Ah, the mixed messages we send our kids

I was at Target, scrounging for lunch (I totally forgot they have a Pizza Hut Express in there!!), which, of course, warranted a trip to the cosmetics aisle for a lipgloss run (if I told you how many lip products I carry in my purse at any given time, you'd lose any and all respect you had for me).

I found these obnoxious, child-sized press-on nails with the Lipsmackers on the end of the aisle.

The best part about them is the message painted on the flowered ones. You can't really make it out in the photo, but the writing on half of these plastic, non-degradable nails says GO GREEN!

Um, that's not my job

I'm a Gen-Xer.

And like almost every other Gen-Xer I know, I loathe the notion of the extreme sensitivity we're supposed to employ with the next generation.

The Millennials (Gen-Y) are very sensitive, very coddled, and very entitled. We've all heard the story about the fresh-out-of-college Millennial who turned down a $40k job because he didn't think it was enough money and it wasn't a good career step. Y'know, because hanging out on his mother's couch was a better career step.

Had that been me, not only would my dad have been furious, he would have kicked me off of his couch and out of his house for pulling a stunt like that.

I'll state right here and now that not all Millennials are like this. I work with some really fantastic kids. But, as they say, it's the bad apples that ruin the bunch.

And they've employed a juggernaut of a marketing machine to ensure that their demands are met.

The "rules" of working with a Millennial go something like this:

• Give them very structured hours. They don't like working overtime.
• Listen to them closely. They don't like it when they're not listened to. 
• Don't give them boring tasks. They don't like to be bored. 
• Make the workplace a super-fun place to be.

Etc., etc., etc.

Whatever happened to paying your dues? Working your way up? I cannot tell you how many copies I made and how many files I filed in my early jobs. It was my JOB. That's what I was paid to do. 

My favorite is the fact that they hate menial jobs. Don't ever ask them to make copies.

Hey kid! I need 46 copies of my ass. STAT!

Get off of the precious pedestal your folks put you on and get to work.

It's this kind of sexy banter that really keeps the magic alive

For the record, I've never told Beau I'd be somewhere and simply not. shown. up. That's not who I am, and he knows it.

Yet for some reason, he still feels compelled quiz me on when I'm leaving and when I'm going to arrive somewhere (usually calling while I'm on the road to see if I'm still on my way).

Which leads to adorable pithy exchanges like this.

BTW, T-Bone's not his name. It's a nickname that annoys him, so I, of course,
use it as his contact name in my phone.
Like I said, sparks flyin' everywhere.

Best story I've heard in the past five days

Beau's nephew Nate was in town with his girlfriend (only she's not his girlfriend... but she kind of seems like she is... it's complicated). They're sweet and adorable in the way that only 20-year-olds who motorcycle across the country can be.

We took them around to touristy spots (Buffalo Bill's grave--we seem to take everybody there, though it's not really that interesting). AND we saw a beautiful herd of buffalo up close. We were enthralled. They were less than enthralled with us. They withstood our oohs and aahs for awhile, then they pooped in our general direction and wandered off.

On our way down the mountain, Nate told us this great story.

He was in a tattoo shop, waiting on his artist, when a toothless crazed man burst in with a very important message:

EVERYBODY PAY IN CHANGE! THEY CAN'T TRACE CHANGE!

And then he was gone.

Douchebag on board

From afar, it looks... stupid.

Step closer.
It appears that someone has plunked down cash money to have this done.
On purpose

Step closer.

Yep, we've got a big-time doucher on our hands.

Conundrum at the pharmacy

While I was waiting for my turn at the pharmacy window, I glanced around at the many healing items for sale.

My eyes landed here, and my question to you is this:

Is calling someone a dummy a good first step on the road to managing anxiety and depression?

Cringeworthy memory

A long time ago (long before they divorced, she left the country, and she and I stopped talking to him altogether), I was very close friends with a married couple.

For my birthday, they bought tickets and planned to take me to a show at Red Rocks.

In an awful coincidence, their beloved cocker spaniel died on the day of the show. I told them we could skip the show and that I would completely understand.

Nope, they said. We were still going. But we needed some liquor to get through the night.

So the husband and I traipsed to the corner liquor store. As we wandered the aisles, I absentmindedly hummed along to the piped-in music, which just happened to be Mr. Bojangles.

(I'm sure, at this point, some of you can see where this is going.)

At what point in the song did I suddenly begin to sing along without even thinking about it?

You guessed it: The dog up and died, he up and died. After 20 years he still grieves.

Oh, Lordy! I felt like dirt when I saw the look on his face.

It's still an awful memory, but it's kinda funny too. I wince and chuckle (wuckle?) at it now. Totally 100% the kind of stupid thing I do on any given day.

Sigh.

*boop*

This makes me deliriously happy.

Pet peeve

It irritates me when people say I was in fear of my life when they really mean I was in fear for my life.

Big difference.

Hair comes the bride

As I've discussed before, I like to buy bridal magazines because I love pretty dresses and cake.

And the latest issue of Martha Stewart Weddings absolutely did not disappoint.

But I noticed something in this issue. The gowns in the ads are gorgeous. But look above the neck and each model looks like shit on a shovel. To say the hairstyles are atrocious is polite. I've picked some of my favorites to share.

Either she's an alien bride or she's smuggling a melon down the aisle.

The I-Raced-to-the Church-in-a-Convertible-Through-a-Wind-Tunnel look.

Spent some quality time on her back before she walked down the aisle.

And, of course, I saved the very best for last.

You'd be on the verge of tears too with this monstrosity on your head.

Overheard at a party

Proof that there's an idiot born every minute.

Why are you taking her word for it? For God's sake, she's the one who told us she accidentally smoked crack!

Me, the folks, and the ladygolfers

On Sunday, I went to the 2011 Women's Open at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs (home of insane zealotry).

My dad wanted to go, so we went for him (it was his birthday weekend). I'm not much into ladygolf. Or golf, really. And that's ok, because this was for Dad.

I wasn't supposed to take in a cell phone, but, as I'm sure you know by now, I'm a total rebel (aren't all editors??). :)

It's not like I took pictures of anything important.

Here's the biggest damn diamond I've ever seen in person. I swear this thing looked like a ring pop.

Sorry for the pixellation; I zoomed in to avoid arrest.

I took this golfer's photo because she had the cutest shoes by far.

And then we come to this photo.

This woman was (and I assume is, pretty much all the time) a bitch. And here's why. We were in two lines to get onto the shuttles to get back to our cars. The lines merged. And she assumed we were cutting in line. She went on the attack.

In short, she was very rude to my parents.

And I will not have that shit.

I tapped in to my inner bitch, stepped in, and gave as good as I got. I don't think she's used to people coming back at her when she's rude in public. She was completely taken aback.

Finally she spat out Fine! Get in line. But you get in line behind me.

Oh, I'll get in line behind you. I'll get in line RIGHT BEHIND YOU! And with that, I stood as close to her as possible.

We didn't have any more trouble with her after that.

I don't like confrontation. Especially not with angry strangers. But it's nice to know I can hold my own when the situation calls for it.

And everybody around us figured out pretty quickly that you do not mess with my family!

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

I had no idea

That Anderson Cooper's mom is Gloria Vanderbilt.

Did you?

Neighbors

Along with my bitter old-lady and HOA clipboard Nazi neighbors, I apparently have a new breed of BDA (Big Dumb Animal--you'll understand this name in a moment) neighbor.

Last night was nice and cool, so I left my front door open (but locked the screen, for those of you who are safety-concious).

At around 9:30, I heard barking dogs and raised voices. Apparently one neighbor (not the BDA) walked his dog by the door of the second neighbor's house, exciting their four highly excitable dogs (these dogs will go batshit over a butterfly or a kleenex; it doesn't take much).

The non-BDA went to the front door to apologize for upsetting the dogs.

The BDA went on attack.

YOUR DOG IS PROVOKING MY DOGS, MAN!


I know; that's why I came by to apologize. 


OH, IS THAT WHAT THIS IS???


Yes, I'm apologizing. 


DON'T EVER LET YOUR DOG DO THIS AGAIN. 


Ok, I'm sorry. 


YOU'RE SORRY? 


Yes. 


THAT'S IT! I'M STEPPIN OUT OF THIS HOUSE!

[At this point, BDA's girlfriend stepped in and calmed folks down. The normal guy quickly moved on, which made me happy; I didn't want to have to call the police.]

And then BDA did what earned him his name: He threw his head back and let out a ridiculous roar.

Yep.

And then he closed the door and I could still hear him doing it.

And then he came outside amd paced in front of the house, growling. Like a--you guessed it--Big. Dumb. Animal.

Sigh.

WTF is wrong with people?

This will always happen at a concert

At the point in the show when they play The Song. The ICan'tBelieveHe'sActuallyPlayingThis song. The song you've waited years (and all night) to hear live....

Some jackass (a stranger or someone in your own party--but definitely within earshot) will start yammering and nattering away as loudly as they possibly can, all but ruining it for you.

Sigh.

Makes me feel better every morning

Each morning while I'm putting on makeup, I make the ugliest/weirdest face possible and hold it until it makes me smile. It has a four-pronged effect:

1. It helps me not take myself so seriously
2. It makes me appreciate the face I have when it goes back to normal
3. Those flaws that were sooooo obvious earlier become a little harder to see
4. It's just funny

I highly suggest trying this.

It's an odd point of pride

But a point of pride nonetheless.

I've never dated a fella who's owned a Jagermeister T-shirt.

Something I'll bet you didn't know

For the first few years of his life, Ernest Hemingway's mother dressed him as a girl.

She was a nutter who wanted twin girls. She had his elder sister first. And when Ernest was born, she was disappointed that he was a boy. She often dressed brother and sister in matching dresses and hats and called him Ernestine.

Is it any wonder he grew up to be an alpha male with women issues?

Who do you see?

Last night, Beau and I took lots of pictures of fireworks (not firecrackers, dummy) because we're one of those ridiculous iPhone couples who compete with each other for the best photo.

This was one of mine. It's not a good photo, but there's totally a face in it (the white fogginess in the upper left corner). It's a hipstamatic photo, so I don't think anybody was trying to contact me from the great beyond. It's just an interesting shot.

I think it looks like Rosanna Rosannadanna.

Beau thinks it looks like Andre the Giant.

What do you think?

Coworker stops by my desk and says...

I had to go to the vet. Wanna know why? 

Me: Why?

Coworker: [flexes his arms] BECAUSE THESE PUPPIES ARE SICK! [Kisses bicep and walks off]

I love working here. :)

4th of July memory

When I was a little girl, we drove down to Castle Rock, Colorado, on the 4th to watch the show.

There was a big pile of gravel, and lots of little kids were playing in it.

As the sun started to go down and my mom waved for me to come back, I hollered at my brother Mike, hurry up! The firecrackers are about to start! 

At that point, this snotty boy (older than me) approached. They're fireWORKS, not fireCRACKERS, dummy, he spat.


Over 30 years later, I still wanna smack that kid. :)

This video will make you happy

Happy Friday!