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Lunch Break Wins and Fails

It’s payday, so I got to go drop off my check at the bank: WIN

So did everyone else in the entire city, at the very same bank: FAIL

Someone tell that kid to stop staring at my soul please.

Someone tell that kid to stop staring at my soul please.

I got a really rare flavored Dum Dum sucker from the teller: WIN

I left it in the tube: FAIL

bubble gum dum dum

I don’t know why this excites me. I don’t even like suckers.

I ignored my better judgement and decided to eat McDonalds: WIN

I realized I have a problem with french fries when the lady in the car next to me sheilded her children’s eyes from the sight of me smashing them into my face: FAIL

how i eat fries alone

The first step is acknowledgment…

I checked my WordPress app to see I have exceeded 19, 000,000 views: EPIC WIN

I am utterly dilusional: EPIC FAIL

wordpress stats

Stupid App.

 

Nothing fell out of my Big Mac when I removed it from the box: WIN

I Immediately bit into a pickle: FAIL

 

I found honey to dip my obesity sticks in: WIN

My fingers now stick to the keyboard: FAIL

first world problems

I can’t play on the internet with sticky fingers. It’s so unfair.

Remember kids, french fries should never be eaten individually, but always in groups.

It feels good to be back to silly.

 

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Hanging Up The Tutu

If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.

Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.

I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.

After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.

becca cord in a tutu

Before I was writing I was a confectionery delight in pointe shoes.

For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.

Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.

After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.

It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).

snoopy in business

Street art doesn’t lie.

Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.

I had  become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe.  Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.

So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.

You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.

It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.

So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.

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Titles Are For Days That Aren’t Monday

It’s Monday again. It is Thanksgiving week. I am going for two cups of coffee today. Maybe snort some pixie stix too. It could only help at this point.

I haven’t had this tired of a Monday in a while. I suppose that’s what all the traveling this weekend did to me. And all the baby holding. You will be relieved to know that the baby is still alive and well after the holding.

becca and baby

Just waiting to misplace my hands and cause her head to pop off.

After I successfully didn’t kill my godchild, I finally completed the run for which I have been training. Remember, that was why I was going to the gym so much. No attractive males involved there.

You will be happy to know that I thought of some of you while I was there. Read the rest of this entry

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

First World Work Problems

money vs. happines

I admittedly chose this photo solely based on the attractive male in a suit… in a pool.

Parts of this post are hypothetical. Maybe.

I read a post today by Lament’s and Lullalbies that I thought was brilliantly human, which is odd, because I know internet people aren’t people at all, they are aliens. Cool aliens, but aliens nonetheless. Don’t worry, I am not phoning the MIB… yet.

Her post addresses the human condition of struggling between making ends meet and making your dreams come true. She writes in a way that is synonymous with the mosh pit of a thought process that I assume begins in most people’s minds when thinking about these issues. Everyone has an ideal career, or two, or three, or is at least on the search to finding one. Everyone also faces the ongoing obligation to provide for themselves at the same time. It is all a huge balancing act and we don’t have the proper equilibrium. In my case, I am just drunk. Read the rest of this entry

Blogger Idol

rockstar content writer

Google image result for “writer rockstar”. That’s hardcore man.

I discovered this contest. It’s called Blogger Idol. It seemed like fun so I um entered. Here is my personal invitation for you to join in. I want that feather pin immediately. That would be better than my business card.

P.S. I didn’t want to have to do  this, but apparently to win you have to be voted for on Facebook and Twitter. Such is the case with all else in life amirite? So-ah, if you could go ahead and get on top of that for me. In appreciation I will … do something radical… like post a video of myself doing something that makes you feel better about your life. Go!

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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.

becca cord signature

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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