Thanks.

At the end of every email I write, “Thank you!” or “Thanks!” and then sometimes ask myself, “What the hell am I thanking YOU for?”  You wrote me an email (or five).  I answered it.  Thank you?  No, thank ME!  I’m left feeling puzzled about who did what for whom and like I’ve used up one too many thank you’s in life. 

That’s one side of the scenario…

At the end of every email I DON’T write, “Thank you!” or “Thanks!” and then you read it and think I’m a stone cold bastard because my emails are short and impersonal. 

There’s the other side. 

I’ve been watching Mad Men recently (seven years fashionably late).  A depiction of what work was like before computers, email or internet existed…before work was actually being done at work basically.  When you wanted something from someone you walked across to their office, ‘asked’ their secretary if they were available and then went in whether they were or weren’t.  Then you had a conversation and got what you wanted which led to a whiskey and a cigarette.  OR…you had a conversation and didn’t get what you wanted which still led to a whiskey and a cigarette. 

I originally used this as an example to support my thoughts that those were the good old days when in-person communication was all there was and thus, there was little room for misinterpretation.  You were either a bastard or not but it was clear right off the bat because people could observe facial expressions and tone.  But now, after realizing that most of this rambling masterpiece makes no sense at all, I think I’ll just use it as an example to support that we should reintroduce drinking to the work place.  But not smoking.  Smoking kills and we don’t want that.  You can thank me later…

Come and Take It

Close your eyes and think.  Think realllllly hard about the most prehistoric, disgusting thing walking this Earth.  If you are anything like me, a roach will come to mind.  Nothing makes me want to get a blow torch and a can of gasoline faster than the site of a roach in the house.  Nothing!  I’m not even talking your standard roach; I’m talking the Texas-sized, knife wielding, boot wearing, flying tree roach to which nothing is comparable.  Don’t you dare look them in the eye or they’ll be in your hair or dive bombing your pets at record-setting speeds. 

I am a reasonable person (90% of the time) and I know that no matter how clean your house is, no matter how diligent you are with your quarterly exterminations, no matter how hard you pray that you never see one again…an occasional tree roach will stroll into your home and make you question life.  They aren’t seeking dirt, food, or anything specific really, they just wound up in your house by accident.  Believe me, they would rather be outside where they belong but for whatever reason, they are inside now.  Just you, them and a really long vacuum extension (or blow torch). 

So, needless to say, our quarterly extermination is now scheduled for tomorrow morning which includes an outside treatment for the yard, plants and trees – you have to hit them where it hurts.   We may or may not have slept in a different room away from the master bath where this idiot was seen (at my request) which means that my husband and I, and our dog, crammed into a queen size bed in one of the guest rooms.  I have no shame.

I feel the need to fly the “Come and Take It” flag now – I will be victorious.  

Cry me an ocean

The other night, I had a breakdown of epic proportions that I will blame solely on pregnancy hormones.  I will admit that I am overall a very emotional person but I usually have some degree of rationality to go along with that.  Not the other night.  It was the day I cried because my dog hasn’t seen the ocean…

We are going on a beach trip in a few weeks and we planned to take our dog with us to avoid putting him in a kennel.  He is a rescue who was abused as a puppy and we have really come a long way with him – every time we put him in a kennel he is terrified (and it makes me feel bad) so he will be making the drive to Florida with us.  My husband casually mentioned that Chief, the dog, has never seen the ocean.  I instantly started tearing up.  What kind of life are you living if you haven’t seen the ocean?!  I pictured him running slow motion through the waves and having the time of his life and then I realized he doesn’t give a damn about the ocean!  He will go and he will undoubtedly have a great time but then he will forget about it all, never knowing the difference.  

 I cried for a good five minutes with my husband and Chief staring at me not knowing what was wrong.  How could I bring myself to tell them that this episode was because the dog hasn’t seen the ocean?!?!?!?!  I will admit I was in rare form and I hope I never go back to that deep, dark place because after all, Chief will see the ocean.  

A Day at the Office

I love working and I love my job.  That being said, there are certain things I can’t stand that must be stopped immediately. 

#1: Did You Get My Email? – What do you mean did I get your email?  You just sent it five minutes ago and now you are at my desk asking if I got it.  Since you were coming over here anyway, why didn’t you just stop by to chat or deliver a hand-written note?  What if I said that I didn’t get it? Would you then send it again?  This is not a smoke signal or a message in a bottle – if you sent it, I WILL get it and I will answer it when I can which now that you’ve asked will be whenever the hell I feel like it. 

#2: Can You Stop by On Your Way Out? – No.  When I’m on my way out, it means I’m leaving…for the day…to go home.  Not to stop by your office and talk for another 45 minutes.  I’m laid back and willing to help but let’s talk at any other time of day other than when I’m on my way out.  At that point, I care about nothing else besides peeling out of the parking lot, especially on a Friday, and blasting Celine Dion or something equally as obnoxious.  So no, I can’t stop by on my way out.

#3: Is the smell of my fish bothering you? – What do you think?  You brought fish into this office, heated it up in the microwave, carried it down the hall and now you are sitting next to me in an enclosed HR office and eating it.  I admire your attempt to eat a healthy lunch but by all means, let me show you to the lunch room where there are 20 tables ready to be eaten upon.  It is none of my business what you bring for lunch but if you dare bring it into my office again, someone is going down.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle style. 

There are others but that is all for this episode.  Now I will return to regularly scheduled programming which includes me being stoked that it is almost the weekend and that Drew and I have a Tex-Mex date tonight.  Carry on and have a fabulous day! 

Creeps

There are some things that people do that make me perceive them as creeps.  One of the things I notice from time to time that automatically makes me think something Dexter-like is going on is blacked out windows on vans.  I don’t care who you are, you’ve killed someone in my book.  I also feel scared when people don’t have permanent window coverings (i.e. sheets, fabric or even foil covering windows in a home).  I will give you a pass if you’ve just moved in or maybe even if you are remodeling but come on people, get some blinds.  You don’t even have to get nice blinds, just regular old blinds will do – I’ll even accept vertical blinds if I have to.   

I also think people who pay cash for everything are creeps.  I’m not talking the occasional item, I’m talking everything!  Why don’t you have a bank account of some sort – you are leading me to believe you don’t pay taxes and are paid in pure cash and let’s face it, any job that always pays you cash is never good (hit man, drug dealer, I’m sure there are others). 

In conclusion, don’t be a creep.  This may sound harsh but just keep in mind that I’m not judgmental, I’m just observant.  J  

I miss you...

The only time ice cream is bad is when it doesn’t exist.   We all have our favorite flavor and mine happens to be Chocolate Chip and it must be made by Blue Bell (nothing else exists to me).  When I say Chocolate Chip, I don’t mean Mint Chocolate Chip or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and definitely not Cookies and Cream…I mean Chocolate Chip.  I rarely want anything sweet but when I do, this is my go-to item.  Or was I should say.  That’s because my beloved Blue Bell put it on seasonal rotation which means 80% of the time, you cannot buy it in stores…anywhere.  It has sadly been replaced with gems such as Cotton Candy and Pineapple Upside Down Cake and duplicate flavors such as Homemade Vanilla, Natural Vanilla, Vanilla Bean, French Vanilla.  What the hell is going on here?   Blue Bell, if you’re reading this, I beg you to bring it back!! 

I must say that outside of this item, I am not very brand specific.  The only other thing I can think of is apple juice.  It must be Tree Top at all times or it shall be disposed of.  I could care less about laundry detergent, cleaning supplies, toilet paper, paper  towels, shampoo, makeup…I’m easy to please as long as my ice cream and my apple juice are handled properly.  I promise!

Public Service Announcement

I'm the type of person that people will say absolutely anything to because they know I won't go off and slap them.  I have news though.  Someday, I will snap and I will probably go to jail that day because I've been holding my true reactions in for 29 years.  One of my favorites that I've gotten so, so, so many times:

"What are you?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

"What race are you?"

Me: "White?"

"Well, it doesn't look like it..."

How is this even explained?  I'm one of the whitest people I know.  Outside of my astounding dance moves and my secret love for 50 Cent, there isn't much that would lead people to any other conclusion but that this girl here, is white.  

As crazy as this is, things get markedly worse when you become pregnant.  People (read: women) say the most ridiculous things and give you the most absurd "advice" that make you hope and pray they don't actually have children of their own.  So far, in the few weeks that the outside world has known our news, I have sadly fallen victim to the following:

"I figured you were pregnant because every summer you get in really great shape...but not this year."

"Your skin has been really dry, have you told your doctor?"

"Look at you with your stomach just hanging out." - this one is particularly disturbing because never in my life, has my stomach been hanging out or over anything.  It still isn't.  

"Did you plan the baby?"

I strongly urge my friends who have not yet experienced this to start preparing now.  I never have anything good to say until about five minutes after the episode occurs and by then, it would be stupid to go back to them with my ill-timed comeback and expect them to take me seriously.  I am pretty damn good at facial expressions however, so if you really want to know how I feel when you say something insane, please take a good, long look at my face because I guarantee you, you will get my drift (read: go to hell).  

The moral of this story is, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all."  Where is Bambi when you need it...

The good news about all of this is that the majority of people are extra nice to you while pregnant.  They tell you how good you look, that you are "glowing", etc.  In your mind you begin to question yourself..."Do I really look good or am I so hideous that they feel bad for me and wanted to give me a compliment?"  They probably are being sincere but I missed out on the confidence gene - sue me.  This has plagued me since the day I got made fun of for saying that dinosaurs were my favorite animal and for my fuzzy bangs in elementary school (which were so awesome in my mind that I couldn't understand why anyone would not want to have bangs like mine).  That's a whole other post though so we will stop here.  

If you zoned out while reading this (I don't blame you), please just take this with you: dinosaurs are still my favorite animal.