True Blood

Don't get me wrong. I'm totally hooked on it and love the Soft-Core Bayou Vampire Porn genre as much as the next person. (Niche marketing at its finest!)

(I don't have the fancy cable channels, so I have to wait for seasons to be available on Netflix; I haven't  finished Season 2 yet.)

But what is the attraction to Bill the Vampire?
He's kind of haggard looking and he pronounces Sookie's name like Sucky.

Haiku of the Day

Of course, editors
Purchase books to celebrate
Good yearly reviews!

Take it down a notch, Cruella deGreen

I ran across the street to Whole Foods for one item. But, as it usually goes when I run into any store for one item, I ended up getting a couple of other things too. It ended up being a bit of an armful.

While I paid, the checkout girl sighed, looked at me, and said Do you think you're going to be needing a bag today? It was a bit much to carry across the street, up three flights of stairs, and back to the office, so I answered Yes, if you wouldn't mind.

She looked at me like I was an eco-terrorist, bagged my items, and gave me a snarky smile.

I nearly apologized for needing a bag at the grocery store. It's a paper bag! I will recycle it! I recycle all paper items! Sheesh.

I have enough stress in my life without a guilt-ridden trip to an overpriced muckety-muck grocery store.

Ah, the things that bother us when we're young...

Beau's family was in town over the weekend, including his nieces. All of them were vivacious and beautiful and in their early 20s. Two of them are a lovely combination of Cambodian and Sicilian and other beautiful genes.

They're talented and slender. And as you might have guessed, they get a lot of attention.

We were sitting around the table one evening when the two of them launched into the following discussion:

... and I HATE being called "exotic."
Oh, God, I hate it too. 
If I get called "exotic" one. more. time...

My 36-year-old (and still cute, but definitely not 22-year-old) self sat there and smiled.

What is it about the human condition that does not allow us to enjoy life's riches as they're given to us (especially in our youth)?

Someone's Granddad

Flipped me the bird on my way in to work this morning.

And then we were forced to drive side by side for MILES.

It was a special and classy moment.

EVEN IF you're a new father...

who's talking to a new mother at work about the new and exciting world of parenting...

Your coworkers never want to hear you ask her the following out loud:

"Does your baby have nipple confusion and tear you apart?" 

(The new mother probably doesn't really want to hear that either.)

Haiku of the Day

Roll my eyes and sigh
I've lost patience regarding
Your temper tantrums

Pale-girl update

I was very excited to look down at my feet the other night and see very vague, very light criss-crosses on the tops of my feet from my flip-flops.

I'm "TAN"!!

Generational double-standard

My grandmother and I have a... different kind of relationship. We try to get along (and, believe it or not--and most of you won't after reading this--a lot of the time we do), but because we're so much alike (according to the folks who know us best), we know where all of the buttons are and push them (with glee) when it gets right down to it. We really got going when I hit puberty and started asserting my independence. We've gotten in some good licks over the years.

She has:

• Upon seeing me for the first time in over a year, said I do believe you've gained weight! instead of Hello or I've missed you.
• Asked me at Thanksgiving dinner if I've ever thought of running a comb through my hair. When I told her that you can't comb curly hair without making it frizzy, she replied Oh, I just thought you might want to look nice sometime.
• Given me a bathroom scale for Christmas. (Let's note here that I am healthy, and I don't have a weight problem.)
• Turned to me after watching Ghostbusters and said (in all seriousness) You know this is all make-believe, don't you? This didn't really happen. (I was 12.)
• Said Well, I don't know to me after ANY recitation of fact on my part.
  The sun rose this morning, Grandma.
  Well, I don't know.
• Told me, after I suffered through an abusive relationship and a torturous escape from it, Well, he sure was handsome.

You get the gist.

I, in return, have:

• Graduated from not one, but two major universities without landing a husband (cardinal sin in her eyes, not to mention a terrible waste of tuition money).
• Held it over her head that I learned to drive and she did not. When she backseat drives, I tell her that when she gets her license, she can tell me how to drive. 
• Refused to take her shit (which gets to her more than anything because everyone takes her shit). 
• Because she's a staunch teetotaler, I've occasionally tipped a glass in front of her. 
• When I was 13, terrorized her with the microwave (she did not have one at home and was frightened of them) by wrenching open the door while it was cooking and shoving my hand inside (multiple times) to freak her out. 
• Worn flip-flops, despite the fact that, according to her, I was not raised that way. Whatever that means. 

And it goes on. Tit for tat. It's just how we exist and communicate. But there's one thing about her and many of the women in her generation that I will simply never understand. She values men more than she values women. She defers to men on every occasion. Nothing a woman could say could ever be smarter than something a man could say. Nothing a woman does will ever outweigh what a man does.

Case in point, yesterday (Father's Day), Grandma was showing me the practicality of her wallet/purse combo (as opposed to the huge, impractical sack I lug around--whatever, 22 tubes of lipgloss won't fit into a wallet/purse). When we got to the pictures section, there was a picture of my ne'er-do-well, good-for-nothing step-brother who has not been around or done anything nice for or with the family in well over a decade (we don't even know where he lives). He's stolen from my parents and disrespected them in countless ways. But there his picture was (mine was nowhere to be seen, even though I've been there for every birthday, holiday, and family function and/or emergency).

But alas, he sure was handsome in that wallet photo.

Mmmmmm.... donuts

Since I've started this new (mandatory) heart-healthy diet, I find myself fantasizing about eating donuts.

A lot.

I think about donuts with the frequency and longing of a Twihard thinking of that creepy vampire [Side note: those books suck ass; don't even try to defend them].

The coworker who thought there were 52 states? I named those states in my head: Donutland and Cheeseville. I'd love to visit this summer.

I haven't seen this particular episode, but in the opening credits of the Man vs. Food on the Travel Channel, Adam holds up a donut the size of Texas. It's bigger than his head. I doubt I'd succeed, but I'd sure love to give that challenge the old college try [Side note: how does he complete those insane eating challenges without 1) having a coronary and 2) suffering internal bleeding?].

I totally understand where Homer Simpson's coming from. 

And this entry has done nothing more than make me want more donuts.

Whimper.

Where are those damn rice cakes?

Overheard

My coworker down the hall has a daily trivia question. Today's question is: What's the only state with a one-syllable name*?

I shit you not, I just heard a coworker guess (wrongly) and say "Oh well, there are 52 states, so I'll just guess 51 more times."

Sigh.


*It's Maine.

Worst team name in history

Has to be the Crimson Tide.

Why not the Crimson Horde? Mob? Anything but TIDE!

Ah, the appreciation this job affords

I just plopped a large, copy-heavy, fully edited document on the desk of a coworker (writer of said large, copy-heavy document).

He looked down at it, said nothing, and went back to his computer as though nothing had happened.

Sigh.

Who doesn't know this?

Who doesn't know about the Courtesy Stall?

Apparently, a lot of you ladyfolk out there don't. So, for your edification, here goes. 

In the ladies' room, if there's someone already in a stall and you can put an empty stall between you, you do it. You give them the Courtesy Stall.

Women are so hyperaware of their bodily functions that, in the ladies' room, we're like men are at the movies (where they tend to put the we're not on a date seat between them). Only we're not worried that anybody will think we're on dates (we travel to the ladies' room in packs anyway). We just need our space. Why cozy up in that moment when you don't have to?

So next time you wander in, remember the Courtesy Stall, and act accordingly if you can.

And for those of you who answer the phone while you're on the pot, I just don't get you at all.

Riiiiiiiiing...


Hello? Oh hi!...[Flush]... Nothing, what are you doing? [Flush]

Yuckers.

Haiku of the Day

Angry Ted's waitress
Wearing last night's eye makeup
Glaring raccoon eyes

The perfectly right thing at the perfectly right time

Beau and I were chatting over a glass of wine last night about some friends of his who are coming to visit in July.

He's a nice guy, but he's bringing his new girlfriend with him, so it'll be kind of iffy.  I'm hoping you can come and be a buffer for part of the time they're here.

What does she do? 

I don't know. I think she hangs out in bars a lot.

*Sigh*

This has been the situation with many of Beau's pals over the years. They're all perfectly nice fellas, but their choices of women... suck. They date women who go batshit on them and end up in jail. Women who need (and get) allowances. Strippers (in all fairness, the stripper is a lovely woman, but after we've exchanged our Hello! What a cute dress! pleasantries, we've pretty much exhausted everything we have in common).

So I asked Beau, Why can't your buddies date women who are more like me so I'd have someone to play with when we hang out in groups?

Beau thought about it for a second and gave me a perfect response:

Because there are no other women like you out there.

That's it. I'm keepin' him.

Bitchflagged

I've detailed my annoyance with my bank's over-the-line sales tactics before. Especially when they tried to get me to put Beau on my account (after rudely inquiring about our relationship status at the counter). Who puts their boyfriend/girlfriend on their bank account??? (Two words: we don't.)

I sent a stern e-mail to the bank (I won't name the bank, but it sounds a lot like Smells Plargo), telling them that I don't appreciate the pressure tactics and that if it continued, (here's where I got really threatening) I'd take my $7.82 out of their bank and I'd take it to one of their competitors.

I got an immediate reply, apologizing for the tactics and promising that they'd never try to sell me anything again (online or in person).

I went to the bank to deposit a check yesterday. They chatted me up while they pulled up my account number. Then there was a bit of silence, an uncomfortable smile, and my check was deposited quickly.  I left with neither sales pitch nor incident.

Ladies and gentlemen, my account has been bitchflagged.

And it's soooooo freeing! I don't have to politely sit through high-pressure sales tactics! No more pretending!

Folks, good things come when you let your bitch flag fly!

My new swimsuit

Just in case you were thinking of buying the same one and showing up at the same beach party (how embarrassing would that be??).

It's the Victoria's Secret Topless Bikini (which seems to be a contradiction in terms; if anything, this is a one piece). Little did you know that you had the makings of a hot little swimsuit around the house. One pair of stretchy underpants, a shoestring, and you're done!

Gentlemen, start your engines

It's Intern Season here at the office.

Every summer, there's one magical day that my male coworkers look forward to. Intern Day (ooooooh! aaaaaaah!) is the modern office monkey's new Christmas.

The new crop arrived this morning; early-20-something coeds. Long, lean, nubile, and bedecked in  skin-tight finery.

I thought it was just another ordinary Monday until I heard a bunch of male whispers in the kitchen; I could only make out one word: intern!

Today is the day that they take the hatchlings on a tour through our buildings. The interns get their bearings; the rest of us get a show. There's the one guy who wore a tie (he won't live that down for the rest of the summer) and a gaggle of coiffed young ladies in tight skirts, tighter sweaters, and sky-high stilettos.

I've been in this office so long that Intern Day makes me chuckle. In a nutshell, a bunch of 40- and 50-somethings surround these girls for a couple of weeks (or until that new-intern smell wears off) and make utter fools of themselves. They get giggly and animated. And the girls are oblivious. It's really kind of cute. A harmless way to relive one's youth.  

Last year, we watched the sharks circle and pondered possible pickup lines that were being thrown out.

The winner by a mile was:

"Hey, Little Lady! Ever see a beer belly up close?"

:)

Dear black-patent peep-toe wedges*...

Why must our relationship be so one-sided?

I do nothing but love you, and in return, you do nothing but cause me pain.

I've given you a good home and lots of friends to play with.

I take you to nice places and show you off to my friends, and yet you continue to cut me like you don't even care.

And now you've done it. The band-aids are starting to come between us. The pain is getting to be too much.

I'm putting you in the corner; you can sit there while I take out all of your friends, and you can think about what you've done. 


*Peeps shown in picture are not the offending peeps.