I'm baaaack....

This weekend I grew a wild hair up my ass.

Even though I love my job I had the overwhelming urge to flip the bird at The Man…so I got a tattoo. Of a bird. (Nice pun, eh?) On my forearm. And I LOVE IT.

In fact, I am super excited about it! My brother did this rad line drawing of this little round bird with just the tail colored in. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for—I’m not a butterfly, neo-tribal, or Sailor Sid kind of girl.

I feel like I’m back to being me again. I’ve been striving to look more professional and polished for the last year since I quit the mall and started looking for a professional job. I have some nice clothes now and regular earrings (that I wear only one pair at a time), but I sorta felt like I lost track of myself.

Another think I did to reclaim myself was to get my bike out of the basement and on the road. I love my bike. It’s an On-One “Il Pompino” frame single speed with miscellaneous components that I had built special just for me. I have a sticker on the chainstay that says, “your bike sucks.” I rode all around the neighborhood this weekend. I didn’t ride at all last year. I didn’t use it for transportation since worked in uptown and then downtown, both of which are dangerously congested, but in my free time I just never rode it. Not sure what my problem was.

Easter Weekend

I'm wiped. I want nothing more at this moment than to climb into bed and go to sleep. Yeah, I know, it's only seven o'clock.

Friday kicked off a long weekend. My hubby sadly did not pass his NASD test, so that night he had himself a pity party. He got good and loaded and kept hanging on me, grabbing me, hugging me, swinging me around. I have a very low threshold for being man-handled and I had a minor freak out, which didn't help his ego. I know he was just being needy and affectionate, but when you fill him full of beer, he's just not as gentle as he normally is.

I turned out the lights and called it a night at one, but I couldn't get him to come to bed. Four thirty in the morning he comes stumbling in asking, "Is there a reason why I've been sleeping in the living room?" Um, you wouldn't get off the love seat?

Saturday morning he's hung the fuck over and I have to drive through the city to a baby shower across the street from his parents' while he's giving me commands from the passenger street. For instance, "remember when you take a left turn, the oncoming traffic has the right-of-way." No shit. He forgets that I'd been driving for ten years before I met him.

After the baby shower we visited with the in-laws, and then returned home where Hubby speedily consumed more beer.

Sunday morning, we had Easter brunch with with my family (where Boloney Sandwich snuck some champagne into his previously virgin mamosa), took an afternoon nap, then had Easter dinner with Hubby's family. I just want to go home now. And I swear if my man cracks open even one more beer tonight he'll be sleeping in the mini van.

Is God Mocking Me?

Yesterday Boloney Sandwich and I helped my brother and sister-in-law move into their new place. It is absolutely gorgeous! Man am I jealous and bummed out. Why can't WE have a place like that? Jeez.

Anyway, they rented a tiny little house built in the same year and in the same neighborhood as ours. Theirs is one bedroom, just one floor with a nice open layout. You walk into the living room and it flows right into their kitchen, which lets out into the back yard through a set of french doors. On the right is another set of french doors into a small den/office which is where the entry to the bath is. Their bedroom is at the very front of the house tucked neatly away. Each room is painted a different bold color with bright white trim and the floors are new. The kitchen has gorgeous cabinetry, granite countertops, new appliances, and a dishwasher.

Where do I get in line??

When In Doubt, Do Nothing

I've given up on finding a nice apartment we can afford. Nothing I've seen is as good as what we already have in our tiny little gnome hovel of a place. The house we live in was built in 1880 as a modest single family dwelling, and in recent years was hacked into four tiny apartments. Most everything is jimmy-rigged together. We have doorframes that are actually just painted 2x4s nailed to the wall, and some of our windowsills are fashioned out of painted particle board. One of the living room walls is painted over fiberboard paneling, and the living room ceiling is an artificial drop ceiling like you find in office buildings.


BUT at least the living room is painted a cozy shade of tan with white trim around the windows, which are spanking new. In our kitchen, the few cabinets we have are nice looking, our appliances are relatively fresh, and the linoleum in the kitchen is new and clean. We have blue-gray walls in the bedroom at the back of the house facing a shady wooded area, and the bathroom has hot and cold running out of the same tap. Did I mention the rent is super cheap?

So even though the place is sort of slapped together, it was slapped together by a guy who cares for the property really well and chose fixtures and appliances he would want to use himself, and painted colors he could live with, so it's much better than all that yuck in those thirty year old cereal box units we've toured.

BEIGE Epidemic Out of Control in Wealthy Suburbs' Rental Communities! Tenants' Unexpressed Rage Leads to Clinical Depression, Expert Says.

Hubby and I have been tossing around the idea of moving out into the suburbs, so today we spent a few hours looking at apartments. Now I feel like I need another shower. What is with apartments that update their grounds, tile and decorate their foyers, paint the office walls nice colors, but change nothing else?

The apartments we looked at were '70s constuction so I was expecting the sheetrock box look, but what I wasn't expecting were the hideous colors of the apartments. All of them the same: BEIGE walls, BEIGE carpet, BEIGE linoleum, BEIGE cabinets, BEIGE countertops, BEIGE ceiling, BEIGE stove, BEIGE refrigerator, BEIGE shower!!! It's that color that no matter how much you clean it, it still looks sticky and dingy. It's the color you get when you start out white and then somebody smokes a pack a day in a confined area for ten years. Putrid, disgusting, nasy, barf. P.S. they don't allow residents to paint. I guess I won't be giving any of THOSE properties one third of my income every month.

Are those my only two choices? Shitty apartments in nice neighborhoods or cute apartments in shitty areas? The apartment renting for $925 per month was just as outdated and scummy looking as the apartment for $750. But they both outweighed the the apartment renting at $789 in a filthy building that accepts section 8 vouchers located in another ideal neighborhood. I don't mean to sound like a snotty bitch, but I grew up in section 8 buildings all my life and I've worked my ass off so that I never have to again. It's a terrible feeling to know you're safer standing in the middle of the highway than in your own hallway.

But now it's all wrecked anyway because we stopped at Hubby's parents to visit and tell them about the window motor that burned out on the way out there today. In trying to fix the quarter inch gap at the top of the window, Hubby, his dad, and I made it worse so now it only rolls up half way. It's going to cost around $500 on top of the $600 we already owe for leasing the car, so it's a good thing we didn't find an apartment we like.

Every Pink Cloud Has a Gray Lining

Ok, I thought of something to piss and moan about. BS is being a lazy selfish SOB again. Seriously? I asked him last week to clean the bathroom floor after I did the tub, toilet and sink. We're talking barely four square feet of tile and a rug--and he can't pull it together!! What the fuck is that about? Every day he walks in the front door and sinks his bony ass into the arm chair and plays with his phone with one hand and the other is down the front of his pants! I come in the door and pick up, do some dishes, make dinner and I don't get to sit down till like 7:30. By 9:30 I'm falling asleep in front of the tube, and Hubby's all like, "let's do it..." Fool, I have done ENOUGH work today, and the LAST thing I need is to exert ANY more energy toward pleasing YOU!!! Then he sits there looking all injured--because, yes, I do actually say these things out loud to him.

HOWEVER, this is merely the grey lining to my pink cloud. Though I am but a lowly trainee in a vast call center, I am already getting compliments on my service from many field reps who call in for transactions! In fact, a nice woman from New York asked to speak to my supervisor to pass on a compliment which resulted in a small recognition bonus. Our company subscribes to BRAVO! so when we get bravos, the points add up and we can "purchase" select merchandise on their website, which rocks. My job rocks.

I'm one of those weirdos that like doing customer service. The most fun job I had was cashiering at Whole Foods (though only after I tried running the bakery and was a miserable failure and decided to go back to school and back to cashiering). Other cashiers would notice my level of service and think I knew the person. Nope, I just like talking to strangers.

So, aside from Hubby's compulsive pocket-pool-playing and refusing to leave it alone long enough to scrub the floor, this week was pretty good.

Goody Two Shoes

Oh my gosh, I don't have anything to bitch about. All I have is good news right now. Well... I could bitch about the fact that the VA totally swiped our federal return that we were desperately waiting for, but it went to pay down a bill so it's not like we blew it at the casino or shot it up our arms.

But really, things are great. It took me a couple months, but I'm finally excited about my job. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but as it turns out, the other shoe was just as nice. The company I work for is a recent spin-off and I won't bore you with the details, but everyone in the building (and probably all the other buildings) is really energetic so it's contagious. Even my uber-cynic Hubby is pumped! That in itself is amazing. Plus I've shed a total of 18 pounds as of this morning--yay me! How many husbands can say that as soon as they got married their wives grew their hair all the way down their back and started losing weight??? I remind him of how lucky he is continually.

At home, we're bitching a lot less and spend more time thinking about the future, what to save for, and how to do it. I feel like we're a team more so than ever. I'm amazed that we got through all the shit-caked garbage life threw at us for the last few years, so now that things are going even a little bit right for us I feel like the sun finally came out. It makes me want to cry. And it's not like we got jobs as apprentice millionaires--in fact, we're not even thousandaires because our bank accounts are empty at the moment--but finally the phone isn't ringing off the hook from bill collectors, our rent gets paid every month, we have an auto to get around in, and life has REAL POTENTIAL.

Like I've said before, money changes everything. Even just a little bit of it.

Movin' On Up

I think I actually inspired my husband without having to ride his ass about anything. About a week after I passed my exams my husband got a wild hair and applied for the same position I was hired for at the same company. And he got the job!!! That's right motherfucker! Welcome the newest additions to "the middle class"!

I'm so excited I could pee myself. But I won't because I'm at work. He starts this coming Monday but for the last two weeks he's been prereading the materials and shopping like a fool who won the lottery. Well, actually, that's not true--he's shopping for office clothes because all he has are theif-buster clothes: Carhart hoodies and dirty jeans with sneakers.

Now that he got a haircut and he's outfitted for work, he looks pretty sharp. I might miss that roughneck look he had about him.

VD!

This Is What the City Bus Does To Peoples' Faces

The Bus Face. It's an art, perfected over time. I've been working on mine for 20 years. Gotta be tough if you don't want drunk weirdos and crack fiends sharing your seat. Tough, but not crazy--you don't want fuckers thinking you're a bird of their feathers. Just tough enough so they know not to even waste their time asking you for money. Tough enough so that they won't feel temped to pull their dick out of their pants and wiggle it at you to see what you'll do. You want that face to say, "Nuh-uh."

This first pic I call "Don't sit with me." It's my general go-anywhere bus face. Works on all busses, all times of day--just enough a.m. crabbiness to avoid small talk with other downtown commuters, for the ride home it looks like the day was rough, and at night it looks like i might go off, you never know.












Now, this one is if I accidentally make eye contact. Eye contact is the wide open door for some fuckhead to feel he's been invited for a chat, so it must be countered with a look that says, "Save it." This face is also good for someone trying to get my attention who I cannot ignore.












Amazingly enough, not everyone can effectively read body language. This is my face when I am literally saying, "Dude. You need to go sit someplace else."

A Hate Haiku for my Co-Worker

Yappy guy shut it
interrupt, you talk over
Oblivious, ass

Super Fuckin' Right On Hell Yeah!!!

I spanked that series 63's ASS! Not really, but I passed it at 76%. No more studying, stressing, or sleep dep! I feel better than when I graduated college because there's no "what now?" to anguish over. I ran their gauntlet and now I get to keep showing up to my job, keep my benefits--which rock, p.s., and there's plenty of space to work my way up!

Ladies and gentlemen! A moment please! I would like to take a moment to announce that I will NEVER have to work retail AGAIN! (Provided G-d doesn't take this opportunity to strike me down for my lack of humility. Hopefully all of my gratitude will make up for it.)

So I am celebrating at my local dive coffe house with a lukewarm, extraordinarily sweet cup of coffee heavy on the cream. My toes are cold. Hey what's that smell...? Why do I come here? Oh yeah, because this is where the cool kids hang out. Kidding, I don't know why I come here. No, yes I do. They have really good coffee. But they don't have food, unless you can be satisfied with a three year old bag of M&Ms for lunch (which I am not, so I went to Subway first).

I think I also come here because the baristas have that perfect amount of surlyness and stellar customer service. The woman who's tending the counter right now is this real sturdy woman with a mass of black curly hair piled up on top of her head, big ol' jewelry in her ears. Whenever I walk in she'll look at me with a frown and angry eyebrows and say, "What can I git'cha babe?" I love it. She's my fave.

Anyway, I'm listening to a loud-fast mix I made last week of metal and punk, heavy on the estrogen please, thank you, and just enjoying my day in general. I'm getting paid eight hours for an hour and a half of testing with a three day weekend ahead of me. AND tomorrow's payday.

Uh-oh, school's out. This place is going to fill up quick with annoying kids. I hate teenagers. I want kids of my own, but not if they're going to be teenagers. Fuck that, pack your bags if you're even THINKING about being a destructive little vandal theif bastard! Yeah, I'm talking to you, you teeny eggs hiding out in my warm little ovaries! It's a cold, cold world, so don't get too comfortable! You just wait till your father gets home--his little men are going to get the same speech!

Can I Get a What-What!

Since i've been studying like crazy i haven't lost any weight in like three or four weeks, so i feel like i need to give myself some cred. Here is my photo montage from October to January:

Linka72 asked, "Who Upgraded You?"

Her question led me to ponder my life and how grateful I am for the people who have passed through my life and made me see things differently. Here was my response to her question:

It is my firm belief that anyone who's ever managed to "pick themselves up by their bootstraps" has only managed to do so if they have a pair of boots. To get anywhere in life, you need a hand up. Some people are lucky and are born into families where the hand up is simply a way of life and they take it for granted to the point where they believe they are entitled to every hand up that comes their way.

Not I. I was born to an unfortunate high school student who'd never even had sex. My conception was not so much immaculate as it was simply highly improbable--you can call it toeing the line I guess, which all teenagers do. Anyway, my sixteen year old mother was the daughter of a raging abusive alcoholic, the youngest of four, and their family's resources were sparse.

I grew up seeing my mom in and out of many relationships, four marriages, and having five more babies along the way with a total of four different men. I was given all the necessary tools to build myself a life of single motherhood in a trailer park.

But in high school, after dating a bunch of guys who already had rap sheets piled up an inch thick, I decided I wanted to date a nice boring type of guy for once, and I found one who took a chance on me, much to his parents' dismay.

He lived on the good side of town in a modest house, and was the son of a tenured college professor and registered nurse. For his parents, college wasn't negotiable--he was going and that was it. I, on the other hand had never even considered it--and, in fact, had just returned to regular day school after a stint working days and going to night school trying to get myself emancipated and out of my crazy house. Anyway, I wanted to impress his aloof parents so I got their help to show me how a person goes about getting themselves to college.

I bought a book about the ACT test and self-studied. I scored high enough on the test to get into a community college. I applied for student aid and was eligible for a shitload of loans, which I used to help pay my rent in tandem with my working part time. A year later my grades were good enough to transfer to the University.

But after going to school part time for three years, the boy and I broke up and I went back to my roots. I became a drunk and a big-time slut. I slept around with most of the ex-boyfriend's friends. I couldn't hold a job or pay my bills, so I made myself extra trampy-looking to get free drinks when I went out, which was like five times a week. After a couple years of that, I ended up working at a coffee shop with a real young girl who was in "the program" and convinced me to go to AA.

So now it's seven years later, I haven't drank since, I graduated college, I managed not to get pregnant (luck, not caution), and I married a sweet, gentle guy who is sometimes a boloney sandwich.

Whenever people try to give me credit for being a self-made woman despite my unfortunate circumstances, I just blow them off because I know that if I hadn't been driven to impress some high school boy's snooty parents, I highly doubt I would have pursued this life. But I sure am glad I did!!

I Passed! Too Bad You Didint!

Psyche! I kicked that test's ASS!

I haven't had time to write so you don't know about all the crazy foolish lazy a-holes that were hired along with me. Call me a dick, but I'm glad they didn't pass. A bunch of people were hired who I'd swear had never worked a job before! These are adults who, within three weeks, were already having attendence and behavior problems. By week five they had to be separated and assigned seating in different areas. WTF?

Then there was a real creepy guy who sat in the corner of the room and was always trying to give away his potato chips. One day I hopped on the computer next to his and he kept asking me for help with his test questions and benefits enrollment. I tried to be helpful until I realized he didn't really want help so much as he wanted attention. After I started giving one word answers to give him the hint that I was done "helping" him, he offered me his damn potato chips. I looked over and asked him why he brings potato chips every day if he doesn't want them. Of course instead of just saying he doesn't pack his own lunch or some such other minimal-disclosure explanation, he says, "I live in a half-way house." HELLO! TMI!! I was caught off guard, but thought, well maybe he's new in recovery or something. So I asked. Nope. That was IT for me, end of discussion: there is only ONE other kind of half-way house boys and girls--and that's halfway between prison and the outside world! He said something offhand about he used to have some pretty bad neighbors, but like I said, at that point I had already closed the door, so the only response he got was "uh-hm."

After that I just ignored him and figured that was the end of the story. 'Course not. I don't have that kind of karma. About two weeks later he comes over and sits next to me while I'm taking a computer test (because that was what we were all SUPPOSED to be doing with our work days) and says, "Hey, uh Patricia." My name is not Patricia. When he noticed that I didn't so much as flicker my lashes in response he said, "Oh, I-uh, sorry, what was your name again?" So I not so graciously reintroduced myself to him. "Say, I have a question for you." I thought, aw shit! Don't ask me out don't ask me out! He was starting to blush a little at the bottom of his cheeks, and he asked, "Can I borrow a hundred dollars till Monday?" Holy shit, are you fucking kidding me buddy?! No! No you cannot borrow any money. You all know I'm a pussy, so you won't be surprised to hear that what came out of my mouth was more along the lines of "Sorry I can't because..." I should mention that he was asking for money the day before pay day. And he wanted to pay me back Monday? What's up with this guy? Happily, I will never know because he failed his Series 7 exam and henceforth will no longer be employed where I work.

Incommunicado

I'm going a little crazy from not having access to a computer at work. This past week I spent 40 hours listening to a guy from Kaplan lecture on things we need to know to pass this crazy series 7 exam that I'm cooking my brain trying to prepare for. So if anyone actually does read my ramblings, this is why I am incommunicado. Here I go to study some more... But do ya know that if I pass this thing, I will NEVER have to work at the mall or a coffee shop EVER AGAIN!

Buh-Bye Brain Cells

I can feel them popping like popcorn in the microwave. I am studying my head right off!

I feel like a really low-grade computer. I am trying to cram in so much information that my brain overloads and just shuts off so I can't stay awake. Not only am I studying for 7.5 hours out of my work day, but then I get home, pack up the computer and I'm off again and don't get in till way past my bedtime. It feels like there are clouds IN MY BRAIN.

So far I like the company and I hope I make it through the exams so's I can keep my job. The group is really diverse through all levels of operation, which is way better than I can say for some of the other jobs I've had. I don't exactly fit the white suburban corporate mold, so I look around and am encouraged to think there might be some other folks who think like me. Every office I've ever worked in, the women have mashed potatoes for brains and the men are snotty a-holes. I do not spend my out of work time shopping or sitting around TGI Friday's, so I've never made any lasting connections at those jobs. God forbid I should want to talk politics with other women!

If it's not obvious, I am way procrastinating on the studying I need to get done tonight for a big test tomorrow.

Wouldn't Ya Know It?

Of course the company I just started with still employs my least fave ex-boyfriend. We decided to be "just friends" but he trampled all over my boundaries and picked petty arguments with me just like when we were dating, so I told him I didn't want to be friends anymore. He had a dismaying inability to grasp that concept. His argument was that "we didn't talk about it" and that he didn't agree with my decision. Uh, ok. I don't need your permission to move on, BUD.

I've been walking around the building with my antennae up just in case, but then it got annoying so I asked security and they confirmed. Ack! I hope I never see him, but I don't have that kind of good Karma.

Today is My Last Day!

Last day as a temp. The company I'm working for threw me a going away breakfast of gourmet bagels. Pretty nice. But I think they just wanted an excuse to have some free breakfast.

But seriously folks, this day is just dragging on and on. Normally my work day down time is filled with blogging, surfing, emailing, Bookworm, and Tetris, but my successor temp has been here since yesterday. He was fully trained for this job by, oh, 10am yesterday! So instead of doing my usual screwing-off routine, I am wandering around looking for things to do. Today my job is to go through the entire catalogue section of the library (this is an advertising agency, so you can just imagine) and toss out everything older than spring of '05.

Here's me: flip, flip, toss. Flip, flip, toss... Skim, skim, "Hmm, I should get me one of those..." toss.

I feel sorry for the poor fucker that has to try to lift the recycling bag out of THAT bin. It'll be 300 pounds by the time I'm done. The catalogue library is looking pretty skeletal already. But, I should add, I DON'T CARE. HAHA HAHA!

I think I will go online today and sign them up for a crapload of catalogues. The first one that comes to mind is "Good Vibrations." Then maybe I'll charge some susbscriptions to the company account like "Adbusters."

For the past two days some General Mills suits have been having secret meetings in our conference room--shhh you didn't hear it from me--and by the looks of it, they must think they're a bunch of rock stars at the fuckin' Las Vegas Hilton. They completely trashed a perfectly nice conference room.

There's so much junk food in there I'm surprised no one's gone into a diabetic coma. Cookies, donuts, croissants, cinnamon rolls, bowls of candy, candy bars, chocolate-dipped pretzels, malted milk balls, soda-pop, chex mix, salted pretzels, potato chips! Jeezis! The fruit and veggie trays were virtually untouched, and they barely picked at their box lunches. Aren't they supposed to be pushing WHOLE GRAINS? They obviously know fuck-all about nutrition, so I'm not buying their shit anymore.

Letgo My Ankle!!

Everything I have ever suspected about Twiggy has proven true. I already knew that she thrives on conflict and gets off on animosity more than artists get off on ennui (although I’m sure her home life is littered with ennui). But now since I put in my notice, I noticed she’s the kind of person who does the old “emotional transference” trick. Most people, when confronted with strong feelings of dislike for another will generally disconnect once they hear that the other is leaving. No big deal, no harm, no foul. But this lady is one of those who seems to like to just re-file Feeling A into the Feeling B drawer. Now that I’m getting the H-E-double hockey sticks out of here, she has suddenly become all gushy and overly friendly. I understand she’s probably excited I’m leaving, but now all those strong feelings are making her want to try to be my little buddy. Eeew.

I had a boss like that once. THAT crazy bitch would ride my ass and micro-manage every move I made, from how I bagged up groceries to how fast I counted down my drawer. Sometime she’d get frustrated and would just grab things out of my hand. She would even charge into the bathroom to call us out of the stalls if we were taking too long (i.e. going #2). I would stand up to her all the time, but none of the other chickenshit cashiers would ever back me up. Anyway, the point is, she was the same way. She had to terminate me for missing a mandatory work meeting and she bawled over it and was hugging me goodbye and telling me to keep in touch. Coo-coo! Coo-coo!

And that’s pretty much my life story. I was blessed with a “big personality” to go along with my big butt, and people sometimes respond strongly. At every point along the way there has been some kind of high- strung ankle-biter figure viciously snarling and salivating, trying to bring me down. When I decide to move on, they turn it around and want to be best friends forever. What’s a girl to do? People are fuckin’ crazy.