Wednesday, April 30, 2008

In case you were wondering, I have recovered from my funk of yesterday. I did end up doing all three things on my after work agenda (get ice cream, get drunk, and get laid), though I didn’t get quite drunk, and I added on to the list: make a shitload of cookies.

I had an important meeting to I had to lead this morning, and I wanted to make a good impression, so: homemade chocolate chip (some with walnuts!) cookies. I’ve learned that it’s hard for people to bitch and ask too many questions when their mouth is full. (oh man, I just thought of the dirtiest, most misogynistic response to that.) They loved the cookies and fawned over me, so I got some much-needed ego stroking.

Anyway, back to the story I was going to tell: COOKIES.
So when I mentioned to J that I’d be making some to take to work, he whined about my never making him anything (which is close to the truth), so I doubled the batch so he could take some to work and he could be known as The Guy With The Best Wife Ever, Because He Gets Homemade Cookies And Sex In The Same Night. Anyway, I just decided to double the recipe because it was a new one I’d never tried, and I was not up to the brain function required to do 1 ½ batch. Anyway, I realized too late that this was going to make a LOT of batter, so by the time I was done I had over 8 dozen. That is 100 cookies, y’all. So when I say I was a cookie-making fool last night, belive me. No, really.

So I’ve been pretty popular around here today. Who wants cookies?
My mom and I had a fight over the weekend, and she’s being all sensitive about Mother’s Day, and throwing a pity party for herself that I’m the “oooonly chiiiiild” that she has to see (since my sister’s in Miss.), and that she is “competing” with my MIL for time with us.

Anyway, she’s asked that J and I attend church with her and my dad that morning. I hate my parent’s church – some of it has to do with the fact that I am just So Not Into Church Of Any Kind lately, but mostly because her preacher is of the Yell And Pound The Lectern school of theology, and because it is really embarrassing how she parades me in front of people. I am The Good Daughter, and I’m supposed to smile blandly and make polite small talk and wave like Miss America.

So, without causing a second blowup in less than a weeks’ time (which I just cannot handle right now), what’s the best way for me to politely decline the church invitation? I want to offer making lunch at my house, and we can have game/family togetherness time, but we’re already hosting John’s entire family for dinner that night. But I think the expense would be worth it: I can just get it all over with, and drink discreetly if I need to.

Allie is the shizz and gave me this award: Aw, thank you! You're pretty Fuckin A yourself...

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

It’s one of those days where I just feel like a big fuck-up.
In my long, boring meeting this morning, a coworker of mine got a multi-level award (as in two different levels of management recognized her, so she got plaque-thingies and monetary rewards from both, and of course a big round of applause and gushing from all of us there). I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it – I know she does good work – but she’s only been here less than a year. I’ve been here for nearly 4, and have gotten little teeny pats on the back, but nothing of that magnitude (I’m a very Give Me A Validating Gold Star For A Job Well Done kind of girl). So it’s not like I want to kick her in the face, I just would like that pat on the head. (Good girl!) But instead of being motivated to do better work, I came back to my desk and pouted and fucked off for a little while.

Then I got my head together, did some work, felt a little better, and then got called out twice in a span of 30 minutes for making minor but careless mistakes on two different things I sent out. And I felt stupid. I still feel stupid. I’m the chastised puppy.

I know that I’m still quite new to my position, and so it’s expected that there will be some growing pains, but still – I hate feeling dumb and Not Knowing Shit I Feel Like I Should Know. The most cruel thing you can do to me is to allude to a secret or tell an inside joke, sans explanation, in front of me, and flaunt it. It makes me feel like an uncool 12 year-old again. It brings up that insecurity I’ve had as long as I can remember: that everyone else is cooler and smarter than I could ever hope to be, and the only reason anyone talks to me is either out of pity or for more fodder to make fun of me behind my back later.

And I know that’s a little ridiculous – it’s just my bruised ego and sleep deprivation talking – but still. So, I’m going to leave now and go do several things, at least one of which should make me feel better: get ice cream, get drunk, and get laid.

Good evening to you.
Fuck you, Tuesday – I am so over you. Get the hell out of here.

Rhetorical Question Tuesday

How is it that I can feel busy all the time, but also feel like I’m fucking off all day?

Monday, April 28, 2008

So J and I had had on our calendar for months that Deke Dickerson was playing at the Continental Club last night (yes, a SUNDAY, as in The Day Before Monday). There have been several times where someone we want to see is playing on a Sunday night, but we always chicken out when it comes down to getting ready to leave the house at 9 o’clock.
But Deke only comes to town about once a year, and we really like his music – catchy, eclectic, clever, and best of all, danceable. So we sucked it up and went last night. We had a good time, but it was a pitiful crowd – less than 30 folks there, when on a Saturday night, a Deke show would pack the place. So I felt a little bad that Houston gave such a poor showing, but it was nice to have the dance floor mostly to ourselves.

It was after midnight before we left, and then after the drive home and having a snack, it was 1:30 before lights out. I knew it would be a late night, and set my alarm for 6:45, but J forgot to change his, and it went off at 6, and I was up. Damn.

Luckily, my steady sips of caffeine over the course of the morning have perked me up a bit. But this getting-through-a-work-day-on-4-hours-of-sleep thing…I am too fucking old.

Friday, April 25, 2008


Thanks for your kind comments this week. Allie, I haven’t had to punch anyone as you suggested, but I did get a little drunk the other night to make myself feel better. Alcohol: the ultimate salve for your bruised ego and psyche.

Luckily, today is flying by, and I’ve only got 2 ½ hours left – yay flex time!!!

I hope to get a post of some substance up by the end of the day – I’ve been neglecting you lately.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

So I was an idiot yesterday and left my wallet here at work, and didn’t realize it until I got all the way home. I was on the phone with customer service about some clothes I’d ordered, and they asked for my credit card number, and even though I could remember the 16-digit number, I wasn’t sure of the expiration, so when I went digging to verify it, I had a bit of a freak-out when it was missing, and this poor lady had to sit there and listen to me say “Oh, SHIT” about 10 times.
Anyway, because J was less than sympathetic about lending me the last of his cash so I could get my expensive-ass coffee as usual, I drove to work broke. (Ass.) “No worries”, I thought; “There’s a Starbucks kiosk in the cafeteria – I’m golden.” So after I purchased my breakfast taco, I calmly walked over to the cart and ordered my grande nonfat no-whip mocha, and a minute later, glided across the caf, down the sidewalk, up the stairs, and to my desk in blissful anticipation of my caffeine fix. Life is good.
After getting settled back in at my desk, I took one sip of the coffee, and instead of the sweet, mocha nectar I was expecting, I got burnt chocolate ass. OH GOD, it was horrible.
I took a drink of water, and then tried another sip, thinking maybe it had just hit my palette wrong. Nope, still ass.
So I had to throw away a full, $3.63 cup of coffee, and I’m grumpy about it, and in an hour I’ll have a headache because I haven’t had my caffeine this morning, but I don’t want to drink a Coke because sodas in the morning give me a stomachache, so GRRRRR. POOP ON EVERYONE.

Monday, April 21, 2008

I’m not the only one that idly Googles ex-boyfriends, right…?

Minimal Brain Function Monday

1. Ginny
2. Gin
3. Little Brown-Haired Girl

1. altoqueen511
2. gin_y_juice
3. That’s it

1. Feet
2. Eye color
3. Hair (during the 3 weeks a year when we have low humidity)

1. Pudge
2. The squintiness of my eyes
3. The flatness of my booty

1. English
2. Irish
3. Mexican

1. The possibility of being unable to have children
2. Creepy crawly anything
3. Losing someone I love

1. Minute Maid Pulp-Free Orange Juice
2. Burt’s Bees Lip Balm
3. Mascara (right now I’m using Dior, and I’m digging it)

1. Khakis
2. Navy blue short-sleeve sweater
3. A red bra

1. BF5
2. Southern Culture
3. Amy Winehouse, hot mess that she is

1. Someone who does not take themselves too seriously
2. Someone who will fight with me
3. Honesty

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order):
1. I can’t cook rice
2. I own 12 pairs of jeans
3. I have shitty handwriting

1. An easy smile
2. Red hair
3. Long eyelashes

1. Cooking
2. Dancing
3. Posting, when I have anything of interest to write about

1. Spend time with Jamie
2. Go shopping
3. Chill at home

1. High School Speech Teacher
2. Stay-At-Home Mom
3. Badass

1. NYC again
2. The mountains, maybe Wyoming
3. California again would be cool, too

1. Kate
2. Anna
3. Michael

(OMG, I just realized that those are all names of characters on Lost – that is honestly just a coincidence. Kate is after the BF5 song; Anna I just like, plus it is a family name; I've always liked Michael.)

1. Have children
2. Have grandchildren
3. Live in the Texas Hill Country

1. I don’t like to get dirty
2. I like to buy shoes
3. I prefer to stick to the cooking and housecleaning, and let John take care of the outside stuff

1. I like to roll over and fall asleep immediately after sex
2. Most of the time, I prefer steak, potatoes, and beer over fine wining and dining
3. I’m an aggressive driver

I'm not tagging anyone - if you just need a diversion and/or something to post, like I did, have at it.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Work has been kinda rough lately. I’ve been pretty busy, which has been good for my mental health, but there has been a LOT of drama of the Mean Girls variety going on, so I’ve traded one kind of mental taxation for another.

I won’t get into specifics, because none of you care (and frankly, I’m tired of rehashing), but suffice it to say I am really, really tired of women’s passive-aggressive bullshit. I miss my good girlfriends. I miss being able to talk to women that won’t totally tear me apart, personally and/or professionally, the minute I leave my desk. It’s not that I care too much what people say; people will talk no matter what, all I can do is try to limit their fodder. But the Nasty lingers in the air, and that cloud of heavy, gray Yuck hovers over our cube, and it makes it so hard to try to get through the day when that fog is in your way. Not that I buy into the New Age-y stuff, but my aura is totally cluttered and blackened.

So here’s my thought for the day: Don’t stir up shit unnecessarily, because God knows it will find you soon enough. Try being nice, or at the very least, keeping your mouth shut. Do your whining and moaning at happy hour or at home – that’s why God invented Significant Others, so you’d have someone to bitch to at the end of the day.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

I’ve had a really hard time getting out of bed lately. I set my alarm nice and early, in hopes that I can get a head start on the traffic, get a great parking spot, and get a lot accomplished in the quiet morning hours here at work, and it is…just not happening.

Not only am I getting out of bed later, but I keep dawdling while I’m getting ready – This pair of pants? Hmmm…wait, nope, too much booty for these. But now I need different shoes…and I really don’t like this shirt with them – and then HOLY SHIT IT’S 7:15!!!

So I rush off to work, and magically, my MP3 player senses my stress, and delivers the best, most rockin’ mix of music. It’s like it’s saying, “Hey. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

I love it when that happens. I’m in traffic, stuck at an intersection as a light goes through its third cycle and I’m still not moving, but no stress, I’m grooving…and hey, I like the way you move, Bog Boi. And Miss Benatar, we do belong together. And maybe it’s not Friday, but I am in love, so I’ll play along, Robert Smith. And no, I can’t go for that either, Mr.’s Hall and Oates.

And suddenly, I’m at work, strolling through the parking lot, coffee in hand, and it’s gonna be a good day.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Today’s post is brought to you by the number 2, as in 2nd degree, and the letter S for Sunburn.

A week and a half after my 2 hours uncovered in the loving springtime sun in Austin, the pink, then dark pink, then RED of my upper arms and shoulders has faded, the pain has mostly subsided, and I am left with puckered, peeling, leprous arms – this has easily been the worst sunburn of my entire life.

Luckily, a slight cold front came through this past weekend, so I am able to continue wearing long sleeves to cover my unsightly, flaky limbs without looking out of place. It is really disgusting. I had intended to take pictures of my ugly red shoulders as a warning to you all, but the weak flash from my camera would have been too much for my skin to bear, and now they are all gross – I could still post a picture, but I’d like to keep my readership from retching all over their keyboards, rendering them unable to navigate to my humble blog.

Anyway, here’s my point: If you never, ever heed any other crappy advice I shill, hear me now: OH MY GOD PLEASE WEAR SUNSCREEN.

I have no segue for this next bit, so HERE:

J decided to try to grow some facial hair again, for fun, and out of boredom, and I hated it. After about 3 days worth of growth, I did a close inspection of the progress, and noticed a white hair or two in with the bright red. I pointed this out, and J denied, denied, denied. After 2 more days of growth, it became a little more obvious that I was right – I am married to a white-whiskered oldman.
I was getting ready this morning when J rolled out of bed, shuffled over, and pointed his chin at me – clean-shaven.

And so, I have agreed to have sex with him again. (I will admit that the weeklong sabbatical had more to do with my sunburn than with the unsatisfactory development of his scratchy scruff, but that was a good excuse to avoid whiskerburn).

So very busy this week – three meetings just today. I will make it a personal goal to have some kind of post at least twice a week – I hope I can stick to it.

Friday, April 11, 2008

So driving back from Austin on Sunday, J and I ended up listening to NPR (because I love to listen to Garrison Keillor, because I am old and out of vogue like that). That sentence has nothing really to do with what I’m posting about today, except that it serves as a disclaimer to the admission that I willingly listened to contemporary country music: Brad Paisley, and his wife, Kimberly Williams Paisley, were guests on the show, and Brad performed a few songs. Surprisingly, sitting through them did not make my head explode – maybe it was my fever, nausea, and fatigue, but I found them kind of charming.

In particular, I liked the song “Letter To Me”, which was written as a letter to himself at age 17. I was inspired, and have been thinking of the things I would tell the 17 year-old, circa-2000 me. In typical Gin Form, instead of bothering with formalities, I’ll just make a list of things I’d want to tell myself.

1. You really are skinny. No really, you are. Shutup, yes you are. Enjoy and appreciate your metabolism.

2. You will get over Sean. I promise. It will just take some time. In a few years you will realize that even though you both loved each other, you are really too much woman for him. You will have more great loves in your life, ones that appreciate and love you for everything you are, and trust me when I say that the pain will make you value the good times even more. In the meantime, get out more. I know you don’t want to, but try – there is so much fun that you’re missing out on because you insist on staying at home in your pajamas moping.

3. Don’t feel like a loser townie because you’re not going away to college right away. Half the people who run off to UT or A&M or Tech as freshman will drink away their first year, flunk out, and end up back at community college with a few thousand dollars wasted, pissed off parents, a shitty academic record, and a beer gut. Then half of them will drop out completely, and will have three kids by 22. You will eventually go away to school, and it will be awesome and the most fun you’ve had in your life.

4. Don’t worry about not knowing what you want to major in, or what you want to do when you grow up. Focus on the classes you enjoy, and that will lead you to where you need to be. You’ll end up happy, I promise.

5. Take comfort in the fact that Jamie will be a good and true friend to you for many years to come, through all the dumbass things you will do.

6. Don’t ever take a debate class. Despite what you may think it is, it will only end in frustration and heartache. Stick to arguing with your mother – you will get really good at that.

7. You will never, ever regret not having sex in high school. You should be proud of yourself for holding your ground on that.

8. You should also be proud of all the plates you keep spinning for your age. Your older self will look back and wonder how you had all the energy and stamina to pull 18-hour days all of the time. You have accomplished so much; don’t feel like a failure compared to other people who seem to do more, because they are totally abusing Ritalin anyway.

I’ve been thinking about this for a few days, and there was more stuff that I came up with, but these were the most significant; the rest was all, “Dude – Britney will end married to a backup dancer, have 2 kids, lose her shit, and shave her head. I KNOW.”

Is there anything you’d tell your teenage self?


I have a love of office supplies that borders on fetishism.
If J could incorporate Post-Its and Sharpies into our sex life, it would get me unreasonably excited.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Hello, my chickens!

Sorry for the dead air the past several days; I was Austining Friday through the weekend, was sick with some kind of stomach bug or food poisoning Monday, and spent yesterday, and still today, playing catch-up and combating waves of nausea. (On the only plus side of spending the past few days becoming well-acquainted with my bathroom, I believe I have dropped a pants size. Still not worth it, though.)


I started typing this post at 9 this morning, and now it’s nearly 4 and it’s still not really anything (damn you, work!), but I would feel really bad not posting anything for an entire week, so HERE, YOU CAN EAT THIS OR GO TO BED HUNGRY, YOUNG LADY!

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Food For Thought

Which is worse:
Being talked about behind your back in your absence, or being talked about deliberately within your hearing?

I accept that being talked about behind your back, despite being tagged as adolescent behavior, is still rampant in the adult world. It’s going to happen to me – it already happens to me; whatever bitches, I do it too.
Discretion on the part of the gossipers at least allows the subject to maintain a slight shred of dignity, right? But being talked about within your hearing – they know you hear them, and don’t care if you know what they say about you – is pretty demeaning and humiliating, but at least you know the specifics of what’s being said, and whether it’s true or total bullshit.

So would you rather know or not know?
I, personally, would rather be kept in the dark – the things that other people may say about me, though hurtful, I’m sure are no worse than the things I tell myself. Not to mention that there are certain truths I accept about myself anyway – calling me a bitch behind my back; not very original, and also no big secret, so if the intent was to inflict pain, You Lose. Also, I know I’m kind of chubby – Next, please.

The question is more of a rhetorical one, and something I’ve been mulling over myself for the past few days, but feel free to add your 2 cents if you like.
Can I just say something: I love it when people cuss at work.

I mean, not like every other word, but to make a point, or in times of great frustration. People who do this, “Oh, fudge!” business (unless you’re a grandmother, in which case I can maybe buy it) drive me up the wall. Get over yourself, no one cares if you say Shit! under your breath when you get a crap email or something.

Anyway, lately I’ve heard more and more of the word Fuck around here, and I really cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Maybe that’s weird, but I use fuck in all its incarnations when I’m at home, so much so it’s maybe a little ridiculous, so hearing it at work makes me feel more comfortable (assuming it’s not directed at me, as in You Fucking Bitch).

I’ve been assigned to manage the training for an important group of people here at work for the next year or so, and the last several times I’ve met with the lead of that group, he’s called things out as Bullshit, or said “such and such will bite us in the ass”, and when he does that, I think, “Oh Dude, you and I are going to get along splendidly.”

I’m rereading what I just wrote now, and it sounds totally dopey, like I’m all “Yay, cussing! Supercool!”, but I’m easily entertained these days, so cut me some slack.

In other news, today is my Friday (YAY!) since I’m taking tomorrow off so J and I can go to Austin for the Lone Star Roundup and to run around and hear bands and spend money and maybe have some nice Hotel Sex.

My mood has been better the past couple of days, which is nice – it’s tiring being irritable all the time. I saw an agenda for a meeting I have next week, and it included something that I thought would resolve an ongoing conflict and relieve some of the tension that’s been getting to me over the past couple of weeks, but I just found out it’s just about an aspect of said conflict, and that sucks, because I am really just ready to rip the Band-Aid off already – will I have a job in two years or not??? I’ve been busier though, and I know that’s helping – being bored for so long would make anyone crabby.

Boo. Enough of this boring, depressing work crap.
Look – baby monkey!

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Things To Do Before I Die

(In honor of the impending nuptials.)

Cultivate an ass of comparable bootyliciousness (no pun intended)

Learn to shake it like this: