Because I can't make this up...

I wrote last month about my boss and his incompetence.

This morning I had my yearly review.

The only lines on the review form (written by him) say this:

"Anne has proformed very well in the ISR roll.She is willing to take on any task asked of her. "

(facepalm)

(sigh)

Well, at least I've proformed in my roll.

He shared with me that I'm the only employee that he's marking as "exceeds expectations" and "above company standards."

I know what they say about big fishes in little ponds...right now I feel like a genius among idiots. 

Not quite as complimentary as one would think.

Let's just file this under the "Things that suck a whole lot" heading, shall we?

So I have this THING in my uterus.  (BTW, more blog posts should start out this way, no?)

And it's not a baby.

It's a uterine fibroid and apparently it WAS bigger than a softball, but NOW is bigger than a grapefruit.  I'd like to take this moment to thank my surgeon for ruining a fruit that I actually used to like to eat.

I would link to the Wikipedia page on uterine fibroids, but once you go there and see the pictures, you'll never want to eat anything again.  Probably.  Wait, maybe I should go there and check it out.

Anyway, said fibroid makes me bleed for weeks on end and apparently is leaving me BARREN.  That, by the way, is a word that I totally think should make a comeback.
So I'm having surgery at the mid-end of October to get it removed.

Assuming I don't die, I'll be off work for 6 weeks or so.

During that time, I'll be catching up on my Harry Potter reading (I just finished book #3) and (of course) working on my never-go-wrong formula for figuring just WHO the baby daddy is on the Maury Povitch show.

It's good to have goals.

Let's get fiscal

So it's been a long time since I've written about my work - at least anything slightly funny about work.

I'd have to go back and look in the archives to see if I've mentioned it before, but Lance (the guy who used to be my co-worker and then became my boss) has a problem.

One that is pretty detrimental to being a good manager.

He gets his words confused.  Big time.

Like, almost a year ago, when they told us that we were going to be working out of a different building (another one that our company owns), he told us we were going to be working for AT&T.  The part of our company has two of those letters, but not all three...  you can imagine our confusion.

There is a guy in our company who's name is kind of like Calvin Coolidge.  He calls him Kelvin Kingston.  No one knows why.

We have a lady in our company who's name is kind of like Anne Botros.  He calls her Amy Billings.

It's like he can't hear people's names - and he doesn't retain the information.  It's as if he just can't hear the difference between the words.  Clarkson becomes Clarkston.  Alan becomes Adam.  Peaktronics becomes PeakLAtronics.  Pueblo becomes Pleblo.    It's SO weird.  And confusing.

But in this morning's meeting, he started talking about last month's numbers - which was our fiscal month #11 (our fiscal year ends this month).

And he kept saying, "In FY 11, we did X amount of business."  Since our fiscal year for 2011 hasn't started yet, we were a bit confused.  And then he says, "Sorry...I meant in physical month 11..." Which ALSO doesn't make sense - because WHAT is a physical month?

So he's going to our main headquarters today - to give a presentation.  And I know that last month's numbers are going to come up.  So I went into his office and asked him a few questions - ones that he answered with the same mistakes as earlier.

I said, "I think you mean fiscal instead of physical." 

He smiled and said "Physical."

Me: "Fiscal."

Him: "Physical."

Me: "It's spelled F-I-S-C-A-L."

Him: "Okay." (He is not a good speller)

Me: "You might want to learn the difference between the two words."

Him: "Can't I just explain last month's numbers as FY 11?"

Me: "No.  The FISCAL year 2011 hasn't started yet.  That starts October 1st. The abbreviation "FY" means fiscal year. So no...describing last month's numbers as FY 11 doesn't make sense."

Him: "Well, how am I supposed to talk about last month's numbers?"

Me: "Just say 'last month's numbers'."

Him: "Okay."

(sigh)

THAT is the guy who manages this whole place.  Nice guy.  Really.  Just not someone that I can really learn from, you know?

It's less of an "update" and more of a "downdate."

I interviewed for a job last week.

I didn't get it.

I'm still stuck in this hell that seems more and more like prison every day...except for the fact that there is slightly less stealing and selling of bodies.  Other than that?  JUST LIKE PRISON.

The thing is, after the job interview, I was pretty sure that I didn't want the job - it was different than what they had explained it as.  So I'm not upset that I didn't get the job as much as I'm upset that I still have this one.

And yes, I SHOULD be happy that I'm gainfully employed.  And I am.

Only I can't believe that this is all that there is in the world for me. I don't make a difference.  I have no purpose.  I would be a starving artist downtown, but a) I don't do starving...have you SEEN me? and b) I don't have any "natural talent" when it comes to artistic things.  Just another thing about me that is completely UNnatural.

I've had several sets of guests in town this summer.  Some mine, some Joe's.  I've also flown out of town to visit friends. And in the end, I'm sort of sad I live here instead of where they live.

Don't get me wrong, I have friends here.  It's just...different than the friends that I have in the other places.  Is it that when I visit them (or vice versa) we make the most of our time since we know we won't have much of it?  Maybe.

So, to catch you up quickly:
1) I still have a job that is slowly killing me. I would say "killing me softly" but my job has nothing to do with songs.  Also, I'm kind of loud and therefore there isn't a high chance of something me doing anything softly.
2) I visited my best friend this weekend and we made another quilt (this time we finished the WHOLE thing this weekend).  It's WAY cool and has lots of t-shirts that I thought I had misplaced until I moved this past spring and found a Rubbermaid tub of them under the stairs.  The last one was flannel - this one is not...so I have a spring and a winter quilt.  I'm lucky.  Only I miss her so much that I'm pretty much cuddled in it the entire time I'm at home.  It's pathetic.
3) I still don't have a dog.  Did I ever mention on this one that my dog died?  Well, she did.  June 22nd.  That day can suck it.  And because of where we live - in a downtown hi-rise building, we can't get a puppy.  Potty training would be more of a nightmare than it already is.  And I so want something else to pour my love into that I'm actually thinking of getting a cat.  Someone check me into a mental hospital...I can't believe I just wrote that.  I'm the person that doesn't like cats.  Maybe I should get a plant?
4) I'm still running...in fact, today I signed up for my first race since the 5 miler that I ran in April.  This one is just a 5K though, so it shouldn't kick my bootay TOO badly.
5) My dad still writes/talks about poop.  I'm so not kidding.
6) I kindasorta wish I lived some place else.

No...not a happy fun post, but hey, at least it IS a post.

Workin' it out...

Last weekend, Joe and I were walking around downtown when we happened to encounter an older man with a younger woman on his arm.

She was wearing a skin tight glittery outfit - with boots that had 6" platforms on them.  Her hair was "teased to Jesus" as my friend Mike says...and her make-up looked like she might've been in some sort of Broadway production later that night.

But oh-boy was she draped all over that man.

Joking, I turned to Joe and said, "I have that outfit!  In fact, I would've worn it today, but I was thinking about wearing it to work tomorrow."

To which, he said, "Uh, Anne?  She already IS wearing it to work."

DOWNtown

So I live in downtown Denver.  While there are a LOT of perks, there are some things that are just annoying. 

Like one time, I was walking from our parking garage to the entrance of our building, dodging pedestrians and people who seem to have just arrived on Earth.  I say that because these are the people who, when normal walking protocol says they should...um...WALK, don't.  Instead they slow down and look around with wide eyed amazement at all things.  To be fair, maybe they're not aliens.  Maybe they're just high.

Anyway, I happened to be talking on the phone at the time to my dad, who is prone to discussions about diarrhea and regularity.  Now, before you go and judge him, he's a doctor.

Also, he isn't terribly great in what you might call "normal discussion."  Obviously.

So, I'm on the phone with him, hearing about his BMs* and I notice that a guy standing on the side of the street just LOOKING at me intently.  It's weird - so I look at him and that's when I notice that...

...YUP he's playing with himself.  And I don't mean a game of solitaire.  Unless by "solitaire," you mean touching his jabombies.

I did what any other normal person would do.  I gasped, covered my eyes and kept walking.  My dad, having heard the gasp, says "I know!  But that's probably normal given the fact that..." and then launched into what he had eaten to cause such a BM.

It was like the grossest thing ever.

And now YOU get to think about it.

You're welcome.


*BM = bowel movement.  Which, incidentally, is what we were encouraged to call poop when we were little.  Everyone else's parents would say, "Do you need to go doo doo?" and ours would be all "Have you had a BM today?"  No wonder I'm odd.

Uh, your participle is totally dangling...

I hate writing.

Well, let me clarify.  A lot of me hates writing.

See, when I was a kidlet, I was super smart.  Incidentally, however smart I was as a kid, I think I peaked.  I think I just never got smarter.

When we were little, my whole family moved from Colorado (where I was born) to Germany.  And in Germany, someone had me tested.  I was "gifted" and encouraged to leap up a few grades.

My mom decided that developmentally, I probably shouldn't.  She didn't want me to be teased or something.  Which is funny because HELLO!  I was teased like NON STOP even when I was in the correct grade.  What the heck was going to stop people from doing such a thing just because I was in a grade higher than mine?  Was she worried that they would use bigger words than "doo-doo head?"

Anyway, the concession between teachers and my mom was that they would put me in higher math classes during part of the day.  That way I could be brainy smart for some of the day but then a regular kid during most of the day.  Like Peter Parker.  Only without a penis.  And more nerdy.  And less super spidey abilities.  But other than that, just like Peter Parker.*

The effect of me going to the smarty math classes was that I had to skip out on the "regular" English classes.  This meant that I never learned what a preposition was or why an adverb should be used in one place versus another.  So by my parents trying to make me Nerdy Math Girl, they made me Nerdy Math Girl Who Doesn't Know Crap About Her Own Language.  And NMGWDKCAHOL is a long abbreviation to put on a cape - no matter how big the girl.

So long story short (too late), I don't know crap about writing.  Anything that I do write correctly is because I know about patterns...and I can think about what I'm going to write or say, measure it against the way I've heard other people speak, and then repeat it like a parrot.

Now I want a cracker.

I'm worried that some person is going to pop up and comment something like, "ACTUALLY, everyone knows that an adverse adverb when pluralized belongs in the conjunction of the implied alliteration and the...." and then my head would burst into flames due to a) embarrassment and b) my brain can't take in all those English terms at once.  Obviously.  Because I'm pretty sure I butchered my mocking of English rules.  Scratch that.  I know I did.

So I'll make a deal with you.  I'll try to post more often here if you don't ever post a comment about how I'm using a pronoun or adjective incorrectly. Not that any of you WOULD, but I think I worry that I'm not a good enough writer.  You know, good enough to blog in my own blogspot.  That is free.  And that no one is obligated to read. And that I don't get a grade on.  (sigh) I get it.  I'm irrational.  But really, why else do you come here?

And I know some of you.  You guys are thinking, "But Happy Fun Pants!  You're posting on your other healthy living/weight loss blog almost ever day!  Why do the rules of writing not apply over there?"

My answer: THAT blog is for fatties.  The readers over there are my homies, my people.  And everyone knows that fatties stick together...it's like the one thing I DID learn in my "regular" part of school. So, the last thing they're going to do is post a snooty comment about the misplacement of a modified verb... lest I eat them.

Deal?

*Let the record show that I originally wrote Parker Posey instead of Peter Parker.  Man, I even suck at being nerdy!  The Babe nicely informed me that I was the most wrong ever (see comments below), but in my defense, how does she know that Parker Posey DOESN'T have a penis?  Or Spidey Sense?  I'm just saying it's a possibility.

POMably not what they had in mind...

The kind folks at POM Wonderful sent me some POM juice the other day.  They actually didn't ask me to write a review...they just wanted to send me some juice.  Normally, I'd shy away from this sort of thing (the whole something for nothing routine), but since they didn't pull up in my neighborhood asking me to get inside their white van, I figured I was okay.  Probably just as well, chances are, I'd have run straight into the side of it anyway. *

Actually, I was pretty psyched about getting the juice...I remember Jack (who thinks the bottle can double as a sex toy) and Roni talking about the freebies they got from the company, but they seem like such BIG bloggers...how did I get included on this list of who's who?  I felt *very* cool.  Which is funny...because I'm so NOT important.  It's not like I'm Obama.  Or Ghandi.  Or Brangelina.  Or even one of the Olsen Twins in their heyday (circa 1982).  So basically, I got on the list via a typo by someone.  Whatever, I'm totally taking it.

Anyway, I came home one day and Joe said that I might've received an organ in the mail.  Thinking he meant a pipe organ, I gave him a quizzical look.  So he said, "You know, like a heart.  Not like a church organ! Who would send you that?"  In my defense, he couldn't exactly think of someone who would send me a vital organ either.

It turns out, he didn't know what was in the box, but he did see that it had a sticker on the side that said "REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY."  So Joe did - without opening the box (he didn't want to violate my privacy).  Thus his joke about someone shipping me organs.

So I'll say this to any POM people who could or would be reading.  You could really remove a lot of confusion surrounding the double meaning of the word "organ" if you would put a sticker on the side that said, "Refrigerate immediately.  Don't be alarmed, though.  This box does not contain any organs.  Of any kind.  Probably."  That way if they WANTED to put organs in the box, they totally could without having to re-print stickers.  Look at me, POM people.  I'm totally making your shipping department more streamlined.  You're welcome.

When I finally got around to opening the package, there were a few bottles of POM Blueberry Pomegranate juice and some great tips and info about pomegranates and its juice.  All of that is at home or else I'd probably go into it here.  Let's just say it's probably got a lot of health benefits.  I know.  I'm the worst on-the-spot reviewer ever.

When we first got it, I drank some and handed the little cute-as-can-be bottle to Joe.  Who took a sip and said something profound like, "meh."  I liked it...it was sweet and tart, tangy and sweet.  I should stop and say that I drink juice maybe once a year.  I just got out of the habit years ago and never really reintroduced it.  So while the POM juice was a welcome surprise and pleasant change, it's not something that I would normally pick up, just like the fate of any other juice.  It's nothing personal, POM people.

I WILL try cooking with it because they list a lot of great recipes on their website...and some of them look pretty tasty. 

But last night?  I was trying to make room in the fridge for leftovers.  Leftovers being something that I cooked and decided to not waste calories and stomach space on by eating.  Smart right?  Yes...you'd think so.

While re-organizing the kitchen for better space usage, I saw these few little bottles of POM just waiting to be moved.  Because they are weird shaped (but so cute!), I couldn't really stack them on top of each other...or stack them...or shove them in the fridge door.  So I decided to drink one.

But after a sip, inspiration struck me.  I decided that what it would go REALLY well with was some Malibu Rum that was also in the fridge door.

YIKES.  What I found out was that this was the best tasting mixed drink EVAH.  Tart, sweet, tangy, fruity, and YUMMY.

Two little POM bottles later (16 ounces of juice, and 360 calories of JUICE) and a few shots of coconut flavored rum mixed in each time and I was happy.   I even let Joe have a sip who said that I know how to mix a good drink.  Right.  That's me.  The bartender....the one with hot-shot complicated drinks... like juice and alcohol.

Good thing I passed on the leftovers...nothing like wasted calories, huh?

(sigh)

* Which reminds me, you totally need to enter that sweepstakes via the link...seriously, not many people have done so, so your chances of winning $150 are looking better each day!

For those that double subscribe yes, this was over on Smaller Fun Pants first.  What can I say?  I thought it was funny enough to be here too. :)  Besides, I don't want the readers who only read this one to feel neglected...

Disclaimer: I was comped a few bottles of Blueberry Pomegranate POM Wonderful. But the honest review and tipsy-ness that ensued shortly afterwards was all me, baby!

Laugh and win!

Good morning!!! I have something SO exciting to share with you.

I was picked to write funny posts about fitness, eating, and cooking each month for six months by Laughing Cow and BlogHer. How cool is that?!?

It's like the movie "Julie and Julia" but without Meryl Streep. And without Amy Adams. And it's not only about cooking. Also, it's not a movie. But you know, other than all that, this is JUST like that movie.

So...since it's a sponsored thing, I can't post it on this blog. You have to go to my review blog to read it. But please do!

It's my first post on that blog... and I'm feeling a like I've just invited a bunch of people to a party, it's a few minutes until it starts, and no one is arriving yet. What's going through my head is the typical hostess cry, "OH MY GOSH WHAT IF PEOPLE DON'T SHOW?!?!? And what am I going to do with all of this cheese?"

Leave a comment and you can win $150 in this month's sweepstakes. Although I don't have any control over it, I would love for the winner to be one of MY readers - because (and I may be a bit biased here) you guys are the best. If you want, you can become a follower on that blog and you won't miss another opportunity to enter the next few month's drawings as well. Also I will feel less like the kid picked last for kickball.

Good luck and thank you in advance for checking it out!

For Pete's Sake, Don't Drop the Soap

I don't know when it started, but I'd miss it if it were gone.

When I started dating Joe, over a year ago, I was struck by how...well...wholesome he was. He's *that guy* you want to take home to your mom. The one who says the right thing, who knows which fork is for what at fancy restaurants, and the one who can recite all the presidents we've had.

But he's also a goof.

A funny guy with a persistence unlike anyone else I've ever met when it comes to making me laugh. That's right. If I laugh once about something, you can believe that he'll make the same joke again and again until it loses it's funny. Which isn't to say that he is a one-trick pony. No. This guy is super witty and we joke about different stuff all of the time. It's just he's smart enough to know when a joke works.

And truly, I don't know when it started, but it's been going on for a while and it still makes me break into giggle fits.

He humps me from behind.

Now, bear with me. This isn't another story about how I got felt up in church or anything like that.

What I mean is that if my back is to him and I happen to have my butt pushed out in some way, he'll pretend to hump me.

The thing is, it cracks me up. To be fair, this only happens when he's in reasonably close proximity (he won't run across the room to "humpity," but if he's close and paying attention, watch out!) and when we're not in the presence of anyone else. AND it's not like he does this all day long. Nope, just a humpity or two in any given week.

I guess what I'm saying is, he doesn't over-use the humpity. Not too much and not too little. The perfect amount of humpity action.

I affix a deadpan look and usually after a few "humpity"s, he'll stop, step aside so he can see my face of complete boredom, and then look all proud of himself - like he's just given me a bunch of flowers. Sometimes he nods emphatically. It's usually then that I burst into laughter.

So, reaching for something on top of the fridge? Humpity.

Brushing my teeth at the sink and bending down to spit out the froth? Humpity.

Stirring something in a pot on the stove? Humpity.

During a long elevator ride? Humpity humpity humpity.

Heaven help me if I bend over to tie my shoe...

Venti Sized A-hole

So this morning, I was running late for work. I'm seeing a friend tonight for dinner that I haven't seen in a year or so (she actually lives in Kansas City) and I wanted to make sure that my hair didn't look like I have been grooming it with a rake in the past year. Sometimes, that takes time. I'm just saying.

Anyway, even though I was running late, I was hungry. I decided to stop and get a Starbucks Iced Chai Tea because I wanted a bit of a splurge. Plus, it would tide me over until I got to work.

I go into Starbucks, which is attached to the building that we live in, and there is a douche canoe apparently working the register. We'll call him "Douchey."

Douchey is too busy doing something douchey (I don't remember what) to actually take my order at the time. So the barista (whom I LOVE but that's another story) turns to me and asks if she can get something started for me.

Bonus points go to me for not singing "Let's Get It Started" by the Black Eyed Peas at that moment.

And I freeze.

Because here's the thing. There is a super secret cadence that apparently only Starbucks people know when ordering drinks. You have to say the size, the type of drink, and then anything extra that is special. But whatever order I THINK I should put it in, is wrong.

In other words, somehow, like most things in my life, I always manage to fuck it up.

What I want is the biggie size iced chai tea latte. I want it made with non-fat milk (because I'm watching the lbs) and with less ice (because I'm cheap - I hate it when the cup is all ice at the end and you realize you didn't get a lot of the drink).

So I say, "I'd like a non-fat, light ice, venti chai tea latte, please."

She nods and starts making my drink.

I assume I ordered my drink in the right order.

I am happy.

The Douchey finally turns to me and asks me, "What do you want?"

Despite the friendly greeting, I give him the same verbiage I gave the barista - because I'm in happy mood...after all, I just got the ordering part right! YAY ME!

He looks at me and says, "So you want a venti, non-fat, light-ice, iced chai tea latte?"

Well, yes. That's what I ordered, isnt' it? No. It must not have been...or else Douchey wouldn't have corrected me.

So I have a light laugh and say something like, "Oh jeez. I thought I got the ordering part right, but I always mess it up!"

And he nods and then proceeds to give me the directions of how to order it, "You're supposed to give it to us in the order that we write the instructions down the side of the cup." And then he goes and gets a cup SO HE CAN SHOW ME HOW WRONG I WAS.

So I say, "Oh man! So now I have to memorize the side of the cup to order? I'm doomed!" again in a funny way so as to not threaten Douchey. I'm pretty sure there are a few rules in life that people should adhere to. And right next to "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" and "Don't feed the lion" is "Don't threaten Douchey."

Anyway, he says, "Well, only if you want it prepared the way you want!"

So the barista says to me (as she hands my drink over and rolls her eyes at Douchey), "Or you can just remember that we get paid to understand what you want. Order it in any way you want and we'll get you taken care of. Have a great day!"

Did I mention I love her?

Vital Values

My company has gone through a lot of transition in the last few months. It started with the higher ups deciding to completely reorganize the structure of our company. In fact, the structure that they're now going with is a pretty bad idea. A lot of textbooks talk about how their "new" approach is doomed for failure and wastes plenty of resources. It creates multiple positions for what should be just one job. Their design inherently builds in conflict.

Then they closed our facility - which was the top producer and top quality branch in the country (I'm not kidding) - only because it's lease was coming due. There was no other reason.

Then they realized that it might be a bad idea for people like me to walk - so they kept some of us around. Only, after 6 months since they made the announcement to close our facility, they don't know where they're going to put us.

They decided to cancel Christmas lunches, dinners, and basically any fun activities that we used to have. They downgraded the coffee and stopped providing coffee cups. They eliminated swizzle sticks (to mix your coffee with) and have started encouraging employees to bring their own pens. My boss told me that I can't move up without moving to our headquarters and that even then, I'd be passed over for consideration because (with the recent closing of our branch) I'm now a "satellite employee."

What fun, optimism, and good cheer existed a few years ago when I joined this group is now gone. And that makes me sad.

Today, they had a corporate wide "live" meeting (which means that the headquarters people got to have food catered in for their lunch and meet with the key decision makers in person and we got to call in hearing them belch and remark about the food) discussing our annual re-commitment to key values.

Every year, each employee of my global company has to sign on, disclose any conflicts of interest, re-read the company policy to uphold the values that we're supposed to follow, and then take a quiz based upon what we've learned. It's a joke, but it's one that many big companies do.

So this year, this meeting was called because the Presidents of the company wanted to make sure that we knew how important (vital even) the values of our company are. The 7 minute video, which was streamed so badly that we, the redheaded stepchildren of the company, got to see a frame update every 8 seconds or so, had a high enough production budget to save at least a few more people's jobs for the next year. It was hard for me to sit there, listening to how important the "right people are in the right jobs" when I realize that this company seems to be founded on horrible decisions.

And while I'm dialed in to watch this presentation, I'm hearing my other line beep - I missed 15 phone calls from customers to hear my company blow smoke up my butt about how we all need to do the "right thing." Those 15 calls need to be returned, even still. My boss instructed us to work through our lunch to get the work done.

Here's an idea - how about instead of you wasting hundreds of thousands of dollars on a film clip, you invest in another peon like me to help do the job that takes 13 hours to complete in a day but you're asking me to do in 8.

The clincher of it all was when they had a "real world" example of inappropriate values in the workplace. They had been alluding to this during the whole presentation with phrases like "We took feedback from past years and we know some of the big issues you're facing with conflicts of interest and pressuring in the workplace. We're going to show a great example of this later." I was expecting to hear about some actual examples of the crap I'm consistently pressured to do (which is against company policy and yet high up managers are the ones doing the pressuring).

Want to know what the biggest issue we have to face, according to our "leadership" team?

Girl Scout Cookie sales.

I'm not kidding. They had a workplace exercise where they had to caution us all on asking for donations to our own charities that only benefit the employee or cause. They specifically named the Girl Scouts as being an inappropriate organization.

So then they opened it up to questions and here's what I learned.

• Sign up sheets for cookies or other fundraisers are inappropriate - even if you don't post it in a public place. They said it puts too much pressure on people to donate their time and resources that they may not have.
• It is not appropriate to use any company resources for such charity requests. If you're going to have a sign-up on your person, please make sure to use your own pen (Hello! Who do you think is buying them these days?) not the company's pen.
• The question was asked if it would be better to ask people individually at their desks to contribute. And I shit you not - the answer came back with as "Yes. As long as it's done during your lunch break." So just to be clear, a piece of paper in a lunchroom is too much pressure but having a one on one conversation with a co-worker where they're asking you to help is perfectly fine.
• Another question was asked, "Is it okay to sell Avon to people?" and the person holding the meeting said "Yes, but not on company time." Alright, this one I get...but it frustrates me because it helps me see that someone in that meeting DIDN'T know the answer to that question and had to ask it.

In short: I work for AND WITH a bunch of friggin' morons.

Just so you know, I spent my time during the call applying for jobs on CareerBuilder.com. It was, in this peon's opinion, a MUCH better use of my company's resources anyway.

They say it's your birthday...

Today is my birthday. I'm 33 years old.

You should know that I love the number 3, so this year is going to be my best year. I can feel it.

How do I plan to celebrate? By going to a Weight Watchers meeting, taking my dog for a long walk, and having leftovers with a glass of wine.

But you know what? In my mind, it's perfect. I had a great weekend - spent with someone that I love dearly and who loves me back. Yesterday, I had a massage that eased my aching back (seriously - this past week it has been HORRIBLE). I had a delightful sushi dinner on Saturday night and got to watch episodes of Arrested Development last night - all with the best companion ever.

The leftovers I'm having are DE-LICIOUS and it makes me feel good that I'm not wasting food. The wine that I'll be enjoying reminds me of my best friend (the wine that it's from is from a vineyard close to her house). The cuddles that I'll get at the end of the night will help me feel as loved as I truly am.

So this birthday? It may be the best ever.

Either that, or I'm getting too old to remember a better one.

Speak up

I've visited the Holocaust museum in Washington DC several times in my life and whenever I read the following poem (attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller), I got chills.

Who am I kidding? I still get chills when I read it.

"THEY CAME FIRST for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.

THEN THEY CAME for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.

THEN THEY CAME for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.

THEN THEY CAME for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.

THEN THEY CAME for me
and by that time no one was left to speak up."

You may be thinking, "Alright, Happy Fun Pants, why are you posting it now?" Because I am overcome with the injustice that has happened to the kids at a school in the Itawamba school district in Mississippi.

Let me back up.

Once upon a time, there was a female named Constance McMillen. She apparently had self-awareness at a young age of such a magnitude that I'm not even sure that *I* possess now at 32. Constance McMillen knew and felt that she was gay. She had the bravery to live openly gay.

So this year, she wanted to go to her senior prom. She wanted to go with her girlfriend. She wanted to wear a tuxedo. She was told by her school officials that she couldn't go. She contacted the ACLU.

The ACLU sent a demand letter to the school.

The school cancelled prom. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure that when you cancel senior prom and blame it on one girl, that girl becomes pretty damn unpopular. Unpopular enough to get her butt kicked on a regular basis.

Nice, Itawamba Agricultural High School. If you can't ban her from the prom, why don't you banish her from any social circles in high school too. That's a GREAT way to treat others.

But it gets worse.

Private citizens in the community decided to have their own prom. If it's a private prom, they can invite whoever they want, right? Only enough people across the nation found out about it and got mad...so the private citizens said that the prom was cancelled and a NEW prom was going to be held.

A new prom that everyone can go to - hooray! Yes, yes...now the prom is going to be held at a *special* location. All are invited.

Only (and I'm sure you're shocked) that's not exactly what happened. The cancelled prom was never really cancelled - the "regular" students went to their prom. And the students that showed up at the "fake" prom? There was only seven: Constance, her date, and five other people (two of which have learning difficulties that made them unpopular too).

This kind of stuff HAS to stop!

The intoleranceS we have are ones we pass on to our children. I'm furious at the people that hide behind the Bible or Book of Mormon as a way to justify the treatment of people that are openly gay. I understand that you don't think that what they're doing is right. I get it, really I do.

BUT IT'S NOT UP TO YOU! YOU do not get to decide what happens to others.

What happened to this passage from Matthew 22:36-40 (NIV)??

36"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" 37Jesus
replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul
and with all your mind.' 38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the
second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' 40All the Law and the
Prophets hang on these two commandments."

or this one from Matthew 7:4 (NIV):

How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,'
when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?

Put down your bullhorns and your picket signs where you're protesting the existence and practice of gay people. Look on yourself for ways that you can personally improve yourself. If you believe in a God, let GOD figure out what is right and what is wrong. Let GOD handle the condemnation or exoneration.

In the meantime, LOVE one another.

I'm not gay. And although others may attest differently, I don't have learning disabilities. But I am choosing to stand up for those that are not treated equally. I'm choosing to sign my name to the petition that you can find at this link to help send schools a "Welcoming Schools" guide. According to the Human Rights Campaign site:

"Welcoming Schools" is a new, comprehensive guide for administrators, educators,
parents and guardians who want to strengthen their schools’ approach to family
diversity, gender stereotyping and bullying.

I'm choosing to stand up for equal treatment.

I hope you join me.

Yippee!

My house is officially under contract...after just 7 days and 5 showings.

I'm moving out and closing on April 20th. That's right - just four weeks from today.

My next two weeks will be filled with my best friend coming into town (we're going skiing this weekend) and checking out new houses on the market.

The following two weeks will be filled with packing for the new place.

And, undoubtedly, the weeks that follow will be getting my new place in order and hoping that my dog remembers that it's okay to poop when not the place she used to call home.*

All in all, I'm excited. I can't wait to be proud of the place that I live again. I can't wait to have guests over for dinner without sheepishly apologizing for my place.

I'm excited and optimistic and oh-so very thankful...


*When I moved into my current place, Chassis didn't apparently get the memo that we wouldn't be going back to my old house. She didn't poop for 4 days. And trust me, when the 170 pound dog that doesn't poop for 4 days FINALLY does poop? It's not so fantastic.

I'm completely out of headline titles

In fact, I sometimes feel I'm out of blog topics.

Which is weird. I used to say that my blog was like Seinfeld - about nothing. Now I can safely say that my blog is nothing. I mean, if I don't update, then that's what you get...nothing.

So, as my friend turleybenson asked on my Facebook page the other day, WHAT GIVES?

I feel swamped. I feel swamped at work, at home, and in my personal life.

I'm swamped.

Highlights of my life include (but are not limited to):

• Running my very first 7K (which happened this past Sunday) - it was snowing at the end of it, but it was good.


• Getting my house ready to be put on the market. This, in itself, was a colossal undertaking and one that I owe my boyfriend many many thanks (and/or BJs) for helping me with. Seriously, I decided to put it up on the market only a few weeks before it happened - and that is NUTS. Painting, rearranging, building new furniture, and moving half of my stuff into storage all within a few weeks felt crazy.


• Putting my house on the market (and having two (yes, only TWO) showings)


• Getting worried about whether my house will sell or not - I mean, two showings is not exactly a great start.


• Deciding not to worry about whether my house will sell or not.


• Reminding myself that I decided to not worry about whether my house will sell or not.


• Spending all weekend at my boyfriend's place (which is very very sweet of him) in hopes that us being gone will mean that more showings will just happen.


• Work stuff has piled up. I mean, I'm actually (gasp!) working while at work. The nerve of my company apparently knows no bounds!!


• Dinners with friends...two weeks ago, I had dinner/activity plans every night. In the weeks since, I've limited it to just a few things each week, but YIKES it's tiring to keep up with sometimes!

I'm busy. And I want nothing more than to spend a day on my couch numbing myself with a good book, a glass or two of wine, and my Slanket.

YES, that's right, I have a Slanket. And I love it.

In the midst of all of this, I'm trying to remember the funny stuff as it happens so that I can write about it and keep you all abreast.

Which reminds me...what is this?
Two men. Walking a breast.

You're welcome.

I'm not a bad driver, I'm just really good at Frogger

When I was a kid, my family had a Commodore 64. It came with a little green piece of plastic that we were directed to put on the computer so that our eyeballs didn't fry. Supposedly the black and white pixels would make our vision fail without much warning. The green plastic-y screen that we could attach (via the wonders of static cling!) to the screen would somehow make everything better.

Incidentally, I remember my dad being far less concerned about our eyeballs than my mom. I mean, if she caught us not using that screen, she would basically channel the mom from "A Christmas Story" and say something like "You'll fry your eyes out!"

But where was I? Oh yes. The computer.

So this computer was for my dad, but with the proper supervision, my sisters and I were allowed to use it. To be fair, I don't remember ever playing with it except to play Frogger.

I loved that game.

Unless you were raised under a rock (or perhaps a Jehova's Witness - I mean, I want to be sensitive here), you know what Frogger is. If not, I'll enlighten you. Bascially, in this game, you are a frog. If you want to name yourself, you can. Just know that if you do and refer to yourself (the frog) by name, my father will roll his eyes so strongly, you can hear them. Usually that sound is accompanied by a loud sigh, just in case you're wondering.

Anyway, your frog job was to cross the road and river and get to the finish line of each screen. You could hop forwards, backwards, or side to side.

Sounds simple right?

Now, the hardest part (IMHO) was the road - which was the first part. See, some of the cars and trucks would be nice and go slow. This meant that you could hop in front of them easily. But some of the cars would be fast. And that's when you had to be tricky. Because your job was to get to the finish line as quickly as possible, you had to take risks that you might not otherwise have taken. You *had* to jump in front of the cars quickly to make it. Otherwise, you'd suck - you'd get squished by oncoming traffic or you'd run out of time. If that happened, what did you really risk your eyeballs for anyway?

Anyway, as I was driving to work this morning, I realized that what most people might mistake for "bad driving" is really just me being AWESOME at Frogger.

Because sometimes you *have* to go faster, just so you can get to the right spot. Sometimes people don't think that I should be able to fit between two cars going 70 mph. But they're wrong. Sometimes people don't see the brilliance in zipping around so you can cleverly get to work a few seconds earlier than if you would've just stayed in the slow lane.

Shaving off a few seconds was huge in Frogger. It saved you from losing the game and sometimes the few seconds would be enough to give you bonuses.

That's one of the ways that I learned this valuable life lesson: impatience gets you everywhere. In fact, it gets you everywhere FASTER.

I ain't no porcupine, take off your kid gloves...

In the two years that I've been writing this blog, I've found that when I'm really sad I don't write here. I tend to pull away because when someone posts something that is horribly sad, sometimes it's hard for readers to know what to do or how to show support. It's kind of like the lady that has a mental breakdown in a public place. You give her a wide berth, smile awkwardly, and then thank God that you're not like that.

But what I recently found out is that it's hard for me to write about the stuff I usually do when I'm blissfully happy. Because the thing is, I am.

Blissfully happy that is.

To be clear, it mostly has to do with the fact that I'm trusting myself more. Through hard work, I've begun to challenge core beliefs that I've had about myself...and I'm finding that I am worthy all on my own. What's replacing these horrible thoughts that I've had about me for decades is the knowledge that no matter what happens in life, I WILL BE OKAY.

(cue Stuart Smalley)

I'd be lying if I said that everything was perfect. It's not. I'm worried about money, about my house, about my job, and about my health. Some days I worry about things more than others.

But I also would be lying if I didn't say that there is one thing in my life that I couldn't be happier about if I tried.

His name is Joe.

And this is where you should feel free to turn your head, barf politely at my sickeningly sweet post, and then maybe read some more.

Y'all, HE IS WONDERFUL. In dozens of ways, this man SHOWS me that I am a top priority. He shows me that I'm worthy of love. His constant support and even keel approach is fantastic. He listens to my rambling and to my rants. He laughs at how I'm not patient. He teases me about my faults and doesn't judge me when I fall short of my goals. He's giving, caring, and thoughtful.

The things that I've thought about writing has been stuff so full of sugary fantasticness that I figured that you probably wouldn't want to read it. And all that wants to come out when I think about what's on my heart and mind is how cute he is when he's sleeping. I want to tell you about how when my furnace was broken this past weekend and the heat never got above 56 degrees, he let me cuddle next to him (in the frumpiest, bulkiest, and non-sexiest clothing I own) to sap all of his heat. I want to tell you about how sweet he was on Valentine's Day and how when he calls me the nickname he has for me, I still sigh and giggle a bit.

Let's be honest...no one should have to be subjected to that stuff.

I'm not doodling his name in notebooks while listening to the Jonas Brothers or Taylor Swift, but I'm close. Perilously close. THAT is how over the moon I am about this guy right now.

He isn't perfect. But oh WOW is he exactly what I've been hoping for.

A part of me is worried that it won't last, that he'll leave or become some asshole like my father or some of the boyfriends before him. But I'm reminding myself that nothing risked is nothing gained. And at 8 months into dating, it FEELS like there is less and less of a possibility of that happening. If it does end, this will probably be one of the biggest heartbreaks of my life.

But if it doesn't? Well, now THAT would be something to write about.

I stand corrected

PRELUDE:

I'm not going to lie to you, folks. I've tried posting the picture below no less than eleventy million times and I *still* can't get it to get bigger without blurring the words. BUT it's a funny exchange - not so much on my part, but on my friend Kevin's part. I think you might be able to click on the picture and then see it via your browser in a larger size, but I can't be held responsible if that doesn't work.

So basically, I'm about as technilogically adept as your mom. Or wait. Maybe I mean my mom. Look, it doesn't matter because the end result is the same. You can't read the picture on my blog unless you're not human.


***** AAAAANNNNDDD the real post starts here *********



The picture to the left is a screen shot of a conversation between my friend Kevin and myself via Facebook. His Facebook page, y'all, because that is where the magic happens. On Kevin's page, you realize just how unpopular you really are - because (and I am not kidding you) everyone loves Kevin. He's invited everywhere, he goes to gigs and gets pictures with the band mates. I'm not sure, but I think even Jesus is Kevin's friend on Facebook. And you *know* how hard it is for Jesus to type.

If you go to my Facebook page, you're likely to see who is inviting me to the latest Facebook cause, to be their neighbor on Farmville OR Farmtown, and my friends wondering where I am. That's because I'm never ON Facebook these days. Just like, as pointed out by turleybenson, I'm never blogging these days.

It's a trend.

Or maybe it's the strong desire to set myself on fire when I think of even turning on my computer while I'm at home. I spend so much time in front of a computer at work - staring blindly at it in hopes that anything I do on it would actually remove even SOME of the stress in my life these days.

As it turns out, my life isn't going to get less stressful anytime soon. Which means that I'll probably be staring at my computer more often these days. Which means I'll be less likely to post quality items.

Hello, THIS POST.

But this post isn't about me and my current dislike for computers. It's about how I was wrong.

Apparently, according to Kevin there are white pieces in Pictionary *and* a game called Chess. Who knew? *

AND according to BJ, Chutes and Ladders now have little white kids THAT ARE GIRLS as evidenced by the picture below:

I'm not even going to go into how those pieces look NOTHING like the ones that I remember as a kid. It makes me sad AND makes me want to watch a Peanuts seasonal special...because those don't change and after watching them, all feels right with the world.

I did have one win though...Candyland still has no white people OR women pieces. Just gingerbread men with Michelin Man faces. To be fair, I don't really remember them looking like that when I was a kid either, but as long as they didn't add any white women, I support their change.

*Even if I wanted to dispute those points further, Kevin busted out my good ol' tried and true argument winner. Basically, if you feel like someone has to "win" an argument, you just ask the question: "Who's right? Me or you?" and then whoever answers "me" first wins. I usually rattle it off like this: "Who'srightmeoryou?ME!" but you know, to each their own.

Why I think board game makers hate the movie "Lucas"

FACT: Board game makers are racist, sexist, and are probably made my jocks.

Can you have a factual statement that includes the word "probably?" Probably not. But work with me here.

First, have you ever seen the movie "Lucas?"

If you haven't, it's fantastic. Or maybe I think it's fantastic because I remember it being fantastic as a kid. You know, kind of like how I thought that the Brady Bunch had surprising endings when I was younger. Apparently, I was a dumb.

ANYway, in "Lucas" there is a character named Lucas (played by a Corey Haim) who is a nerdy kid and has a hard time fitting in. And long story short, he has a crush on a cute redhead (who doesn't?) and the jocks (sometimes led by Charlie Sheen) pick on him.

I don't want to ruin the ending, but it turns out there is no Kaiser Soze and the old lady had the Hope Diamond all along. AND they didn't explicitly say so in the movie, but I am pretty sure that Lucas was good in math.

Which brings me back to my fact. Board game developers hate people like me.

Point 1: Board game developers hate women.
Every time a board game has little pieces to move around the spaces, they're never women. EVER. Sometimes they're shoes, thimbles, blocks, weird shapes, or little men - but never are they women. Thanks a lot, a-holes.

Point 2: Board game developers hate white people.
The little pieces you move around the board (the ones that are not womanly) are not ever white. Red, blue, black, even chartreuse, but not white. I am offended!

Point 3: Board game developers hate math AND they clearly hate people who like math.

There are games for the word enthusiasts (think Hangman and Scrabble).

Are you artistic? Great. Then Pictionary is for you.

Are you diabetic? Candyland used to be for you.

Are you overly dramatic or illiterate? No problem - charades is for you.

There are even games for complete nerds and/or people who memorize facts by spending too much time at the bar on trivia night, as evidenced by the existence of Trivial Pursuit.

But math games? Games where you practice naming off the decimal places of pi? Games where you have to find the derivative of an algebraic equation? Games where you practice balancing chemical equations? No. No one makes those.

It's sad really. I mean, if you think about it, the people that were good in math and science were supposed to be the people running the world when we got older. I mean, isn't that what we were led to believe?

So what happened to people like me? I mean, sure... I work in a glamorous career with valves (Hello! Dream job!), but what's everyone else's excuse? Didn't anyone with left brain aptitudes and ovaries get to pitch game ideas to the game makers?

What's that? Oh. Apparently they're all working on cures for cancer, working to make our country safer, laughing at the word "boobies" or are out playing World of Warcraft.

Nevermind.

Oh come ON!

I am not kidding you.

The pants that arrived at my doorstep a month ago are apparently destined to be at mine.

I called up the sender and asked him to come by and pick up the pants. He assured me he would. But after 4 days outside, I decided to take the box back inside.

Then I called UPS (since it was their mistake in the first place). After about an hour long conversation regarding the pants, they agreed to pick them up at my place of work and then get them to the rightful owner.

I went on vacation for Christmas.

I came back after the new year and found that UPS delivered them back to my workplace stating that they couldn't deliver them to the original owner.

THEN I sent them back to the sender and (I bet you can see where this is going),

THE PANTS CAME BACK AS UNDELIVERABLE.

Dude.

WTF, pants?

It'd be the sort of stuff that nightmares are made of, only that it's just PANTS.

Unless the pants might be trying to tell me something. Like maybe I'm going to die in a horrible accident when I'm in a skirt...but if I had pants, at least people wouldn't be able to see my varicose veins.

I don't know. All I know is that this is getting old.

Dang you, boomerang pants!

I can't believe I'm not vomiting

Seriously?

Megan Mullally in an "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" commercial singing to Gloria Estefan's song "Turn the Beat Around?"



Megan. Tsk tsk.

We know you want to sing. We know you want to be remembered for something other than Karen on "Will and Grace."

I thought your performance in "Fame" might have been you scraping the bottom of the tub barrel, but this?

(sigh)

One of the best starts to a new year that I've ever had

This past weekend, my boyfriend and I took a trip to Winter Park, Colorado.

We decided to try something new - we went tubing. Tubing, at least in Colorado, means that you pay someone to slide down their mountain on an inner tube. The place where we went allowed us to rent a tube for each of us (for an hourly fee) so we could go flying down the hill as fast as we pleased.

You might think that we got exercise by lugging the tubes back up the hill, but no. You'd be wrong. The hill that we went to took us back up on an escalator/people-mover type thing.

Being lazy was wonderful. :)

So basically the cycle went as follows:

1. Me commenting to the boyfriend about how cold it was.
2. Both of us blowing our noses in tissues.
3. Us going up the hill on the escalator.
4. Deciding which of the three segmented hills we wanted to risk our lives on.
5. Laying down on the inner tube either face first or on our butts, ready to go down the hill, holding hands.
6. Realizing that we were too far away from the edge of the hill to actually slide down.
7. Scooting and/or rocking our tubes back and forth to get them to the edge of the hill so we could slide down. This sometimes took more than a moment or two.
8. Me screaming down each hill - especially as we turned around so we couldn't see what was coming. He laughed at me every time.
9. Us getting up from our tubes (after they were safely stopped) with a groan because we are OLD.*

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a fun time.

We had made arrangements to stay in Winter Park at a hotel that allowed dogs, so I brought Chassis along. Due to some misinformation, we ended up not staying at that hotel, and instead called a hotel down the road to see if they had occupancy.

The clerk told us that although they did have a room, they did not allow pets. We asked if she could recommend a hotel that did allow pets and that is when she relented and said that we could come with our dog on two conditions:
1. That we would never tell anyone that we brought a dog in (sort of like the first rule of Fight Club).
2. That if we were asked why we had a dog, we were to say that it was a service dog.

We assured her that our dog would sleep almost the whole time, that she wouldn't bark, and that no one would even know she was there.

Without further ado, we checked into the hotel and quickly ushered Chassis into the hotel room.

In the end, she barked a few times at the rowdy neighbors in the middle of the night, growled a few times at other noises, and only jumped on and off the spare bed a few times (which sounded like someone having a seizure and falling to the floor). She had to potty a few times (as would be expected) and earned a few "WHOA. That is a BIG dog!" from passersby, but that was basically it.



I mean, really. How could anyone notice that she was there??

And yes, that is a queen bed.


* We had to sign release forms before going tubing. On the release forms, one of the pieces of information that they asked for was our birth dates. The boyfriend? He filled out his stating that he was born in 1982...making him 5 years younger than me. So for the rest of the day, he kept saying that he was younger than me and calling me a cougar. For the record, this is SO NOT TRUE. Let the record state that he's 10 1/2 years older than me, thankyouverymuch.

Hello New Day! :)

Hello New Day! :)

At this time of year, when we're all busy either making resolutions or trying to forget that that's what others do, I just wanted to wish you a very happy new year.

I truly hope that 2010 is your best year yet.

And to kick it off, here's a great song - "Hello New Day" by Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers...

Hello New Day - Roger Clyne & ...