Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Weirdness
Last night when I walked in near the end of my dinner hour, I was told "some guy" called for me. Didn't leave a message, except to say he'd "call back."
I called my Sweetie, who informed me that it wasn't him.
When I got home, my Sweetie said it wasn't the Toad, either.
Thinking about it today, I can honestly say that there is no "some guy" who would call me at work for any reason, especially between 5 and 6 pm.
Now, I wonder if I really do have a stalker. I work tonight. I hope that if "some guy" calls again, I get the call and can find out who it was.
(As a side note, one of the first customers I encountered during my shift made the comment, "Oh, you're married?!" which was weird, too.)
I called my Sweetie, who informed me that it wasn't him.
No one called back.
When I got home, my Sweetie said it wasn't the Toad, either.
Thinking about it today, I can honestly say that there is no "some guy" who would call me at work for any reason, especially between 5 and 6 pm.
Now, I wonder if I really do have a stalker. I work tonight. I hope that if "some guy" calls again, I get the call and can find out who it was.
(As a side note, one of the first customers I encountered during my shift made the comment, "Oh, you're married?!" which was weird, too.)
Monday, October 06, 2008
Mumplelove
This is yet another TMI post, so if you already know more about me than you ever really wanted to know about anybody, scroll on by!
Lately, I've discovered that the *Peak* I hit in my thirties was NOTHING compared to the *Peak* I'm hitting in my forties.
This time 'round, though, it comes with a price--and that price is called shaving. I shave several body parts several times a week.
Last night I had to BEG my Sweetie to not be anywhere near me. I had to keep telling him to "stop that" and honestly, all he was doing was sitting there, minding his own business. I had an exam this morning, and follow-thru would mess with results.
I've been this way for about 3 weeks. It's not pretty. I walk funny. And it hurts sometimes, if there's no follow-thru.
At this rate, with all the shaving and repercussions that come with a wind-shift, I am becoming one of the teenage boys that irritate me. (Although, my Sweetie is not complaining. He says it's not a problem...no, no. Not a problem at all.)
Lately, I've discovered that the *Peak* I hit in my thirties was NOTHING compared to the *Peak* I'm hitting in my forties.
This time 'round, though, it comes with a price--and that price is called shaving. I shave several body parts several times a week.
Last night I had to BEG my Sweetie to not be anywhere near me. I had to keep telling him to "stop that" and honestly, all he was doing was sitting there, minding his own business. I had an exam this morning, and follow-thru would mess with results.
I've been this way for about 3 weeks. It's not pretty. I walk funny. And it hurts sometimes, if there's no follow-thru.
At this rate, with all the shaving and repercussions that come with a wind-shift, I am becoming one of the teenage boys that irritate me. (Although, my Sweetie is not complaining. He says it's not a problem...no, no. Not a problem at all.)
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thanks
You know who you are (and don't let your head get any fatter for it)
I don't have my English to English dictionary handy, but thanks for the pennies.
I don't have my English to English dictionary handy, but thanks for the pennies.
Searching For My Lost Shaker of Salt
Lo and behold, I've made everyone around me at least as miserable as I've been, and they've decided to spare themselves further misery. They moved me back outside.
I am beside myself with a multitude of emotions, the biggest one being nauseated.
Why?
Recently, I've discovered the most ginormous slug--EVER. I swear to God, at one point, I thought it was a smallish manager. Then I noticed it wasn't wearing glasses and I knew it was just a slug. (For the record, a ginormous slug and a smallish manager are roughly the same size--and size, is, of course, relative.)
Out There, I've seen all manner of Skeeve-Me-Out Things: rats, mice, small frogs, large toads (no relation to mine, btw), UFB (unidentified flying bugs), UHB (unidentified hopping bugs), UCB (crawlers), spiders big enough to have their own zip codes, moths as big as my head...you get the picture. And it's making my skin crawl.
Lately, all I've been finding are oozy, slimy, gag-inducing slugs. And it's like seeing the Princess's pasty white butt crack--it's impossible to look away.
Since I'm not allowed to have a camera with at me work (and even if my cellphone were charged, it doesn't take pictures, and I'm not allowed to have it with me either), I had to (gag) model the thing, true-to-life size in (gag) play-doh. (Scale 1:1)
The Ginormous Slug
The smallish manager
Together, for comparison.
I am beside myself with a multitude of emotions, the biggest one being nauseated.
Why?
Recently, I've discovered the most ginormous slug--EVER. I swear to God, at one point, I thought it was a smallish manager. Then I noticed it wasn't wearing glasses and I knew it was just a slug. (For the record, a ginormous slug and a smallish manager are roughly the same size--and size, is, of course, relative.)
Out There, I've seen all manner of Skeeve-Me-Out Things: rats, mice, small frogs, large toads (no relation to mine, btw), UFB (unidentified flying bugs), UHB (unidentified hopping bugs), UCB (crawlers), spiders big enough to have their own zip codes, moths as big as my head...you get the picture. And it's making my skin crawl.
Lately, all I've been finding are oozy, slimy, gag-inducing slugs. And it's like seeing the Princess's pasty white butt crack--it's impossible to look away.
Since I'm not allowed to have a camera with at me work (and even if my cellphone were charged, it doesn't take pictures, and I'm not allowed to have it with me either), I had to (gag) model the thing, true-to-life size in (gag) play-doh. (Scale 1:1)
The Ginormous Slug
The smallish manager
Together, for comparison.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Shaft
Here's another one for the "I didn't need to know that file:"
After the Howler was born, my Sweetie and I had to decide what to do about birth control. We did a two year stint of raincoats and prayer. Finally, something had to give, and my Sweetie, God Bless Him, gave himself up.
He got snipped. And I got to hear the "OOPS" stories of everyone else's snippage stories. "She got pregnant before it finally took" and "It didn't take, and he didn't get the 'shootin' blanks' test..." blah blah blah.
For the record, he got snipped; we continued with the raincoats and prayer BC methods UNTIL he got the "shootin' blanks" okie-dokie.
My mother, on the other hand, before the surgery (but after the initial appointment with the surgeon) and immediately following the surgery, was like a woman obsessed with my husband's privates.
It was bizarre.
She called me repeatedly to tell me that he simply must shave "the shaft, because, you know, it's hairy too." Not that she'd ever SEEN his shaft, but, because, you know, it must be.
Anyway, after about two or three of these calls, I was annoyed, and more than a little disturbed by the fact that my mother was spending so much of her free time thinking about, you know, my Sweetie's shaft.
I remained skeeved, but only said "And you know this because you, yourself, have had so many vasectomies?" She told me to not be "smart."
A few days after the surgery, my brother called and informed me that my mother, God love her, invited my sister-in-law to lunch. I figured he was just trying to bore me, but, no, I'm not that lucky.
Turns out that Mom realized I wasn't listening, so she turned to her "bonus daughter" (a very polite woman who definitely did NOT want to hear, or think, about my Sweetie's shaft) and my poor unsuspecting sister-in-law happily agreed to have lunch with Mom.
Apparently Mom spent lunchtime going into great detail about the snippage. Including using her gestures to get the point across. My sister-in-law spent the time in unbelieving silence. She's trying to eat, and her mother-in-law is giving her a blow-by-blow rendition of snippage, from the first shave stroke all the was through to the details of where the stitches are. Mom is great for using hand gestures for emphasis, too.
There are now two of us skeeved by what my mother is spending her time thinking about.
Weeks later, I'm in the car with Mom, and she starts on the subject of shaving shafts again.
So I responded with, "Mom, how many blow jobs have you given that you needed to spit out hair afterwards?"
She almost wrecked the car.
Then, "You're vulgar."
"YOU are the one spending so much time and energy thinking about my Sweetie's shaft."
It's now 4 years later, and I can effectively get Mom to leave the room by making ANY number of references to male private parts. I also don't have to listen to her "jokes" about my sex life, and if she forgets, I simply say the most "vulgar" thing that comes to mind--and I get an immediate change-of-subject. This is a highly valued skill in my tribe.
It's highly amusing to my brother and sister, and I get a high-five from my brother's wife every time.
After the Howler was born, my Sweetie and I had to decide what to do about birth control. We did a two year stint of raincoats and prayer. Finally, something had to give, and my Sweetie, God Bless Him, gave himself up.
He got snipped. And I got to hear the "OOPS" stories of everyone else's snippage stories. "She got pregnant before it finally took" and "It didn't take, and he didn't get the 'shootin' blanks' test..." blah blah blah.
For the record, he got snipped; we continued with the raincoats and prayer BC methods UNTIL he got the "shootin' blanks" okie-dokie.
My mother, on the other hand, before the surgery (but after the initial appointment with the surgeon) and immediately following the surgery, was like a woman obsessed with my husband's privates.
It was bizarre.
She called me repeatedly to tell me that he simply must shave "the shaft, because, you know, it's hairy too." Not that she'd ever SEEN his shaft, but, because, you know, it must be.
Anyway, after about two or three of these calls, I was annoyed, and more than a little disturbed by the fact that my mother was spending so much of her free time thinking about, you know, my Sweetie's shaft.
I remained skeeved, but only said "And you know this because you, yourself, have had so many vasectomies?" She told me to not be "smart."
A few days after the surgery, my brother called and informed me that my mother, God love her, invited my sister-in-law to lunch. I figured he was just trying to bore me, but, no, I'm not that lucky.
Turns out that Mom realized I wasn't listening, so she turned to her "bonus daughter" (a very polite woman who definitely did NOT want to hear, or think, about my Sweetie's shaft) and my poor unsuspecting sister-in-law happily agreed to have lunch with Mom.
Apparently Mom spent lunchtime going into great detail about the snippage. Including using her gestures to get the point across. My sister-in-law spent the time in unbelieving silence. She's trying to eat, and her mother-in-law is giving her a blow-by-blow rendition of snippage, from the first shave stroke all the was through to the details of where the stitches are. Mom is great for using hand gestures for emphasis, too.
There are now two of us skeeved by what my mother is spending her time thinking about.
Weeks later, I'm in the car with Mom, and she starts on the subject of shaving shafts again.
So I responded with, "Mom, how many blow jobs have you given that you needed to spit out hair afterwards?"
She almost wrecked the car.
Then, "You're vulgar."
"YOU are the one spending so much time and energy thinking about my Sweetie's shaft."
It's now 4 years later, and I can effectively get Mom to leave the room by making ANY number of references to male private parts. I also don't have to listen to her "jokes" about my sex life, and if she forgets, I simply say the most "vulgar" thing that comes to mind--and I get an immediate change-of-subject. This is a highly valued skill in my tribe.
It's highly amusing to my brother and sister, and I get a high-five from my brother's wife every time.
Monday, September 15, 2008
What Is It
with you women?
I mean, I am one, but most of what I experience in frustration and anger in dealing with adults is from interaction with other women. (Not that men don't irritate me, it's just that women seem to actually work at pissing me off.) And in most cases, with men, it's either something that in the long run doesn't matter, or can be worked through and improved.
Women, on the other hand, seem to single me out for their sociopathic episodes. And there's no working through it--have a woman decide that she must destroy you, and I guarantee you, even if you are a self-confident person who does not allow pettiness to grind you down, you will end up questioning who you are, and more importantly, what, exactly, makes you a target.
Most times, other women simply cannot stand to see another woman earn respect. They can't tolerate when another woman is good at her job. They can't get over whatever it is about you that deviates from what they consider "the norm." And, sometimes, she's just a bully who can't stand the idea that while many scurry and cower, you don't.
It doesn't really matter, because mostly, I'm just plain sick and tired of being their target.
With men, no matter how obnoxious their sociopathic idiocy gets, you can usually either earn their respect, or confront them in some fashion that causes them to get over it. With women, confrontation makes you the one picking a fight, and even if you've journaled it and even a blind man can see the pattern of hostile and deliberately baiting behavior, you are the one who is crazy and paranoid.
And at some point, you feel crazy and paranoid.
So far, in the past 8 years at this job, I've dealt with just this kind of crap from one woman or another. (And in the one case it was a man doing it, it was centered on an incident--which I was in no way involved, btw--with a truly mean, crazy, and evil woman.)
Let me say for the record, it's getting old. It's getting boring. I am finding myself with a lowest tolerance level for it. I've learned all there is to glean from being some bully's target, and it's time for the universe, karma, or whatever-the-hell-it-is to get over it and move on.
I mean, I am one, but most of what I experience in frustration and anger in dealing with adults is from interaction with other women. (Not that men don't irritate me, it's just that women seem to actually work at pissing me off.) And in most cases, with men, it's either something that in the long run doesn't matter, or can be worked through and improved.
Women, on the other hand, seem to single me out for their sociopathic episodes. And there's no working through it--have a woman decide that she must destroy you, and I guarantee you, even if you are a self-confident person who does not allow pettiness to grind you down, you will end up questioning who you are, and more importantly, what, exactly, makes you a target.
Most times, other women simply cannot stand to see another woman earn respect. They can't tolerate when another woman is good at her job. They can't get over whatever it is about you that deviates from what they consider "the norm." And, sometimes, she's just a bully who can't stand the idea that while many scurry and cower, you don't.
It doesn't really matter, because mostly, I'm just plain sick and tired of being their target.
With men, no matter how obnoxious their sociopathic idiocy gets, you can usually either earn their respect, or confront them in some fashion that causes them to get over it. With women, confrontation makes you the one picking a fight, and even if you've journaled it and even a blind man can see the pattern of hostile and deliberately baiting behavior, you are the one who is crazy and paranoid.
And at some point, you feel crazy and paranoid.
So far, in the past 8 years at this job, I've dealt with just this kind of crap from one woman or another. (And in the one case it was a man doing it, it was centered on an incident--which I was in no way involved, btw--with a truly mean, crazy, and evil woman.)
Let me say for the record, it's getting old. It's getting boring. I am finding myself with a lowest tolerance level for it. I've learned all there is to glean from being some bully's target, and it's time for the universe, karma, or whatever-the-hell-it-is to get over it and move on.
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