Daisy... daisy...

I bought this little solar-powered dancing daisy at the Will Rogers World Airport. 

I think everybody needs one!

(And, yes, my desk is that cluttered. Sue me.)

Really?

There's a pub across the street from my office where a lot of us go after work.

Beau and our friend Fuzz go over there daily.

Beau is charming, handsome, nice, a regular, and a great tipper.

In other words, waitresses love him. Lots of women do, and I made my peace with that years ago. Beau knows on which side his bread is buttered. I trust him. 

But every so often, one of those ladies gets under my skin a little bit.

Whenever Beau and I walk in to the pub together, the waitresses all faun and say hi and call him little nicknames. And he introduces me and we all chat.

But there's one who comes up and hangs on him and chats forever. Beau has introduced me to her three or four times, but she can never quite remember my name.

That wouldn't irritate me if... WE DIDN'T HAVE THE SAME DAMN NAME!

Please secure your own mask before assisting others...

A big-shot director is sitting in one of the empty cubes by my office to "see how things work" on my floor.

He's a really nice guy.

But with the amount of sucking up going on around here, I'm afraid we're going to lose cabin pressure.

We have high ceilings; I hope those masks have loooooong tubes when they drop.

Things I've Learned This Week

• Why they have handles on the walls in airplane bathrooms (because, when you finally break down and use one, that is EXACTLY when your flight hits an insane pocket of turbulence). 
• Putting potato peels in the garbage disposal is a gross, stinky $200 mistake. 
• Pregnant flight attendants are some of the grumpiest people on earth. 
• I really kind of like my new healthy diet; it makes me feel better. 
• I also like having donuts for breakfast (I'm a cornucopia of contradictions). 
• Even if I spend only one hour in my old hometown, I'll still run into a high school classmate (it's that kind of town).
• Being nerdy bookworm comes in handy when you're playing trivia board games. 
• My mother has no idea how to change a tire.
• The Oklahoma City airport is not only named after a man who died in a plane crash (Will Rogers), but you also have to cross Amelia Earhart Drive to get to it.
• There's a vineyard in Anadarko, Oklahoma. 
• The Indian food you cook at home never tastes as good as what you get in a restaurant, and your house will smell like curry for days.
• Going to the dentist is never as horrible as you think it will be.
• Being a damsel in distress will always work in the south. 
• I love Beau enough to buy tickets to see Rush for his birthday (sigh). 
• It's always a good idea to take vacation time on Bring Your Child to Work Day. 
• People will always question your life choices, but if you're happy with them, that's all that matters. 
• My life is a nice one to come home to.

It's not personal, it's business (it's business you won't be getting)

Earlier in the week, Beau needed to cash a check and because my bank is within walking distance and his bank is miles away, we went to my bank.

Whenever you want to cash a check at my bank, they're veeeeery suspicious (they remind me of the folks at the animal shelter who, when you express interest in rescuing an animal, treat you as though you were the person who dropped the animal off at the shelter in the first place, but I digress). They want two forms of ID and (I shit you not) fingerprints to cash a check.

We explained that it was just more convenient to walk to my bank than for him to drive to his. Then they asked about the status of our relationship, which I thought was odd. When we said we were dating, the teller proceeded to tell me I should put Beau on my account. This, I felt, was over the line, because they don't know me or him or the status of our relationship. It was rude.

I've had similar experiences with this bank in the past. I understand that tellers are forced to upsell every single service the bank offers, but enough. A teller asked me if I wanted to sign up for overdraft. I said no. She asked if I was sure. I keep a close eye on my money, I said. I was rewarded with a dirty look and the response, Well, there's always a first time.

Rudeness as a sales tactic. Hmmmm. Interesting idea. Lucrative? No. But interesting.

This is not the first time I've dealt with this phenomenon. Once in a department store, a woman accosted my mother with the following sales pitch: I have just the thing for those bags under your eyes. Oh ya do, do ya? NO SALE. (And eff you, lady.)

And, the pièce de résistance, last week after Beau's art show (which went very well; I'm so proud of him!), we were out celebrating and a woman approached me. She told me I was so lovely! So beautiful! She went on and on! I blushed and thanked her for making my evening. Then she hit me with The Pitch: But your hair is all wrong. Long hair is not the look for you. It's dragging your entire face down. And you need to get rid of those bangs. Luckily, I'm a hair stylist...

Sigh.

But back to the bank. I got on their Web site and wrote an e-mail regarding the pushy oversell. I got back a perky form letter that didn't have anything to do with my complaint.

I replied to that one, and this time I threatened to pull my checking/savings out of the bank (which, I'm sure, struck fear into the hearts of Those In Charge; how could their banking establishment survive without the $26.42 I have in my checking account?).

And whaddaya know? They've promised (IN WRITING) never to try to sell me anything ever again. Lesson learned: pushy rudeness does not make the sale. It can, however, stop the seller in his or her tracks!

Funny Memory

An inscription in my 5th Grade yearbook (yes, we had them in elementary school; it was the south, where things are special) from a particularly snotty classmate:

Have a great good summer.

Love, Kristen

There will never be another

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

"He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete."

The Great Gatsby
Chapter 6, Gatsby on his first kiss with Daisy.

Bad Boss

A shiver just ran down your spine, didn’t it? You’re thinking of that one person who made (or makes) your professional life a living hell.

We’ve all had at least one.

My first real job out of college introduced me to a doozy of a boss. On my first day, she took me to lunch and completely unloaded. She was sleeping with a married man (who also worked for the company), she was overly attached to her adult son (you have no idea how much), and she gambled more often than she should (at a casino named Bullwhacker’s—I subsequently started calling her Bullwhacker in my mind). At the end of the lunch, she said something to me that should have let me know then and there how the rest of my tenure at that office was going to go: I know you’re highly educated and I’m not, but you’ll only go so far in this company and you’ll never have my job.

From that point on, Bullwhacker worked overtime to hold me down and make me feel like dirt. She told me she was watching me and knew when I was stealing time from the company (I wasn't). She told me she sat in the parking lot and watched my car to be sure I didn't leave even five minutes early. She never gave me direction on what she wanted me to do and then landed on me like a pit bull on a poodle when everything wasn't to her exact specifications. She trashed my reputation to her boss (which puzzled him, because he told me he was happy with my work).

Every morning, I drove into the parking lot, rested my head on the steering wheel, willed myself not to cry, and then walked into the office. 

The pinnacle of the Bullwhacker treatment came on the day I heard her screech my name from her office. I walked in, and she said:

I seem to have dropped some M&M’s on the floor of my office. I'm going to need you to get on your hands and knees and pick them up for me.

And I, being the naïve young woman I was back then, complied.

Ten minutes later, she called me in again.

Oops! I seem to have dropped some more M&M’s. I’ll need you to pick those up too. 

A little while after that, I decided that it was better to have my dignity and self-respect than it was to have a glamorous entry-level job.

I quit. The eight months I spent under her thumb felt like eight years.

On my last day, my best friend came to pick me up from work. She grabbed my box of stuff and rushed me out of the door like she was helping me escape from an abusive boyfriend.

The only good thing I can say about old Bullwhacker is that she gave me an appreciation for the good boss I have now. I'm thankful for her every day I walk into work and realize that I didn't spend time with my head on the steering wheel before I got out of the car.

*Sigh* None for Me, Thanks

It looks like my Twinkie free-for-all is over. I have to break up my hot threesome with Ben and Jerry. My 80:20 crap to veggies ratio is a thing of the past. Come Cookie Season, the Girl Scouts are gonna have to find a new sucka.

Turns out my triglycerides are too high (which, I'm sure, will shock those of you who read my ode to candy conversation hearts awhile back).

And, because that's a problem in the family history, I guess I should pay attention.

I did some research on the diet that helps lower triglycerides naturally. This is how it shakes out:

• No fried foods. (Ok, that's not really a problem. I don't eat much fried food as it is.)
• No fatty meats. (Eh, I don't eat a lot of meat either.)
• No full-sugar sodas or fruit juices. (I start my day with a Diet Pepsi, so no biggie there.)
• No white breads, rice, or pasta. (Wait. Does that include pizza? What about shrimp lo mein? Whimper... whimper.)
• No cookies, cakes, pies, and especially no donuts. (But...)
• No candy or chips. (You're killing me, here.)

And then I got the worst of the news:

• Limit alcohol intake to a maximum of one drink per day. (WHAT??? Nooooooo! It can't be true. Wine is GOOD for you. GOOD, I say! Why must bad things happen to good people? Why, God? WHY???)

So, after I came in off of the ledge, I started getting rid of the foods I shouldn't have and started buying foods I should. It's not all bad; a lot of the foods I'm supposed to like are foods I actually do like quite a bit. But at the end of a long day at work, it's just not as easy to relax after a glass or two of chickpeas. When my birthday rolls around, I don't want to see a candle stuck in a brown rice cake. When I go to the ballgame, I want a beer and a hotdog, not a sparkling water with a side of whole-wheat cous cous.

But I'm adjusting. It's not as hard as I thought it would be; when you have an actual reason to pass something up, it feels a bit better. But I still cheat a litle bit. A girl can't be good all the time.

The new regimen has changed a lot of things. The house has good cooking smell and there's more of a healthy atmosphere; even my appliances are relaxing a bit. My dryer has suddenly stopped shrinking my pants!!

Circus Folk

Last Friday, The Beau and I got free tickets to a circus. Well, it was more of a Cirque (it wasn't du Soleil, but it was more Soleil than Barnum & Bailey).

Beau's niece's boyfriend (let's call him Travis) was in the show, and he got us a pair of tickets. Beau's entire family is very creative and artistic, and they tend to pair up with other artists, creative types, etc. (which can only mean that Beau picked me in a fit of rebellion. Though, in my defense, I can draw a kick-ass rocket or tree--or a rocket-tree!-- in a pinch).

The show was downtown, and we sat with Travis' friends (who are jugglers by trade). The show was impressive and creepy in that way that Cirques typically are. You really appreciate the athleticism of the folks on the stage, but an act or two just give you the heebie-jeebies. The little Mongolian acrobat/contortionists who seemingly have no bones to speak of give me a bit of a chill. In my world, your pubic bone should not jut out at any time (but I guess it's an occupational hazard when you're imitating a jelly roll). I also get that it was an ooh-la-la moment for many men in the audience. And that's cool. No judgments.

Another odd act was a scene in which a fella (who was built like a brick shithouse) was suspended in the air by two straps. But every so often, they'd lower him into a bathtub (fully clothed--the fella, not the bathtub) and whip him back out so he could swing around and splash water everywhere (thinking back, it was oddly reminicent of that scene in Flashdance). He had a female dance partner, but she pretty much just stayed on the ground, writhing in his water droplets and helping to swing him around when his feet got within grabbing distance.

After the show, we waited around to meet Travis (who was exceptionally gracious and nice) and go out for a drink with him and his juggling friends. We all had a beer and listened to serious juggling talk because the jugglers had a show to do at 11:00 that night (I kid you not, we heard the following: Dude, I wish I'd brought more juggling equipment. Do you have any extra rings in your car? To which his buddy responded I have some rings, but they're kinda weird. You might not like them.). We hung around a bit, bought a round (which is what old folks do for whippersnappers), and left for home. One of the jugglers gave me her business card. It turns out that she's not only a juggler; she's a skillful, sexy burlesque juggler! I'll bet you didn't even know those existed.

It was a great night. It's not every weekend that I get to hang out with circus folk!