Category Archives: work

The Snugg: Not to Be Confused With The Snuggie

We all know I would rock the shit out of a Snuggie right now, being that the weather has driven me to lose my morals regarding sleepwear and onesies, but that is not what this post is about.

A month ago, I received an e-mail from the people who created The Snugg, requesting a review of one of their products. I get quite a few of these request, and I don’t usually do reviews, but occasionally something peaks my interest. Remember the Shakoolie? Read the rest of this entry

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Waiting

There is a collection of children’s books that I acquired as a child. I remember precisely what their covers look like and how my mother sounded reading them to me. Some of them I read to myself in ritual fashion. Some of them I read to my Barbies when they weren’t being flung from my ceiling fan. These stories probably had more influence in shaping my young mind than I’ve realized before.

Today I thought about virtues. The image that flashes in my mind is the cover to a book whose home was among the Beanie Babies on a tiny bookshelf in my 6 year old self’s closet. The Book of Virtues. I can see the images in my mind, but for some reason I cannot recite to myself a single story, poem, or line from the book. I can practically smell the thing and feel the gaudy over-sized bow in my hair, but I can’t place a single word.

the book of virtues

What can this mean? That I could retain the concept of the importance of milk when giving a mouse a cookie but not a single learned moral quality from this book? Somehow I remember the prevailing quest of Corduroy the bear, the unconditional providing of The Giving Tree, and plights of The Tub People, but I am still at a loss for a mere morsel of the teachings of this “treasury.”

Maybe I don’t remember the character names or rhyming verses, but this book obviously taught me, if nothing else, what an actual virtue is. The general idea. The meaning of the word itself. I know that much. So let’s explore this for a moment.

“Patience is a virtue.” I can hear my mother speaking this phrase just as clearly as I can recall her reading to me from those books.

Patience is not something that I grasp well. I’ve always prided myself in having an extremely level head and impeccable moral compass. Much like Corduroy the bear, I understand the irrelevance of the materialistic. I make it a point to practice the selflessness depicted in The Giving Tree. I even put my drain plug in at all times in case my tub figurines come to life when I am away.

My battle with patience is a vastly different story.

Maybe this stems from the feeling that I have been constantly waiting on something my entire life. Waiting to be old enough to drive. Waiting to go off to college. Waiting to start working. Waiting for relationships to form, for someone to get me, for opportunities and excitement. Waiting for life to happen to me, when really I should have been actively seeking my own life.

waiting room

Even waiting rooms make me uneasy.

For this reason, when I want something desperately, I have an impossible time waiting to pursue it. To achieve an end result. My type of impatience has evolved in this sense, and it has its very own cycle. It all starts with a vision. An idea. It could be something as simple as deciding that I want to go rollerblading this weekend or as complex as deciding I want to move across the country by the time that I am twenty-five  (25tofly).

The initial phase is raw excitement. It begins as overwhelming, optimistic joy and certainty. However, seeing this idea to fruition is rarely immediate. After a while, anticipation can start to feel less promising and more draining. Sometimes circumstances are such that a goal takes many steps towards achieving. Some steps are less enthralling than others, and these steps take time. For me, that time often passes so slowly that it can be maddening.

It’s as if increasing the time that lapses between the establishment and accomplishment of my goal also increases the likelihood of failure. This isn’t necessarily always the case, yet the anxiety that I associate with the passing of time is unavoidable.

The point is that my impatience is a fear of waiting. Waiting is inevitable, so there is an ultimatum to reach in this cycle. I can allow the frustrations from my impatience to break me, or I can attempt to endure the home stretch. Right now I am approaching that ultimatum. I’m trying to holding out for the home stretch, and it is taking everything I’ve got.

Patience has not been my virtue, but maybe it can be.

Note: This post is out of character, but my goal here was to write something heartfelt instead of pumping out something in my typical style that was unmotivated. I want to extend a special thank you to Rich for talking me through this post and helping me to edit this piece efficiently. My friend, you certainly have no problems with patience.

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The End

My last post bestowed upon the world can not be a repost about fucking Tuesdays. I just can’t allow that to happen. It’s pathetic. Instead I made a meme, because Jen said they are cool, and we are a power couple, so there.

Keanu end of world

If you are a logical human being, you don’t think the world will suddenly end tomorrow in a clusterfuck of literally earth shattering natural phenomenons that will eventually result in me getting into a plane with John Cusack and an amateur pilot.

I am one of those logical people (reluctantly because I have a serious lady boner for John Cusack).

This doesn’t mean, however, that I will not use the ridiculous prediction to my advantage to get away with all kinds of unacceptable behavior between now and December 22nd. You should take advantage of this too. In fact, I started last night. Here are some examples to give your mind a head-start on coming up with risky ideas. Read the rest of this entry

Emotions: How Do They Work?

I don’t know if it is all of the lovely comments I received on yesterday’s post, the fact that Le Clown tried to help my wasteland Facebook page last night, or the fact that I stopped killing people with fiber wire for a few days, but I am a tad bit… emotional.

First, I heard about this story this morning on the radio.

dr. house it's not cancer

Word

If you are too lazy to read it, the gist of the story is that a principal gave two boys the option of holding hands for a while or suspension in response to their misconduct of fighting. I missed the first half of the story on the radio stating what the boys were in trouble for, so initially I couldn’t help but think, “Well that sounds like a punishment pulled right out of the homophobia jar”. It made me feel a bit dejected. Then I caught the full story and felt all merry and stuff. The boys were fighting. I believe that holding hands wasn’t a punishment, but  rather an opportunity to teach the kids a lesson of humanity. A kiss and make up kind of thing. Whether or not I am right or wrong, I will be running around with the can’t-we-all-just-get-along sentiment for the rest of the day.

Then, as if my eyes weren’t already swollen shut, the radio station announced an opportunity to see real snow here in south Louisiana where I am still wearing shorts and an ankle bracelet in the middle of December. Yes, they are apparently going to fill a part of town with “real” snow. I mean, I was wigging out with happy because of the snow on WordPress, but now they are manifesting the real stuff in the middle of my seventy-degrees-and-sunny town. The logistics of this event are still baffling my sensitive little mind, but who cares about logic when there is poorly frozen precipitation?

After I regained composure, and arrived to work right on time, then and only then did I promptly realize that my pants were ripped in a not so subtle area. It was too late to go home and change. Naturally. Sheer coincidence or life’s impeccable comedic timing? You tell me.

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What’s Hard, White, and Makes Me Look Rediculous?

A few weeks ago I moved into a new office. It is shiny, and I got to buy an office chair. I felt like such a pimp. An office supply pimp.

office chair

My main hoe. She glistens.

With new offices comes new responsibilities. It also comes with a little bit of celebratory seven layer dip that I may have eaten half of before bringing to the office. While we have enough dip to last us until next Cinco de Mayo, what we don’t have is a copy machine. I need to make copies. I am a big deal. Plus, copies are important, vital to business, and something about the bottom line.

In order to make copies I have to venture across a street to my company’s original building. I could probably walk. I certainly could drive my car. But, that’s not how we new-office-dwellers roll. This is how we roll:

golf cart

Did you know that golf cart is not actually spelled golf kart? I didn’t.

All of this is wonderful news, right? Yes, but let me get to the point. In order to crash drive into the main building with this pimpmobile, you have to drive through an area that requires that safety glasses and a hard hat be worn.

If you have read Why I Am Here, you are getting an A+. I am not sure on what, but it’s an honor, okay? If you read it, you would also know that I don’t own a hard hat. “Sadly”. Today, that has changed. Today, I must edit every bio I have ever released into the wild of the internet (because they are all the same). Today, I am legit. Read the rest of this entry

Forgive Me Friday

puss n boots

Something tells me that if my face could do this I wouldn’t have gotten all of those speeding tickets.

When there are times that I am wrong (rarely ever), I say I am wrong. This is one of those times. I’ll start by extending an apology to the late Mary Kay. I don’t assume it is good for one’s karma to insinuate that the deceased mogul resembles a cross dressing Dustin Hoffman. In my defense, I wasn’t aware she wasn’t still around until last night at the “party”. Obviously, I am not a Mary Kay historian.

I have to give the company the credit it truly deserves. My apology is for judging the mascara by its applicator so to speak. Don’t worry, I wasn’t talked into joining the cult. I am not quitting my day job nor my dream of becoming a writer to paint pouts and strut around in mink stoles (knowledge courtesy of  Ms. Carolina). However, my perception of Mary Kay as changed for the better. Prior to last night, those perceptions were frozen in time. The last impression I have of the brand dates back to ’02 when I couldn’t escape the sight of my best friend’s high-resolution eye shadow every day in math class. She always bragged that it was Mary Kay and that her mother was a beauty consultant… so of course she knew what she was doing.

The truth is that I actually ended up buying about seventy dollars worth of the stuff and my purchases weren’t even influenced by friend-guilt. Well played Mary Kay, well played.

My second apology is to those of you who read this blog and is in regards to my post about not telling your friends if you plan to quit smoking. I am a lying hypocrite. Why? Because I did tell my friends. I told all of you. I consider anyone a friend who takes the time to read my junk (that’s what she said?). So, I apologize for not taking my own advice, and I sincerely thank all my blogging friends for being such dashing human beings. Unless you don’t think we are friends, in which case I hope you choke on a mink stole.

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10 Things You Should Know About Your First “Real” Job

letter opener

Not just some strange office supply guillotine

1. Go ahead and come to terms with the fact that after the initial month or so of getting used to your new schedule, you may never sleep past 8:00 again.  Also, your hang-overs just automatically went from a 3 to a 10 on the I’m-never-drinking-again scale, so be prepared.

2. You can be twenty minutes early every day to work, and no one will notice, but the one day you are late will live in infamy.

3. The picture up there? That is a letter opener. The only one I saw before looked like a dagger out of a scene from The Princess Bride.

princess bride dagger

4. Do not, under any circumstances, disclose information regarding your personal life unless you are one hundred percent ok with the entire office knowing about it. Your “work wife/husband” will betray you and  you won’t get half of his/her paycheck in the divorce. My advice is: be so vague that you are borderline vogue.

5. You are young, so if you have a significant other, you are facing two options. At some point, someone will inquire about your relationship status. If you claim single, people will either perpetually ask you how your weekend was with that insinuating eyebrow lift, or they will try to set you up with anyone with a pulse. This is usually accompanied by the same look one gives an orphan puppy. In the case that you do admit to a taken status, everyone will want to know your significant other’s entire pedigree. Cue advice you didn’t ask for.

6. No one is going to remind to take your vacation days. No one will nag you to join in on the company insurance plan. No one will automatically sign you up for that 401K plan promised to you. You have to keep up with making sure these things get put in to action.

7. The phrase “just kidding,” or “you know not to take it seriously,” or any such equivalent is simply a cop-out for people to feel like they aren’t really actually sexually harassing you.

8. You can’t just sit anywhere at the Christmas party brunch. If you are the newest member to ABC Inc., you sit last. Same goes with parking. On any day.

9. Never pay for coffee. My love affair with Starbucks is strong too, but for $4 a day, you mind as well be a pack a day smoker. Minus the whole cancer thing.

10. Be aware of the sneaky Bcc (blind carbon copy) in e-mails. If you are anything like me, you didn’t even know what the plain cc meant let alone one with sight issues. Bcc is a way of attaching multiple recipients to an e-mail without those recipients being able to see everyone attached. So, if Suzie isn’t getting her part of a project done, and I send her an e-mail addressing the problem with a Bcc to our supervisor, Suzie’s response could either doom or save her all while she has no idea boss woman is watching. Shady? Yes. Does anyone care? No.

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You Had A Bad Day

bad day

I’m a sucker for Ren & Stimpy. It was my first guilty pleasure, because mom didn’t think it was appropriate entertainment for a five year old little girl in a tutu. She didn’t know any better. I forgive her.

Because I can see you getting green in the face hearing about Boston this and Boston that like I am an eleven year old gushing about how I want to marry Patrick Swayze (why did you leave me!), today’s post will not mention Beantown. Except for that last sentence.

Yesterday tried to break me. It tried hard. It pulled out every anvil and TNT labeled box it had and dropped them directly on top of my groggy little head. The only problem was that it didn’t quite kill me. I was as resilient as the never-dying cartoon characters, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t look and feel like complete roadkill. It all started with a lack of sleep due to a cold/sinus infection/lupus/cancer or whatever other illness the web’s symptom checkers told me I have.

Somewhere I read that riding in an airplane can make you more susceptible to sinus issues. Judging from the delightful time I had on my plane rides, and considering I feel like my ears are still popping, I think I’ve nailed the culprit. At least I don’t really have lupus. Read the rest of this entry

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