Here's What

I've done something that I have only done one other time (pretty sure) and have taken down my previous post. It feels wrong to take it down, but probably not as wrong as it might have felt to leave it up.

The last thing I want is for anyone to come to my blog and ever, ever, ever feel bad or weird. Not even close. You're supposed to come here and help me make fun of myself and other people that are usually strangers and hopefully leave with a smirk on your face.

To help put the smirk back on your face here is a very old picture of me all bundled up for winter and looking forlorn, much as I did this afternoon when I stepped outside to drive to an appointment and realized it was snowing. I wasn't as prepared today because my mommy lives in Florida and isn't around to make sure I get all bundled up. Maybe my being so cute will help us all move forward:

(I think mom put my boots on the wrong feet...)

Oh, and that hair dryer box is for one of those old fashioned kind that has like a shower cap thingy that you put over the rollers on your head and then when you turned it on it poofed up really big and you'd look kind of like a genie or like you had a big, lacy, pink afro.

I'm going to hit the Publish button now...

My Big Gay Post

Ever since middle school, when I fully began to grasp the concept of homosexuality, I have prided myself on my excellent gaydar. Not that I haven't ever been wrong, like the first night I met my friend Nature Boy, I totally thought he was gay, but in my defense he is very good looking, almost pretty you might say, into art and at the time had longish hair that was being held back away from his face by a headband. Oh, and I was drunk.

Over the years some of my good friends have been gay so I guess that this makes me feel entitled, however mistakenly, as if I have some kind of connection to gayness that has made it OK for me to immediately peg a man who works several cubes down from me as being gay. He's not overtly gay and no one that I work with in such a conservative workplace in such a conservative city is openly gay. This guy is very manly and if he were straight and I wasn't married I would be all over him.

Anyhoo... I was delighted to find this gay man at my place of work because I feel, even though I am not gay, that gay people are my people. I get it. I'm on their side. I feel their pain. I've danced in their bars. I've voted for their civil rights. I've seen Queer as Folk.

I'm sure that gay people have no idea that I feel this way about their gayness, but since we work together (and he is so cute) I want this gay man at work to know that I am totally gay friendly, so I began to send off little cute signals to this man so that he would know that I knew that he was gay and that it is totally OK with me.

I'm not sure why it is important for me to get this message across. Pehaps because I'm in the awkward position of being passionate about gay rights without actually being gay.

This man is not someone that I have a lot of interaction with, so the cute little signals I give off are limited to things like smiling really big whenever I see him in the hallway or lunchroom and giving him the occasional eyebrow raise or knowing wink whenever there is a cute guy around. As if to say, "Yeah, baby I'd totally tap that and I know you would too!" I also call him by his longer full name rather than the shorter more masculine name that everyone else at work calls him, like David instead of Dave. And when I see him and say his name I say it all high pitched, sing songy and girly - like "Hiii Day-Vid".

In short, I treat him just like one of my gay friends. He eats it up and gives it right back to me.

Well I'm a big giant idiot because I just found out this guy is into chicks and now he probably thinks I like him and am some kind of chubby cougar.

He's not gay and I'm an idiot.

I'm a big flirtatious, over the top, winking idiot. I found this out because he stopped by my cube yesterday to ask me how old one of my female co-workers is and whether or not she was attached because he thinks that she is really cute and might want to ask her out.

It took me a minute to get over my shock, but then my gaydar started to pulse even harder as he crossed his legs at the knee, leaned in closer to me and then proceeded to dish the juiciest workplace gossip I have ever heard, and let's face it the man has a certain je ne sais quoi and he smokes Newport Lights.

I'm so confused.

The salad dressing really brings out the green in your eyes

I'm a big fan of the plain white dress shirt. Tucked, untucked, buttoned up or opened at the neck. You can wear them with anything. Any necklace, any scarf, jeans, skirts, dress pants.

I have a closet full of dry cleaned, lightly starched, crisp white dress shirts. They look so smart and pulled together. I love them, but I rarely wear them because inevitably whenever I wear one of my beautiful crisp white dress shirts, I'm guaranteed to slop some kind of crap all over myself.

It's very difficult to maintain a look that is smart and pulled together when the chest-ish area of your crisp white shirt is dotted with blobs of marinara sauce or what have you.

I want so badly to be that pulled together, elegant lady who can wear a crisp white dress shirt and remembers to touch up her lipstick throughout the day, but instead I am the doofus who walks around with a 5 inch zig-zagged ball point pen mark on her face, sweater fuzz in her hair and a post-it note stuck to her ass all day.

I really should have taken a clue from Tuesday's incident involving me carrying on about my business for the better part of an hour before I noticed that my pants were unzipped, and known enough not to wear a white shirt yesterday for my semi-important meeting. It was the kind of meeting where you actually get introduced to new people who will probably never see you again, but will communicate with you regularly via phone and email. The visual impression you make is the one they will keep forever.

The meeting was at 1:30 and I made it all the way to 12:45 without a hint of drop or crumb. In the morning I took the teeniest lady like sips of my coffee and at lunch time ate my salmon and spinach salad so slowly and deliberately I almost didn't recognize myself. I made it through the entire pre-meeting day and the shirt remained pristine.

It was more of a splashing that occurred when I threw the empty spinach salad plate into the trash, splattering my crisp white shirt with a yellowish, oily, fishy smelling melange.

I know from experience that trying to clean such a stain is futile and will only serve to frame the stain and help announce it more prominently. I may as well just draw big arrows on my shirt pointing to it. Not to mention the fact that my meeting was less than 20 minutes away and there was no way my shirt would have time to dry and I would have to walk to my meeting through the public hallways of the building wearing a wet white shirt that you could see right through.

No way man. The stain remained. I went to my meeting.

You'd think that I would know how to handle myself in such situations. Ignore it. Tell myself they probably won't even notice the stain on my shirt and move on. Act every bit the educated, professional and accomplished woman I know that I am.

You'd think that wouldn't you.

No.

I arrived at the meeting and when I introduced myself and reached out to shake hands with the person I was meeting I noticed her eyes dip directly to the very prominent stain on my chest. I pointed to the spot with my other hand and said with sarcastic pride,

"That's a new modern art broach, I wore it special for our meeting today. If you like it I know where I can get one for you too."

Thankfully she laughed.

Hours later I discovered giant globs of spinach stuck in my teeth as well.

I am a hillbilly.

Sometimes It Is Simply Easier Not to Ask Why

I was trying to think of a clever way to let you know that I've posted over at Burt Reynolds Mustache today and this is the best that I could come up with:

Now imagine the effort that I took to follow through with this endeavor.

1. The battery was dead in the camera so I had to charge it first.

2. I had to enlarge the mustache graphic and print it.

3. The printer was low on ink, so I had to replace the cartridge.

4. I stood in front of the shower curtain of our master bathroom where the light is best, donning a cut out paper mustache that I had scotch taped to my face.

5. Now please re-read number 4 to fully grasp the idiotic nature of my little project.

6. I had to hurry and do all of these things before my husband came inside from slaving away outside doing yard work and caught me in the act of any of the items listed above, thus discovering the true nature of my ridiculousness, causing him to leave me for someone more mature.

7. I had to destroy the evidence.

After all that trouble I had no choice but to put the damn photo up, and just in case you want to play along:

i-ron-y - consisting of, containing, or resembling iron

Hey Mr. DJ, the older man who sits in the cubicle next to mine, uses the phrase "think outside the box" ALL THE TIME. Like all day long when he is discussing one of his current projects on the phone with people. While I like Hey Mr. DJ very much, I really hate this phrase and want to "box" his ears when I hear him say it to random people all ding-dong day.

What does it mean, really? It sounds like something you might learn at mime school.

He's trapped inside an invisible box and he can't think of any other words or phrases to use to describe thinking of things in new way. I firmly believe that people who continue say it, years after Taco Bell used it for their "Think Outside the Bun" tag line, are lacking, for example, Freshness, Originality, Innovation, Creativity, Resourcefulness, and Vision, and need to think outside the fucking box.


In other news...


I have pre-ordered the newest Sims2 expansion pack and it should be arriving early next month. It's called "Free Time", in which the Sims can now have hobbies like sewing, ballet, belly dancing, sports, etc.. They can even restore old cars.

It's very exciting and I've been on tenterhooks, waiting for this expansion pack to become available since December when I first heard about it. It sounds painful, no?

Anyhoo... Now my Sims can have interesting hobbies to help them pass the time, and yet the closest thing I have to a hobby, other than blogging, is playing the Sims.

I see the irony of this and I really don't care.

Hi! It's so nice to meet you, I'm Insane.

Late on Sunday morning, the coldest day of the year so far at minus 20, we lost power. It was really no big deal to me, but my husband suddenly sprang loose from his moorings on the sofa and began a freak out of epic proportions, convinced that we were sure to freeze to death within the first 15 minutes of being off the grid.

He thinks I don't take these kinds of situations seriously enough. I, on the other hand, think he needs to calm the fuck down.

I humored him for the first half hour by putting on shoes and a cardigan, packing up the cat supplies, and playing along with him as though it was the end of the world by preparing for evacuation or nesting a bunker (I packed sandwiches). He always gets a little nutty during thunderstorms, tornado activity (it only has to be in the same state for him to make us retreat to the basement) and turbulent air travel, but this was his first winter weather related freak out and it threw me for a loop.

I don't get too worked up about losing power. Actually, I lived poor for so long that my first instinct is to check to make sure the electric bill is paid. After that I tend to use a relaxing "wait and see" tactic, which may or may not involve reading a book or magazine by candlelight and has always worked for me in the past.

That is not to say that I'm not proactive and sit passively by. No no. I have devised a plan of action:

Phase One: Relax and read a book or magazine.

Phase Two: Make a hotel reservation in case the power is off for an extended period of time and we really do need to bug out.

Phase Three: Call the power company periodically to listen for restoration updates on a recorded message.

Phase Four: Alternate Phases One and Three as needed.

Phase Five: Cancel hotel reservation when the juice comes back on.

The power was restored after just under 2 hours and the temperature in the house had only dropped down to 64 degrees. We all survived unharmed and without the slightest hint of frostbite, although I seriously considered beating MDH unconscious with my cell phone during the ordeal when he demanded that I call everyone we know to see if they had lost power too.

What good would that have done, now really?

Even if our friends and relations were without power what would we have to discuss? How dark is it where you are? What magazine are you reading? I felt it wiser to save the cell phone batteries for calls of more pressing matters.

Later on that same evening our cable went out and with it our Internet connection. MDH heaved a large sigh and went to bed. It was 6pm. It came back on several hours later, but we've had a shaky connection ever since. With the cable, I mean.

Anyhoo... It all sounds like a good excuse for me not to have posted or written anything for the last couple of days, but it wouldn't be true.

MDH freaks out over random acts of nature over which we have no control and I freak out over things of an internal nature.

I haven't written or posted anything because I'm a whack job, getting whackier by the minute. Every minute of every day that leads closer to 8:30am tomorrow when I report for work for the first time in several months.

Maybe it would be less weird if I'd had a normal job prior to this new one.

I've worked from home for the last 4 years.

At my last job I had no coworkers and only talked to my boss once every couple of months. I didn't even have to get dressed, put on make up or wear shoes. I traveled a lot yes, and I wore shoes for that, but when I wasn't on the road I was here in this very same spot where I'm typing this very second.

Tomorrow begins a lifestyle of all new rituals that involve showering every morning at the same time, wearing clothes, making sure the car has plenty of gas and then driving it to a big building. Of course then I'll probably have to get out of the car and interact with people.

I've been working some job or other since I was 13 years old. I have done just about everything short of hooking and stripping:

Babysitter

Housekeeper - it was my parents house but hey, they paid me for it and I will tell you that I was so good at it that within weeks after I quit to go to college my mother hired a maid.

Made Muffins in Dixie Cups with a mircowave in an appliance store (I don't really know the job title for this one)

Retail Cashier

Recovery Specialist - this is the person who goes around with a shopping cart and puts the merchandise in the store back where it belongs when asshats change their minds and just drop shit randomly wherever they happen to be.

Retail Manager - at a kitchen supply and specialty coffee store where I was fired for allegedly having friends in the store after hours. It was untrue, but I got shit canned anyway.

Secretary at a fire restoration company where I was fired for allegedly being rude to a customer, but it also happened the same week that my boss, the owner's wife, found out that her husband had mauled and tried to kiss me one evening when he drove me home from work. I should've known his motives. Bastard.

Accounts Payable Clerk where I was fired for not getting an executive's end of year expense report in on time. We actually did the expense reports for these useless retarded worms because they were too stupid and lazy to do them by themselves. He hadn't given me all of his receipts until it was too late and I tried to cover it up for him. My bad. On the upside, this is the job where I met Amy.

Secretary for a small contractor - one of the best jobs I have ever had. I was the only woman among 20 or so nasty men that I adored and who mostly adored me. I picked up the fun nickname "Crazy Bitch", but this company had tuition reimbursement which enabled me to go back to school and get my degree.

After that I had various IT jobs:

• Website Designer - boring and lonely
• IT Specialist - my boss was a mean old toad
• EDI Coordinator - same mean old toad boss
• Software Trainer/Veterinary Practice Consultant - traveling around to Vet Clinics probably in a town near you

Starting tomorrow I'm going to sit in a woven polyester cube, mining data and whipping out spreadsheets for 9 to 10 hours a day.

Lot's of other people do this, right?

I snagged the graphic at top from here.

How To Be Puerile... Butts 'R Funny

Chuck Norris has been in the news quite a lot lately. Mainly because he has apparently been surgically attached to the hip of Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee.

Every time I see Chuck Norris I fall into a fit of giggles because Amy and I used to call his old TV show Walker, Texas Butthole. Although we never watched this show, calling it Walker, Texas Butthole was very entertaining to the point that sometimes I forget the real title.

Anyhoo... We eventually added the word butt or butthole to any other movie or show we found objectionable and the result was always amusing.

Since I've been seeing so much of him lately and I am mostly unfamiliar with his body of work I thought it would be fun to visit IMDB and see what other of Chuck Norris's titles could be similarly abused. To my idiotic delight, quite a few:

Butthole! Butthole! (1977)
Tagline: A town without justice. A butthole without fear.
Plot: Truck driver searches for his butthole, who has disappeared in a town run by a corrupt judge. Karate ensues.




Buttholes Wear Black (1978)
Tagline: The C.I.A. can't afford John T. Booker... alive.
Plot: An ex-US Army commando must find the reason why buttholes from his unit are being systematically murdered before he is next. Karate ensues.


A Force of Butt (1979)
Tagline: He hears the butthole. He sees the butthole. He's the only butthole who can stop the killing.
Plot: A team of undercover buttholes is conducting an investigation when things mysteriously begin to go haywire. Karate ensues.


Lone Wolf McButthole (1983)
Tagline: The 'Mad Dog' Criminal...The 'Lone Butthole' Lawman...The Ultimate Showdown.
Plot: The archetypal renegade Texas Butthole wages war against a drug kingpin with automatic weapons, his butthole and martial arts after a gun battle leaves his partner dead. Karate ensues.

Our fun little juvenile game translates well to some other titles from TV shows and movies that got way more attention and accolades than they deserved and/or feature actors I dislike:

Touched By a Butthole







Buttlock

Diagnosis Butthole

Dances With Head Up Butt

Message In A Butthole