending on where you're reading him, he's got a lot of insight into how he really thinks things should work. I can't think of many times that I've disagreed with him. From brown fat and robot jockeys to how one goes about stealing their own car, the man has a lot of wisdom to pass on. Sometimes he's so smart you start to wonder if maybe he is actually... no... couldn't be.

The Spinsterlicious Life was one of the first blogs I had to read by title alone. This woman is not only gorgeous and intelligent, but she knows how to roll with the single life! One of the best things about reading her site is the realization that being single doesn't have to mean being alone and it certainly doesn't have to mean being unhappy. I can only imagine, based on what those ideas have done for me, what she can do for so many more people.

It Starts at the Beginning is accepting recruits for her island but they have to bring her something or they can't get on. This is one of my somethings! Juliette? If I bring you the Liebster Award can I join the island?! If you'd like to see the beauty that is this woman... check out The Beauty Myth on her site. If you need to study up on fetishes for your neck big date (maybe I should re-read that one) look for her post What the Fetish. She feeds my need to be all UK-Angie... I just pretend to be blonde and cute and full of awesome.

So now it's time for you three to pass the love on to those around you. Get to it. I think I get points in heaven or a refund on my Karma if you do it within 2 days. Plus, if you don't... goats will stampede your houses and chew holes in all of your underwear.


The Rules 
If you are awarded the Liebster Blog Award, here are the rules you “have” to follow.
1. Link back to the person who gave you the award.
2. Pick five deserving bloggers to give the Liebster Blog Award to (who have less than 200 followers) and let them know why you think they’re the best thing since sliced bread (sliced bread is sexy). 





Monday, February 27, 2012

How a buzz in the night changed my life...

My cell phone vibrated on the nightstand, stirring me from what had been an already fitful sleep. "One steady buzz, no worries. It's just a text so it can't be important." I thought. Still, to be on the safe side I reached over and hit the message center.

"I'm bored." read the message. I was more than a little irritated by my own inability to ignore the tangle of wires that connect me to the outside world in hours I should be pleasantly disconnected. I shot a quick text back. "Okay?" and the reply served only to further piss me off.

"I guess I must have interrupted a hot date." he said. With that I flung my phone to the floor and glared at it's glowing screen. I'd deal with it in the morning. Until then I was perfectly happy lying wide awake in my bed late at night telepathically sending a message across the miles. Which was obviously NOT the case at all. I wasn't happy and most certainly didn't want to spend my night thinking about him, but that is exactly what I did.

"ASS! Pick up a phone once in awhile and speak into it. Stop fingering the damned keypad!" I fumed. This was one of those nights where I am thankful my children can't seem to hear well. If some of those words were ever repeated from their lips I would have to leave town in shame.

"There she goes. My God, how horrible! Her son is the one who said ****** ******* **** ******  in class. Don't invite him over to play PS3 with the boys. SHAMEFUL! It was all over some man I hear. Pathetic. Don't let Jack date her daughter either. You know what they say about apples and trees."

To be honest, this scenario had played itself out several times. Each time I would allow myself to be hurt, stupid school girl hurt. Why? Oh, Lord. Good question. Because he was where I'd set my bar. He was all of the things I thought I wanted in a man; Sexy, confident, funny, intelligent, passionate, irreverent, and he made me feel pretty. What he wasn't... was available. Not married, simply not available. Sure, for brief periods of time he played at being just that, but always on his terms.

Like the library book you fall in love with and can't find in a hardcover anywhere for sale, he was only on loan. He was the reason for the multitude of nights I spent with Jann Arden on repeat. "Wishing That" still makes me tear up.

I was so angry. I mean, what girl doesn't want to be the recipient of a random text message in the night that says the equivalent of, "I only think of you when I am bored until something better comes along." Who doesn't want to be the fall back option, right? Me apparently.

By morning, I wasn't even angry at him, but I was completely pissed off at myself. I was the one that allowed this to go on. I was the one who had created a world where he could exceed my expectations through the lowering of my standards. I was the only one able to change that. I repeated my daughter's sage words (stolen from some obviously inspirational Facebook sticker): "Never make someone a priority if they only make you an option." True that little girl! True that.

So out of that grew my new list of .....



New and Improved Must Haves for 2012 and BEYONDDDDDDD!
Sexy (to me)
Single (sort of a no brainer eh?)
Confident
Funny (to me)
Passionate
Irreverent
Must be okay with the fact that I use curse words
Must think I'm sexy even in the morning with really bad hair
Available (in the sense that he's got a heart and isn't afraid to use it)

There... that seems better. :)

We all have to have a few standards, right? Tell me the top 3 things on your Must Have list.

Wag Vs. Angie (Closed Due To Weather)

Due to events and circumstances that were completely within beyond our control but we chose them over our readers... because let's face it, we needed a break and stuff, there will be no Wag Vs. Angie or Angie Vs. Wag or Dad Vs. Uncovered or Uncovered Vs. Dad (those last two just don't look right) this week.

Shane was like, "Can we do it Tuesday?" and I was all,"Dude, let's just not do it at all!" so he goes, "Angie, don't be that way."

In the end I decided to be that way anyway. I guess this means I win this week, right?

There will be a time today where I will come up with some super compelling and meaningful content to really blow your ever lovin' doors off. Unfortunately, unlike St. Elmo's Fire, that time ISN'T now (though, I am coming alive... thanks to Monster Lo Carb).

I'll be back later, kids. Until that time, be good to each other or else.

PS. Go clean your room (desk, office, etc.)! It's a mess in there! This is why we can't have nice things.






Sunday, February 26, 2012

Dear Nathan Fillion (If that is your real name),

Listen, guy. I'm writing to you because the Schnapps told me to. Okay, that's not entirely true. Schnapps don't actually talk. I don't want to start out our life as pen pals with you thinking I'm crazy or anything. I'm actually writing to you because I've been seeing your name all over the blogosphere and I have absolutely no idea who the hell you are. Strange that, huh? I like to pretend I know EVERYONE, but you my dear are an enigma. Well more of a conundrum, really.

I looked at your pictures (you can thank Google) and you're a nice looking gentleman. I even went to the lengths that IMDb would allow me to go to find exactly what you've been doing since um... hold on, lemme check... 1993. I'm going to give you some slack here. You're a couple years older than me and I didn't do a damned thing until post 1992, and even that is questionable. I will have to give you the upper hand here. It's possible I have yet to do anything. Let's move on.

Anyway, you're Canadian. That must be sort of cool. I sometimes pretend I'm Canadian and I apologize for things that aren't even my fault. See we have something in common. I also have brown hair. Look at that. Two things! The list of things we both have probably go on and on and on. I trust we're getting along famously on your end, eh?

So here's the sitch, Sir. My friend Jen over at "Jen" e sais quoi is madly in love with you. I get the impression that every single time your name is mentioned one of her ovaries drops an egg. Jenny at The Bloggess has been trying to get you to hold some twine for awhile now. They both follow your comings and goings more than the average bear... if the average bear follows your comings and goings anyway. They both seem like really kind and decent people, so would you mind throwing them a lil something to satiate their needs? It would mean a lot to me them.

I promise to... Oh, you were on Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Place. THAT'S where I recognize you from! Sorry, I mostly watch documentaries. Regardless, If you could just give Jen and Jenny what they want I promise not to stalk you or anything of the sort.

1. I have no idea where the hell you are and not to be rude, but I have other things that I am supposed to spend my money on.
2. If I am going to go bat shit crazy and stalk someone it's going to be someone without security because I'm afraid of getting hurt.
3. My kids played Halo and I see you had something to do with some audio there and anyone who entertains my kids when they would otherwise be asking me to cook for them is A-Okay in my book.

So, what do you say? One brown haired person to another... do me this little favor?

Sincerely,

Quite possibly the one woman on the face of the blogging world not infatuated with you in one way or another.

PS. Write back.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

A Weekend of Growing Up

The sunlight broke through the windows far earlier than I anticipated this morning. I turned lazily under the heavy comforter, feeling the cool winter air of the room chilling my nose, and snuggled down deeper into the cozy embrace of down and cotton batting. Pulling the covers higher, I burrowed back into my world of pillows, stretching catlike then pulling my knees to my chest and drifting back to a peaceful Saturday morning state of dozing.

I've always slept like a baby, which is not to say well, but surrounded. Sharing my bed with another has always been my preference, which seems somewhat out of place for someone who has spent more than half of the last 12 years without the nightly warmth and security of a strong man in her bed. Rather, I have made a substitution with pillows; Two king pillows, two queen pillows, and one body pillow. Decorative pillows are beautiful for a room that others will see. My room is not that place. Mine is a place where I slip into a fortress of blankets and pillows and pack them around me. There's no warm breath on my neck or leg tossed over my hip, but it's warm and secure all the same. 

Being forced to leave the bed is my waking nightmare. Today was no different. My son had collected his first ever paycheck, and being the sort of mother that demands her children learn independence, I talked him in to opening a debit account. If I'd had given any thought to the bank hours, I might have let him cash it at the grocery store and just blow it on bubblegum and soda pop. Instead, I mentally slapped myself for being so lazy and dipped a toe into the cold air outside the bed perimeter. Like jumping into the pool, I flung back the covers, and experienced that full body shock as I transitioned from toasty warm to shivering uncontrollably. 

If life were fair, there would be a sleepy man in that bed grabbing me by the hand and pulling me back in to sleep for another 30 minutes. But life being what it is, I had no excuse so I decided I might as well doll myself up instead. Obviously the people at the bank weren't going to care one way or another if my skin looks flawless or if my hair is falling in rings or frizzy, but there would be a trip to Walmart after, and I do so like to set myself apart from... well, the rest of Walmart. 

With the new account open (he's refused to allow me to post the picture of him holding up his first paycheck and bank account so if you'd like to see it feel free to ask me to text it to you), we made our way to the store to pick up an ungodly sum of groceries, new towels to match the new paint color in the bathroom, and a few necessities to keep everyone looking and smelling civilized. I dialed my daughter's number to make certain that she would be available to help with groceries and we made our way home. 

When we arrived, the house was abuzz with activity. Our tenant is moving out this weekend, and while I'm happy that he and his girlfriend will be starting their new life together and we'll be recovering some space in the house, it also means my daughter is moving to the rental part of the house! This transition means more independence for her, a private entrance, her own living space, kitchenette, and bath. The tenant is even leaving her a microwave and pizza over. She's over the moon. 

I have a daughter almost on her own, a son with 1 paycheck in the bank and 1 foot on the gas pedal of my car (Christ on a bike... pray for me), and I can once again taste the future. Everyone is growing up so much this weekend, except me. I think I might climb back into my blanket world and sleep off the sugar coma of sweet freedom. Yes, I think I will. 
It's nap time, kids! Don't wake Mommy!



Date By Numbers: How Sales People Do It

Prostitution is called the "world's oldest profession", but I think that is a bit of an exaggeration. I'm fairly certain the oldest profession would be like berry gatherer or mammoth stabber. Granted, those are purely selfish tasks... so let's go with leather preparation. Maybe you were the only one in your cave good at making the swanky leather wrap with the life-like beaver fur in all the anatomically correct areas. Surely, people would have paid for that right? 


"I give you 2 mammoth tusk and 1 bear shank. You make beaver warmer for Grot!" 


Done deal, Grot. Cha Ching!


Lost my track for a second. Anyway, prostitution isn't exactly the oldest profession, but it has been around for a good amount of time, and like with all sales based professions... there are formulas for success. How many men do you have to holler at from your corner or street curb before one pulls over. Once he pulls over, how many potential Johns like the prices on the menu? Did you check the current market value before you set your price point? How many of those Johns will drive away and how many must a hard working hooker negotiate with before the sale is made? It's a numbers game, I'm sure. 


"How much for a Lindsay Lohan with a half twist and a Sigourney Weaver?" 


"Two Lindsays or one?"


"Three."


"Isn't Sigourney that chick from Alien?" 


"Yes. Get all alien and prob..."


"One BILLION dollars!" 


For the record I do not know what a Lindsay Lohan or a Sigourney Weaver is, but I am pretty sure I can do a half twist. I once tripped on the treadmill and a half twist saved my life. It was in the form of a lemon in my vodka tonic and I tell you straight up, if I hadn't had that thing before I worked out I would have done a 1/4 twist instead and been all stiff and broke my neck. 


Have you ever made a cold call? If you're struggling with the term let me explain it for you. Cold calling is a lead generation process in which you do the equivalent of flipping open the yellow pages and calling every business in the book that matches the criteria you're trying to sell your product or service to. It's cold because they don't know you and don't want to talk to you and you end the call feeling empty and alone. Men, it's like the feeling of walking out of the bar at the end of the night after having bought 10 girls drinks and you're dating your hand AGAIN. Capicé?


Anyhooters, the formula for a lead generation rep on a sales account is traditionally 100/10/1. For every 100 times you dial the phone, you can expect to get ten contacts. For every 10 contacts you make, one of those interactions should result in a lead. It gets a bit more complicated than that, but dating is essentially the same.


In a room of 100 potential matches. You can expect 10 will respond to your mating call. Out of those 10, nine will be eliminated from the pool. Perhaps they are not interested? Maybe you're not interested? Maybe they don't qualify for the kind of service you're offering. There are many ways a person can be disqualified.


1. Married
2. Skeezy
3. Physically unappealing
4. Mentally unappealing
5. Insane


Odds are, you will be left with one person that meets the basic criteria for a first date. From this point on it's up to you and the potential partner to move this process to the next level... A webinar. Kidding! After this you will feel your customer date out (not up you perverts! Okay... sometimes up). Find out what their pain points are. Decide what you can and cannot offer each other to make this a mutually beneficial transaction. 


No, now it's time to go on that date. If the first planned meeting has proved to be agreeable to both parties, additional dates will follow. At some point, the sales cycle will come full term and an RFP will be submitted. It's that simple. 


The guys at work speak of a gentleman they know that really plays this numbers game with his whole penis heart. He hits on only attractive women all night long, and while he might not be the best looking guy in the joint, his pick up line is "Nice shoes. Wanna ____?" Amazingly, some women just say yes. Numbers, people... numbers. 


I mentioned awhile back that I got a card from a friend about dating. It went something along the lines of, "You know when you have to use a public toilet and you check all the stalls and you have to choose the least compromised one? That's how I feel about dating." For most of my adult life that has pretty much summed up my feelings on the subject. Fortunately, sometimes it just really doesn't suck. Sometimes it's jussssssst right, Goldilocks. And that, my friends, is what keeps people going. 




Tell me about the best date you've ever had. What made it special. Are you still with that person? 








Thursday, February 23, 2012

Oh, Ruby? When you take your love to town can you grab me a pair of ear plugs?

I don't care if you believe me or not, but WC McCall is the original white rapper. Some think that Blondie holds that honor... I call bullshit. Those people have obviously never had a great big convoy. Yesterday I tracked back through my childhood. It's not that I wanted to really, but Jim kept playing music that made me sing out loud (with a fair amount of shame). 

I begged Ruby not to take her love to town, rocked some chairs and rocked some babies with Dolly Parton, and quite fittingly belted out "take this job and shove it". Perhaps my enthusiasm on the last song was a bit bold... or maybe I just suck at singing. I am sort of leaning toward the bold theory, considering there isn't a David Allen Coe song that is meant to be sung perfectly or quietly. Remember that the next time you're in a dive bar in a small town and someone puts on DAC's 'You Never Even Call My By My Name'. Just sing loud and join the sway. 

The other night I was explaining to a friend that as often as I say, "Uh no, I don't listen to country music..." the fact is, I was country when country wasn't cool. Oddly enough... now that country is becoming main stream I only have one country song in my collection. Okay, if you count Lady Gaga's 'You and I' then I have two. 


And that is how the entire first half of my day went. Aside from seeing a text message that reminded me that I am sexier than a bar full of hookers (seriously... the best text I've received in like 38 years.)((No, seriously!))... it was completely music related. It didn't matter what anyone said, I was in the mood to sing my response. I kid you not, at one point someone said something about a call they received being bad, and I almost answered in Facts of Life theme song. Don't be all "I don't know what you mean." LIES! You know you take the good you take the bad you take them both and then you have the facts of life... the facts of life, dammit! 


Regardless of how much more quickly my day passes with all the random jackassery that goes on here, I was glad to get home and unwind. It takes a lot of continuous music to get the sound of Kenny Rogers out of your head. Then you have to look at pictures of attractive men to get the vision of his f*cked up eyes to go away. 


Here's what I ended up with. 






1. Bon Iver- Halocene
2. The Script- Nothing
3. Procol Harum - Whiter Shade of Pale
4. Kings of Leon - Use Somebody
5. The Cure - A Letter to Elise








6. Sister Hazel - Your Mistake
7. Rolling Stones - Old Habits Die Hard
8. Sarah Bareilles - Many The Miles
9. Blue October - Everlasting Friend 
10. Michael Buble - Home 






I was foolish to believe that today would be any different. Before the clock had struck 10 AM, Jim broke out the Billy Ocean. The day has been a complete waste of time since. So far we've rocked all of the hits, Rick Rolled a new person, showed off our kick ass dance moves, and let's see... Oh, while I was trying to get someone to take a picture of me sitting under my desk for Becca, my boss walked by. Apparently it's not shocking enough to make him ask what the hell I was doing. He simply shook his head and raised a hand then said, "I don't need to know." 


It might not be my dream job, but these people rock. 

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Writing Compelling Content

FYI- Writing compelling content begins with using a combination of vowels and consonants strung together to form words.  Forgive my Gumpness... but, "that's all I've got to say about that."

Now let's get on to the good stuff, shall we? Trending
#Fat Tuesday
#Justin Bieber (who the hell knows why or cares)
#Lent
#Mardis Gras
#MyAss (totally kidding... that didn't make the list)



Mom, 


I know this is not what you wanted to see today. It's something new I'm trying where I don't write a damned thing worth putting out there and see what happens. I'm not really this sort of person. Notice I still left out most of the swear words. 


Love, 
Angie



Since I'm not in the mood to really work on my blog today... I'd just like to say; Sex, boobs, knockers, naked girls, sheep in thigh high stockings, porn, penis, and Monopoly. 


Monetize your blog with sexy boobs and naked knockers. 


Yes, I'm aware that this is playing dirty (sex). 


Okay, let the experiment begin. I'm going to run and get a salad. I'll be back when my daily page views hit the 1000 mark. 







Monday, February 20, 2012

Wag Vs Angie: Speak Up or Shut Up?

Welcome back! Happy Wag Vs Angie day to you all! I've taken the liberty of getting rid of Monday from the calendar by renaming it something more interesting. You're welcome.



Today we're talking about gossip. You can see Shane's plan of action/no action over here. Sit back, have a read, and let us know how you would deal with the following situation:

While sitting in a crowded cafĂ© you overhear a table of 3 people talking about a coworker. It’s unimportant until you hear your friend’s name. When you realize he/she is the person they are discussing you begin to pay a little more attention. The gist of the conversation is that if your friend doesn’t change his/her attitude or the way they interact in the office, there is a chance your friend will lose the job. Do you tell your friend what you heard or write it off as idle gossiping? If decide to share the information, what do you say?

Can I speak up AND shut up? I think I can.

I hate gossip, unless it's between close friends in a closed environment and it's about someone I don't like, of course. What irritates me more than gossip, is listening to people talking about something that means absolutely nothing to me about someone I couldn't care less about. When I hear negative things about my friends, I do one of two things.

1. I defend my friend.

or

2. I close my trap, make a mental note of who is talking shit about my friend, add them to my list of sworn enemies, and write what they are saying off as complete jealous bullshit.

Frankly, I consider most gossip to be just that; Jealous bullshit. Unfortunately, there are times you will hear things about someone close to you that impacts a life. In those cases, you have to find a way to bring this to your friend's attention. We're not talking about overhearing someone saying your friend's pants are hideous or that they suck at putting on makeup. This information can destroy the livelihood of a person, their family, and perhaps even their long term career/earning potential.

There was a game we used to play in grade school. The game started by everyone sitting in a circle on the floor. The first person whispered a sentence in the ear of the person next to them. This sentence was repeated as each person whispered to the person next to them. The goal was to see how convoluted and misconstrued the message would get by the time it had come full circle. I don't recall the sentence EVER coming back exactly right. What if you're mistaken?

In the above situation it's best that you don't know the people at the hen party, and even if you do, it's probably best to pretend that you don't. There is little sense adding fuel to the fire or giving your friend information that isn't germane to the outcome. Telling your friend what was said about him/her is going to cause a lot of hurt. It can even destroy your friendship if it's not handled properly. So how do you go about addressing the issue without running that risk? I don't know that you can, but I would sure as hell try.

Maybe like this: Open a dialog

"I really need to learn to filter myself at work. I complain too much and I'm sure my co-workers and bosses don't appreciate me bringing my personal drama to the office. I heard some people talking at lunch the other day about a co-worker and how they might be on the short list to be let go for that very reason. How do you deal with it?"

Friends are supposed to be able to tell each other anything, but I would be incredibly uncomfortable saying... "You need to watch your back. People at your job are complaining about you and it's not pretty at all."

I have other friends that would be much better suited to breaking this kind of news to someone. I'm probably too "round about" with my approach, but eventually I would hope that I could make the point without drawing blood. You have insight into your friend's life, the stress they are under, and how they normally deal with things, but you don't always see them in the same way that their co-workers do. By opening a dialog and asking their advice on dealing with the situation you give them an opportunity to examine their own actions in the office and in helping YOU they can find solutions to issues they may not even realize they have. It's always easier to give advice than it is to be the recipient of it, so use that to your advantage!

That's what I've got, ya'll! Don't forget to check out what Shane has to say over at WagtheDad! Now, tell me what you think. How would YOU address this?











Sunday, February 19, 2012

Then I realized Marilyn wasn't actually speaking to me.

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”  
― Marilyn Monroe


Marilyn was the Meredith Brooks of her time.... nay the Chaka Khan... no... the Body Guard Whitney!

The first time I read that quote I was in one of my "I'm Every Woman" sort of moods. "She's right! No man deserves to be part of my life if he can't handle the days when I am frustrated, pissed off, and unsure of my direction, dammit!" I thought. With that new attitude firmly in place, I set off on a path of being a complete wench to every man I met. I was itching for confrontation. "Please God send me a man to call me on my shit... just let him TRY!"

I have a few theories as to why it didn't happen. Perhaps I was already a bitch and no one noticed a change so no one felt the need to point it out. Maybe my idea of being a bitch is not as bad ass as I thought and instead of resembling a lioness I sort of looked like a kitten playing at fierceness. Then I thought maybe I just misread the directions. Marilyn didn't actually say anything about being an uber-bitch, with no direction, and acting like the world had pissed in her Cheerios. Sometimes I read into things. She wasn't even talking to me now that I think about it.

Upon further reflection, I realized that it was not about being a bitch or out of control or insecure and making someone like you regardless. It was about being myself. I can be a shrew at times. There are moments when I feel like I have no direction. Yes, I am sort of insane. I'm also a lot of other things. Some of those things are pretty damned great. Still, some are sort of boring. On a positive note, I've never met a person who wasn't a little bit of a lot of things, so I'm in good company.

Yesterday, I sat across the table from a gentleman discussing a job. What do you do? What is the environment like? What are you looking for? As he laid out bits and pieces of what the position would require I mentally ticked off the list of my own qualifications. When he mentioned a particular skill they were looking for that wasn't in my repertoire, I answered with honesty.

"I'm too old to be lying about who I am and what I am capable of. I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses. I have not done design since college and it is not my strong point. I won't pretend to be something I am not. I won't fake it til I make it, but I would work my ass off."

That my dear's is it in a nutshell... the long and short of it. In work as in relationships, it's about knowing who you are. If the job is right, I will work to exhaustion for the love of what I'm doing. If the relationship is right, I will be every woman. If you only want the personality that smiles and says nice things, you're SOL. In return I expect the guy to be every woman too. Except not a woman... Wait. What I mean is... Can I start over?




Wednesday, February 15, 2012

You're Sexy (What? Maybe you didn't know)

Last week on the Twitter, when I wasn't expecting anything at all exciting to happen... Jen started in on the Lionel Ritchie. I am ashamed to say that I've had to avoid massive amounts of work for a week listening to ANYTHING that could take my mind off the following:


Unfortunately, every blessed time I turn off my music my head launches into "Well, my friends the time has come... to raise the roof and have some f.... " ! I hope that I've managed to torment some of you with that  painful reminder of the 80's.

Let's move on from the flashbacks and talk a little bit about confidence, shall we? I don't consider myself overly confident. I know what I'm good at and where I fall short, but for the most part I can maintain the appearance of confidence exactly as long as it takes to complete the task and go home. From the moment I get in my car I will pick apart everything I've said, how I said it, what I should have said, whether I smiled enough, and whether or not I came across as the idiot or the savant.

What I don't worry about (anymore) is how I look. Oh, I used to. It's not like I've all of the sudden decided I am the sexiest thing to walk upright. There hasn't been a major shift in how I look for awhile. I didn't have some Tony Robbins elevator intervention (think reverse Shallow Hal). I just happened to be flipping videos to get Lionel Ritchie out of my head and I found THIS:


Yeah, I hear it on the radio all the time. Of course I sing along. Yep, if I am playing the song at home I dance. For those of you who work with me I'm sorry about the dancing in the office. I'll knock that the hell off. Yes, I dance at my desk. WHAT! Anyway seeing the video just made me feel confident as hell.

Do people really believe Ron Jeremy is sexy or is it because he was confident that he had something to offer that he could do better than anyone else (Jeeze, Angie that really makes it sound like you know what you're talking about. Good job, you)? For every body type, personality, and level of intelligence... and every single combination of those things... there is someone out there that thinks it's sexy. The next time you walk out the door, pull your shoulders back and hold your head high. Someone out there is looking and admiring. You are someone's ideal.

You're sexy... and I know it.

*At the time of this posting I have Trey Songz- Bottoms Up cranked and I believe I might be singing out loud and chair dancing.

** Becca is having a date with my dream date Bill from The Authentic Life. She has promised to fondle him for me and hopefully get a picture of him teasing his nipples for me.








Monday, February 13, 2012

YOU Are Your Child's Advocate


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It's time for Wag Vs. Angie! This week we're covering an issue that many parents and kids are faced with on a daily basis... Bullying. 

You have made friends with parents of children from your child's school. You really want to get to know them better, but it turns out their child is a bully, and you're not sure how to break it to them without severing the friendship. To make matters more complicated, these people are the core of your new found parent support network. At the same time, you worry that your child will suffer if you don't break the news to them. What do you do? 

Click here to see what Shane has to say. This week we're not forcing each other to pick a side, so it will be interesting for me to see how far apart (if at all) we are in our responses. 

Parenting is a tough gig. You don't get a handbook and just when you think you know what you're doing, your kid goes and proves you wrong. Having a good support network is key to surviving the whole ordeal. For some people that means turning to family for comfort and advice, but for many the support needs to come from friends. Unfortunately, as we all know, every one's kids except your own SUCK. You need to advocate for your child. 

Bob and Susan are awesome! They are the coolest of all the new friends you've met while doing your parental and civic duties and you can't wait to have barbecue parties and maybe a drink or two while the kids have a play date. In your head you've already decided they will be your new BFF's. When they point out their darling angel, your heart sinks. As it turns out, their lovely child is the bane of your child's existence. You think back to all of the heart breaking tales from the school day where this kid has pushed your baby down on the play ground, taken lunch money, instigated a teasing session that left your little one in tears and dreading ever returning to school again.

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You have a couple of options here. Do you tell them about their child's behavior and risk them shunning you and turning the other parents against you? Do you pretend everything is fine and let their child continue to make your kid's life a living hell?

There isn't any reason to really "break the news" to them. They probably know that their child has had issues at school. I don't know any parents who, when presented with a bullying situation with their child, haven't gone to the school with their concerns and the names of the kid(s) that are tormenting them. When these situations arise the other child's parents are typically notified. The other kid's parents probably know. Either way, approach it with tact, civility, and know the weight of what you're about to say. Perhaps the best response is to approach it as such:

"I know that Jack and Tommy have had their issues in the past, but I look forward to getting to know you both better. We've had a great time with you! We should get the kids together for ____ ."

If they don't reign their child in for the sake of anything else, they will likely do so for the sake of their social standing. If they don't... or seem offended that you would accuse their child of such ghastly behavior, then all you can do is tell them what you know. If they are the "center" of the social group, oh well.  

We've all been to high school, right? If those are the kinds of people you worry about making friends with, it might be time to find a new group of friends. Also...chances are that your child isn't the only one that has been the target of the class bully, so you might find that if it goes awry when you subtlety mention the past incidents that the other parents lean to your side out of understanding.

Either way... be prepared for your child to face some sort of backlash. Keep on point. If Bob's and Susan's little angel gets called on his sh*t at home, he's likely to act out elsewhere until he's restrained at school too. Your first responsibility is to your child. We've all seen the ways that bullying (especially today) impacts our children.  It is your job to advocate for your child... all friendship and peer groups aside.




Sunday, February 12, 2012

All Three Positions (and I don't mean ballet)

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Entering the dating world is a scary and exciting leap to make. When you're used to being either single or entrenched in a long term relationship, the prospect of going out with someone new is daunting to say the least. What do I wear? What should I say? Should I just be myself even if myself that day is uber-bitchy? How many dates is the sex rule based on these days? Do women still follow the no shave policy to prevent themselves from allowing a hand to wander past their knee?

Side note: What the hell is the deal with the shaving to the knee thing? Put on some nylons for the love of God! What are you doing letting some dude stroke your calf or kneecap anyway? Everyone knows once they touch the back of your knee you're done for anyway, right? Just me? What was his hand doing down there at dinner? I mean if you're not going to let him have sex with you I can think of some other places you might want to let him touch other than your shin. I won't draw a picture for you because I suck at drawing as my picture of Quentin Tarentino's penis would indicate.

Let us get back to the topic, shall we? When I am bored, excited, confused, etc., I call on my friends to help me with the answers. A few nights ago, while waiting for my son to finish work, I did just that. I dialed my girlfriend's number and laid my questions at her feet and waited for the answers.

"So I'm going to have to start dating. I'm getting up there and if there's any chance that I won't end up living in a house collecting stray cats, tinfoil for my windows, and gobs of eBay purchases I never take out of the packages I should probably get a start on this. Besides, I think it might be a good idea to have sex again." I said.

"Wow, that's a lot to think about. I just had a dirty thought... if you have sex with someone you'll be finished before it starts. You know like a teenage boy the first time a girl touches his junk. You should probably warn anyone who might touch you that you could combust." she replied.

"Well, when it happens I'm going to have fun! I'm going to do all three positions! ALL THREE!" I half whispered, suddenly aware that I was actually in a public parking lot with people walking by my car regularly.

Then the bitch laughed at me. "All three?" she responded while chuckling.

"There really are only 3 positions, ya know. Top, bottom, and doggy. Everything else is just a variation on flexibility." I offered. "Except standing... and I don't even know if people do that except in the movies and even then they don't do it for long so I don't think it's real."

"Do you even have a date?" she asked.

Cold... very cold.

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That brings me to my question(s) for my readers today.


If you're married or committed (or should be), where did you meet your partner?

If you've done online dating, what is your worst/best experience?



Friday, February 10, 2012

Name Changed To Protect The Idiot: What men want


I have a vast collection of stupidity from IM that I've collected over the course of the past few years. From time to time I dig through these little jewels of ridiculousness and find something that still drives me to frustration. On the off chance that one of these people or their friends and family might stumble across or stumbleupon this little piece of web-delight... Idiots will be renamed to NCTPTI (name changed to protect the idiot).


I've never understood why men find women to be so complicated. While it's true that I don't understand many people, I can tell you I'm equally confused by men and women. Here's what I've got nailed down. One group has innies*. One group has outies**. Neither group seems to understand the other, except in the case of how innies and outies work together. Hell, even then it seems every innie has a preference that doesn't necessarily meet the requirements of the outie, and just as often the other way around. 


Still the following conversation left me a little skeptical of those men who insist they don't think women need makeup or that women are the ones that fall prey to what society tells us we should look like. 


NCTPTI says: Women give men what society has told them men want, the things that make society run, things that make others money. Like makeup and hair products. I don't care about that. I want my woman to be a fresh hippy chick.


Angie says: Let me get this straight. If you had a plain wife who is not really attractive, but not ugly... 


NCTPTI says: I wouldn't have a plain wife. I'm not ugly. Just saying she doesn't need makeup. She doesn't need to dye her hair. 


Angie says: Stand two identical women side by side, one wearing light makeup with her hair smoothed and laying nicely and the other natural. I mean no makeup, skin likely blotchy, hair tweaked up at the cowlick, and frizzy. $10 says you will "respond" to the one who is wearing the makeup and tamed hair. 


NCTPTI says: I prefer naturally cute. Like the girl from 4 Non Blondes with the dreads. She was really natural and cute. 


Angie says: Hypocrite. You get your idea of what a fresh "natural" hippy is from TV and music videos. She had dreads... which is a hairstyle. She was always wearing makeup. Even the porn you watch and men's mags you buy feature airbrushed versions of what you say that you want. 


NCTPTI says: I would rather she just put more effort in her performance in bed than 30 minutes getting ready. She could stay looking natural and spend that 30 minutes elsewhere if you catch my meaning. he he 


Angie says: You would have to WANT to take her to bed first. I watch Millionaire Matchmaker. I know the penis does the picking. I'm sure there's a narrow niche for it somewhere, but you don't see a version of Playboy featuring tired housewife/mom with frizzed out hair, adult acne, and bags under her eyes. 

*Vagina **Penis

For the guys: What do you really think about makeup and hair? Would you be okay if your wife/girlfriend stopped fancying herself up for you? What about when you're looking for a partner?

For the ladies: Do you feel you've been sold a bill of goods in the "what men want" category? Once you've bagged your prey (that's right... I said it) do you find yourself comfortable not doing anything with your hair or makeup? How much is for you and how much is for him?



Thursday, February 9, 2012

"I'm sorry you weren't born stupid" Means I Love You


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When you look at your life as a parent you’re sure to have moments of pure joy and pride. Those days when you realize your children are the only ones in the restaurant that aren’t acting like complete assholes will validate your excellent parenting skills. Your little prince or princess is probably even going to win an award or contest, and you’re going to think to yourself, “Up your nose with a rubber hose, Dr. Spock!”

As with any job, there will also be days when you just want to throw your hands up and say, “Screw this place! I am out, bitches!” You know that, by law, you can’t just run away, but it sure as hell seems like a viable option at times. I’ve been told you can’t just drop them off at a hospital, firehouse, or police station in Nebraska (anymore). Hitting the kids is WRONG… and tiring… and wrong.

I don’t mention it often here, but my daughter suffers from a rheumatoid issue. She has for years. What the very first doctor offered as a diagnosis was JRA. Years later, the diagnosis was less clear, but her ANA levels were once again off the charts. She’s not handicapped. She can walk, talk, get in trouble, and do all of the other things that everyone else does. Unfortunately for her… she has a life of constant ache bordering on pain. What does this mean for her future? Not much more than it means for her present, aside from the fact that employment will mean a desk job.

Suffice it to say, when she informed me that she had decided to skip a semester AFTER having been accepted to college, and then opting out AGAIN for the second semester, well folks… Momma got a little bitchy. After all, what sort of job do you get without an education if you intend to make enough money to support yourself in the lifestyle to which your parents have allowed you to become accustomed? I attempted to be supportive in her decision. “Why go to school if you don’t know what you want to do only to end up with a ton of student loans and nothing to show for it?” I thought.

The longer I waited to see something resembling a life plan developing in the heart of my little princess the more frustrated I became. “What is she doing with her spare time? One of her friends had a baby. Jesus, she had better not plan to get knocked up. An MRS degree isn’t a reliable back up. Should I be that hard ass Mom that tells her 18 year old to go to college or move out? What do I do now?”

I have tried every approach to parenting I can think of. I’ve been doting mom, understanding mom, guilt mom, angry mom, and lately, bat shit crazy mom.

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You may recall my post from Saturday, wherein I blew the cover off of Milk-Gate 2012. Last night I decided to take it to an entirely different level. I’d been home, taken my son to work, worked out, did laundry, picked my son up, and arrived back home again… all before my daughter made an appearance. You might think I was “laying in wait” for the poor little gazelle to walk near the kitchen, and I was. I invited the poor unsuspecting creature into my lair. “Come into my parlor.” Said the spider to the fly…

Her- Thanks for hooking me up with this job, Mom.

Me- Yeah, we should talk about that.

Her- Oh, okay. What’s going on?

Me- Tell me what you want out of life. I mean, aside from a life wearing a headset. You know that’s what your future holds at this point right? It’s either going to be “Do you want fries with that?” or “Thank you for calling ___. How can I help you?” Considering you can’t stand for more than 5 minutes straight without pain, I’m betting on customer service jobs where you can get yelled at all day.

Her- (rubbing her temples and looking irritated)

Me- Say something please.

Her- I don’t have anything to say.

Me- Yes, you do. If you didn’t have anything to say you wouldn’t be biting your tongue or rubbing your head trying so damned hard to shove it down. So what are you passionate about? Where are you going to go with this life of yours?

Her- I don’t have any passion. I am not interested in anything. I don’t have anything to say because it all just sounds stupid and you’ll tell me what I’m saying is wrong and what is the point?

Me- (voice raised) I will tell you where your calculations are off. I will tell you it’s a stupid answer if it is in fact a stupid answer. I will push you until you find the fire to say what you REALLY want from life instead of avoiding all decisions because you’re too scared to fail. So let’s have it. Give it a try. (walking closer and closer and closer… then reaching out and pulling her hands from her head) Scream at me. Show me that there is SOMETHING in there.

Her- (tears)

Me- You’re not stupid. I’m sorry you weren’t born stupid so you could have an excuse for giving up on life, but I guess I failed there because you’re not. Too bad for you. That’s got to suck, huh? Being smart must be really difficult for you when all you want is to “be”. (yelling now) YOU ARE NOT STUPID! YOUR BOYFRIEND IS NOT STUPID. STOP BEING SO SCARED OF BECOMING MORE THAN YOU ARE WHEN YOU SIT ON THE COUCH AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES!
 

Her- How about this then? I just want to tell you I want to be left alone!

Me- Then get a better job and move out because while you live here I will expect you to pull your weight. You don’t get to slack off. This isn’t the summer after graduation anymore. And another thing… how many days do you think will go by with me telling you that you don’t need to paint the dining room before you wake up and realize I am looking for you to show some initiative and PAINT THE DINING ROOM?!

Her- I didn’t know you wanted it painted.

Me- Right, I just like the color of the blue painters tape contrasting against the chair rail.

Around this time, her boyfriend and my son wandered into the kitchen. As I put a few items in the sink her boyfriend said to her, “Your Mom should record these as parenting tutorials on YouTube.”

“Why? So other people can show their kids and say, ‘See… I’m not as bat shit crazy as this girl’s mom’?” I said.

“No, you’ve never met MY family. You are inspiring. It would be good for kids to hear it.” He replied.

“Go ahead… mock me.” I shot back. “Paint the dining room.” I added.
__________________________________________________

I still think he might have been mocking me, but I ended the night feeling different about a lot of things. Maybe she is at the point where I need to walk away. Maybe I am at the point where I need to walk away.
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What was your departure from the nest like? Were you shoved out or did you jump? 

Monday, February 6, 2012

He wants to wear me like a skin suit

RCB Loves Me This I Know
Today I was Googling myself (is that what the kids are calling it these days) and wouldn't you know it... I found myself on RCB English...Well Barely. When people profess their love for me I get a bit skittish. Especially when it's done in such a public forum as a blog. Still, if I ask the right questions and get the right answers I can alleviate some of my panic. So that's just what I did.

Me- Do you want to wear me like a hat?

RCB- Fedora or...? No, you're more of a raincoat. Next question.

Me- Have you ever stood on a ladder outside my bedroom window?

RCB- You have really high windows and I'll have you know that ladder in your garage doesn't reach. Your turn.

Me- Do you have a skin suit pattern you're dying to try out?

RCB- Angie, you are pasty white. I am BLUE. Don't flatter yourself. You should try this new lotion I bought though. It will make your skin all supple and...

Me- Is your mother's basement covered in grainy pictures of me?

RCB- Why are you bringing my mother into this? I haven't lived in that basement for years! Any resemblance between you and that person in the pictures is purely coincidental and I resent the implication!

Me- Alright then... but, let's take it slow.

I guess what I'm saying is... I've gotten a new button, kids! He loves me enough to give me an award. I love RCB for a number of reasons that don't involve the free trip to the tropics, but that's at the top of the list right now since I'm cold and stuck in the Midwest. I won't say how big that number is because I don't want his blue cheeks getting all purple. Suffice it to say it's a lot.

Apparently, I'm supposed to tell five random facts about myself and then pass this on to other bloggers that write things that I'm in love with for various reasons which I will explain later. Without further ado... drum roll please...

1. I lie about my weight on my driver's license by adding 10 pounds to my actual weight. In my head it sounded like a great idea last time I renewed. Why? Because if I get pulled over the cop might look at me and then my ID and think, "Wow she's worked really hard to drop some weight. Healthy people are good people.  I should let her off." So far it's working like a charm.

2. Sometimes I go so long without actually writing my name that I am confused by how it looks when I sign something. It makes me wonder if I spelled it correctly. It is for that reason that I've stopped actually signing my name. My current signature looks like I'm a doctor. Is it that I write Dr at the beginning? Maybe the Phd. at the end is what causes it? Whatever.

3. I am not a jealous person, but once I feel your attention has drifted elsewhere I just really don't care to have it back. I'm too old for games of hot/cold. Also... if you leave your sh*t in my house and THEN pull that crap, I'm going to burn it, throw it in the trash, or sell it. All proceeds go toward my "he's a jerk" fund.

4. I don't have pets. I used to, but no more. There was a time when my kids would ask for a pet and I thought it would be a good idea because it would teach them responsibility. Then I realized that they have a hard time keeping their own rooms tidy, so how could I expect them to keep a kennel clean? Oh, and I'm too lazy for that. And selfish. And bitchy (only one bitch in this house!).

5. If I'd been allowed to name my kids how I wanted I would be the proud mother of Anastasia Demitria (Russian history. Don't make me school you) and Hunter Logan (I'd been up late with heartburn while I was pregnant and caught too many episodes of Logan's Run). It's good at times to not be allowed to have control.

Don't we feel all educated about me now? So let's move along to the prize portion of our show! I'll be spreading the love around a little and choosing some people I've not forced into blog submission in the past. 


Pish Posh- I didn't even know that my elbows could be fat until I read it at her page. Add to that how I might be skinny fat. She cracks me up. She must write or die. No seriously, I read somewhere that it's a real disease. For her creative words is like the drugs on that movie Crank with the really attractive guy who must do whatever it is he has to do not to die. Like that. You should go over there and check out her bonobo and her chatty vagina. Okay you can't really check out her vaj without her permission.

Facebooking From the Edge- Nude skydiving, Describe your sex life in the form of a movie title, and pictures in posts that keep me going back even when I am too tired to read. For real, sometimes a girl just wants to look at the pictures and make up her own story. Get off my back! Anyway she's cute as heck and in need of new bake ware. If I were you I'd go to her site and click on an ad and buy something so she can get a new cookie sheet.

The Authentic Life- I L word Bill. His heart is amazing, he's funny as hell (and we all know hell is f*ckingsammich that Becca and I are putting together, so how can you possibly go wrong? That's right... you can't go wrong with Bill.

So there's that for ya. Happy New Award Button Day!



Wag Vs. Angie: Dream Job Dilemma




You have just been offered a job that will take you away from your family for weeks at a time. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, but it will take you away from your family 3 out of 4 weeks out of the month. Eventually you can all be together, but you don’t have definite date. Do you pass on the job or do you take it?

I don't know what Shane has to say about this. I do know that I'm right and he's probably wrong. So at the very least I'm more right than he is. You're free to disagree with me... I mean it's how this thing works, right? But, if you take Shane's side I am taking you off my Christmas card list. Let that be a warning! Okay on we go. 

To me this one is a no-brainer. Take the job.

I’m not saying you should take it without discussing it with your spouse... but for the love of God take the job! While there is not a definite date for the family to rejoin the reunion will happen eventually. With the conveniences of technology, the absence can be partially alleviated through Skype. Workout any possible way to see each other during the adjustment period. Speak with your family as often as possible. Stay current on their daily activities. Call, email, video chat, do whatever it takes.... and take the job.

Life is too short for regrets. Just a week ago we discussed leaving a job that drains your mental well-being. How would it feel to know that you’ve passed up a chance to work in your dream job because you weren’t able to take a chance. Passion for what you do is so underrated and regrets will eat at you until the bitter end. That’s no way to live.

I can’t imagine living my life without taking a chance. I don’t want my kids to see me as complacent or fearful. The message I want them to receive is that dreams are attainable if you step outside of your comfort zone. Family is always important, and I want them to see a happy woman with the courage to grab a once in a lifetime opportunity and make it her bitch! Perhaps then... they can embrace that courage themselves and finally stop drinking all the milk and leaving me with none for my cereal. Or maybe they will have the courage to paint the dining room... or you know, get good paying jobs and then I wouldn’t have to work so hard. Something like that.

In short; Take the job! 

Saturday, February 4, 2012

The Girl Who Had No Milk (it's a working title)

This is not about breast feeding. If you're one of those people looking for breast feeding stories or boob pictures might I suggest National Geographic or La Leche League Int'l? 

I shuffled into the kitchen this morning at the early hour of 10:30 in search of cereal and milk. Last night when I returned home I was so sleep deprived that I was able to turn a blind eye to the destruction that was my home. Mentally I ticked off a list of the various points of contention I would need to address with the freeloaders that were running the show while I was gone. Spaghetti sauce was dried on the stove top, crumbs littered the counters, the floors had not been swept, and to top it off there was no milk in the fridge. 

I know what you're thinking. "Angie, they should be ashamed. How dare they drink all the milk. What horrible little kittens!" The reason I know what you were thinking is that we're obviously on the same page here. I toiled away my whole life for these ingrates and I can't have cereal. The injustice was blatant and I might have even cried a little. 

I stomped back up the stairs to my room, hoping to make enough noise in the process for them to realize that I was disgusted by their complete lack of concern for my calcium needs. When no immediate response came I proceeded to slam my closet door and stubbed my toe on the bed before flopping down on it to bemoan my desperate situation. It was completely devastating. 

"Enough is enough!" I thought. "It is time to address this head on." Limping (follow along... bad toe) I went back down the steps with my mission clear. "Make your feelings known. Use your words, Angie. Employ guilt. Force them to go buy milk." (note to the reader: This conversation took place partially in my head and partially out loud. I talk to myself some. Let's move on.) It went a little something like this: 

I wasn't wearing any face cream... and I am not nearly that pretty when I get up in the morning. However, if you replace "wire hangers" with the theme of "where the hell is all the milk and why am I the only one who doesn't consider dried spaghetti sauce a decoration" then it's pretty much the same thing. The more I think about it, even though I am not a fan of mercilessly beating anyone with closet implements, Joan worked hard to be able to provide those kids with good wooden hangers and still the girl used the wire ones. What a slap in the face! 

You do everything you can as a parent to give your kids what you didn't have. Okay I had milk when I was a kid, but the point is I didn't have any this morning. You know what I mean? Am I blowing this out of proportion? Part of me thinks this isn't about the milk at all. One moment. I think I might have figured it o... No. Lost it again. 

Have you ever felt like going batsh*t crazy over the little things? Share with me people. Tell Angie how you feel. 


Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Note 1 from the NY

Note 1 from the NY party bus: Ok no facebooking ANY of this but where is the stripper pole? These usually have poles.

The Unpleasant Stain On the Mattress


**** says:
 So any severed penises hanging around?

Angie says:
 Now now.. you know if I were severing a penis I'd start with yours. So no... I'm fresh out

**** says:
 It might get you arrested scrap that idea, a dried human penis has a habit of drawing the attention of the   police and stray dogs

Angie says:
 Well unless you get a good taxidermist that can keep his mouth shut.

**** says:
 That's a bit harsh, it's such a lovely penis it would be a shame to severe it.

Angie says:
 Well I'm just sayin... it would have made a nice trophy.

**** says:
 Sometimes i worry about you my dear

Angie says:
 Wha? I'm good...
 In THEORY
 Not in PRACTICE

**** says:
 What a conversational piece, " I love what you've done to the place, oh my is that a mounted servered penis over the mantle place, how delightful"

Angie says:
 Do you like it? It's a 1972 Irish penis. You can tell by counting the rings.


And that’s how the conversation went.  Between, “How are the kids?” and “Well how did that happen?” and “How are the folks?” the topic wound back around to the inevitable; sex. I’m a Scorpio and he’s a man. I am fairly certain it’s par for the course. Interestingly enough, it’s never “sexy” talk. It’s just what we’re joking about, what we’re reading about, and what we (I) are not having, etc.

That is when it turned into a discussion about Tantric Sex and the Multi-Orgasmic Man. I believe that might be the actual title, but I’ll have to check before publishing time. He’s been reading, I’ve been working, and he offered to let me read the book, as he had it in Kindle format. “Well I am capable of multiples already, I’m told. It’s a woman thing. Plus, I don’t have a penis… so there’s that.” I said. Then he explained to me that there were chapters for the women too. Fair enough I thought, “Send it over!”

When I received the files I joked to him about the title and how I might go about writing a title for such a manuscript. As a single person I think of sex as a solo mission; Hand to hand combat if you will (if one of the hands were genitals).

“What about, 'A Field Guide to the Tantric Man'? Maybe something more along the lines of ‘Getting yours…Over and Over and Over’?” I offered.

“Or 'How to be more than just an unpleasant stain on the mattress'.” He replied.

“Indeed.” I thought.

Then, all joking aside, that potential book title had meaning to me. Holy shit! This planet IS the mattress of our universe. That’s when it hit me. In my angry, bitter, self loathing, throw in the towel, go-along-to-get-along way, had I become merely an unpleasant stain on this mattress? Zoiks! Dude, that isn’t cool.

I looked back at the Wag Vs Angie post from Monday. The comments proved to me that it’s not impossible to leave. More than that, Shane’s counterpoint for the week told me all I needed to know. Sometimes you have to just take the bull by the horns, grab your life by the balls, and make the changes you need to happen.

Today as I wing my way from sunny Sioux Falls to equally sunny Syracuse I find myself at peace. I’ve been waiting for a change. I’ve been waiting for a sign. There had to be a catalyst in order to push me to own up to the truth. My job sucks the soul out of me. At the end of every day I hate myself for not being as good at it as I think I should be. I go to bed with a glass of wine so I can avoid thinking about how much I don’t want to get up in the morning. I wake up to an ear ache and a headache every day because I clench my jaw in my sleep.

It’s not all bad. I like the company. I like the people I work with. The perks are good. Like I’m going to Syracuse today damn it! It’s “The Vegas of the East!” as Dean informed me (har har har). I will smile. I will meet fun people. I will learn, listen, present, eat, gamble, and have a cocktail. 

All of that frivolity aside; Saturday morning when I wake up in my own bed again I will be working on how to walk into my boss’ office to say, “Here’s what I cannot do anymore. Here is what I need from this job. This is what I want to do with my future. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Are you catching what I’m throwing? Can we make this happen?!”

Maybe… just maybe… I’ll be so damned inspiring that he won’t have the heart to say no. If not, I’m going to be asking you guys if you have a place for me and my kid to crash because I’ll probably be homeless soon. But at least I’d be homeless without spending every day at my desk thinking of the easiest way to slit my wrists with a thumb tack or the sharp edge of the tape dispenser, right?

There had to be a sign. Who the hell knew that sign was being held by an Irish guy floating in the North Sea pretending all the masturbation he’s doing is “for research”. Either way, thank you. You’re my favorite leprechaun. 
My Zimbio
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