WARNING: DO NOT CONSUME AT WORK

The following items should be considered inappropriate to consume in your place of employment. Consumption of these products may endanger your position of employment and result in utter emotional failure and complete mental devastation.

Item #1: Hardboiled eggs. Was it you? Was it me? We'll never know...



Item #2: Fish. Sure to demolish any future relationships and earn you a clever yet secretly hurtful monicker.



Item #3: Peaches. Ah yes, the ever elusive peach. Doesn't look dangerous but what lies beyond that fuzzy exterior will soon transform you from a sleek and sexy professional to a slobbering slow-buddy in sheer seconds.



Item #4: Fried chicken. It may taste like heaven, but you sure don't look like it.



Item #5: Poppyseed ANYTHING. Hey Seedtooth, you may think they'll tell you, but they won't.



Item #6: Booze. No conclusive evidence discovered. Still testing.

And THAT'S what could happen...

So my husband and I were in the local QFC the other night and as we were walking down the bread aisle, we saw this little girl pushing a cart with her younger sister hanging off the front. Just as we passed them, the older girl jammed the cart into her sister's stomach, and as the screaming toddler flew off the front, her sister said "And THAT'S what could happen."



Once I got done laughing and holding my bladder so I didn't have a clean-up in aisle 4, I realized that the sassy youngster may be onto something truly remarkable. Just imagine a perfectly socially acceptable idealology where you can not only show people what DOES happens, but what COULD happen.

I smile thinking of all the possibilities....



Or....



And even better...



Bet that little girl didn't know what she just started...

JOB+DOGS = CRUELTY

Last night, my husband and I pulled up to the local grocery store enveloped in a cloud of familial satisfaction, marital bliss, and puppy gas. I unsuspectingly left my husband behind to sit with the farting fluffies while I ran quickly inside to grab some garlic bread and some fab cab, a decision I would later regret. I had left my love alone and vulnerable to a venereal viper in the guise of a middle-aged meddler with too much time and too much money, her ears ringing with Jesus jazz and her eyes seeking to pass undue judgment. She stealthily approached my innocent amour, her pink velour sweatsuit giving her presence away with the steady "swish swish" of pudging thighs that had seen too many days of coffee cup scotch and not enough pilates.

"What adorable dogs! Are they yours?" Her voice poured over my poor pets like cheap whiskey and parlor perfume. My husband responded in the affirmative, to which she responded "BOTH of them?" Politeness quickly morphed into impatience as my spousal unit searched her prescription pupils for some semblance of sense. Yes, Witty Wendy, BOTH of them.

"Do you both have jobs???" Curiosity mixed with a mild sedative of incredulity leaked slowly from her plastic patchwork pout. Yes, we BOTH work. Hubby was getting close to shutting down this side show of subliminal sanctities.

"So...you have TWO dogs AND you BOTH WORK???" Her squinty lids and squatty body postured itself in a clear position of disapproval. As my husband responded once again in the affirmative, she simply flicked her wrist and dismissed the last ten minutes with a simple "Well, CUTE puppies." And with a rhythmic swoosh, she passed quickly through the automatic doors, the sharp stench of silent condemnation only dulled by the air conditioned store.

When my husband relayed the stinging story to me, I was immediately thrown into a parody of pissy, declaring her acrimonious accusations completely unfounded. Who does she think we are? Barbarians??? She undoubtedly comes from the "dogs need 500 acres of pristine wilderness and a lifetime supply of raw moose flesh to be truly happy" school of thought. Sorry lady, we have a two bedroom apartment and an unlimited amount of love. Guess that puts us at the top of the SPCA's kill list. So instead of going back into the store, finding Judgy Judy, and Tanya Harding her Juicy Coutured bootie, I decided to channel my resentment and dismay into art.

So this is probably what was flashing through her bourbon drenched brain when she was mentally surveying my family's "sad" situation through our picture window:



And this is how it REALLY plays out EVERY SINGLE DAY:



Poor puppies.

The Bleeding

So today my husband asks me why I'm so tired, to which I respond "None of your damn business get out of my face get me some cheese I need a nap DON'T TOUCH ME!!!!" It sounds mean because anyone that knows my husband knows he's ridiculously nice which makes me look even bitchier when I have these outbursts, which in turn makes me cry a lot because now not only am I a horrible person that belongs in an Afghan torture hut, but I also have a vagina that hates me and is leaking large quantities of my own life source from my body and making me retain more water than a hippo in heat. Though my sweet spouse is definitely adjusting to my radical behavior after living six years within hitting distance, I felt it might be helpful to draw some diagrams that might better illustrate the effects of the severe hormone roller coaster of hemorrhaging that is PMS:

BEFORE THE BLEEDING:



THE BLEEDING BEGINS:



I must have done a good job, because he didn't have any questions.

We Got the Beet

I've come to the conclusion that the beet is a widely underestimated vegetable. As I was walking back from the gym, grimly contemplating my lunch options (meatloaf Lean Cuisine, which I believe is also used in a number of torture techniques at Guatanamo), I passed by the Market Fresh salad bar and thought, what the hell, I could spice up my day a little with some limp spinach and crown-cracking croutons. I threw a little mixed greens in my take-out box, (it doesn't matter how many times someone explains it to me, I still don't understand why they're called mixed greens when one of them is quite obviously purple. Am I the only one who sees this???) and then I noticed these little french-fry cut wedges of bitter goodness. BEETS!!! I haven't had them in a while, but you don't have to be a genius to know that a little ranch dressing and some beets could make Chuck Norris weep tears of iron and other metallic substances that will someday be bottled and stored in a geographically sound location to be accessed only when fighting a world-wide epidemic of alien attacks. At this point, I'm actually halfway through this magical box of nature's treasures, and I have to say I am still enamored with these wonderful little miracle veggies. And now I'm over it. (Really though, did you think I was going to write an entire post about beets? With everything else that's newsworthy about today? Mexico won Miss Universe and Ann Frank's favorite tree blew down for God's sake.)

I'm beginning to realize that I am not the only one who deems my job to be a veritable black hole of mundaneness and double-sided copying. I first came to this realization when I was on the phone with Twin Sister the other day, who is also a Drunk-Canoer-Saving Sunken-Boat- Insurance-Fraud-Auditing Port-Loving Water Hero with the UNITED STATES COAST GUARD. (you like the all caps? I did that just in case this blog ever gets into the wrong hands and the only thing standing between me and the business end of a taser and 5-10 in the brig for leaking government secrets that I didn't know were secrets is my unwavering loyalty to the U.S. Military) So I was giving Twin Sister a brief run-down of the sheer hardship that is my work-life, i.e. broken fax machines, computer viruses that are disguised as computer viruses, staple shortages and other corporate horrors that are far too graphic to mention, when suddenly she interrupts me and says "Oh hey, sorry about your day but I gotta go. Someone just reported that a state ferry is on fire." I barely got out an "Ok but just a sec cause I was going to tell you that the whole conference room mix-up got worked out and it's fi....ok, bye!" And at that moment, it was all quite clear. If I were to put my current employment situation into a mathamatical formula, this is how it would translate:

MY JOB+EXCESS ENTHUSIASM+LOVE FOR LAMINATING ALL THINGS LAMINABLE =
SIGNIFICANT DRAIN ON COMMERCIAL RESOURCES/NOT A GOOD TOPIC AT SOCIAL GATHERINGS

And to further cement the validity of this conclusion, my husband calls me AT WORK in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY to ask me to look up educationally enhancing factoids, like with what apparatus will Evel Knievel's son be attempting to jump the Grand Canyon, or if "batter back" is the definitional equivalent of "batten down" or "batter up" to which I reply "I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I'M AT WORK AND I HAVE IMPORTANT STUFF TO DO BECAUSE I'M A CONTRIBUTOR AND IMPORTANT STUFF IS MY CONTRIBUTION!!!"
But we all know the truth. Your job can be valuable in many ways, but it's definitely not a life-altering position (like saving burning ferries) when your significant other deems it appropriate to have you find the clinical terminology for "a phobia of ants." Which is called myrmecophobia, in case you were wondering.

In other news, H-Nubs has been nagging me to enroll him in agility courses. He has this dream to participate in the Frisbee Dog World Championship and be the first Aussie to beat a whippet. The cost of the agility course combined with the fact that Henry has the attention span of a hummingbird on speed at a carnival, generates a surefire "no" 100% of the time. Yet he keeps demonstrating his frisbee skills every chance he gets, most of which he taught himself out of a "Frisbee for Aussie Dummies Whose Sisters Would Rather Eat Wheatgerm and Cat Vomit Than Play With Them on Any Given Day" manual, and elaborates on how rich we'd all be if he won. (Nubbins equates wealth with peanut butter dog biscuits and smoke-cured bull penises, which we would be knee-deep in if he did indeed win.) I keep reminding him that I've been winning at this game a lot longer than he's been playing it, but then I am always met with a pleading glance from those big brown eyes and a big goofy smile, to which resistance is practically futile.



Well played Mr. Nubbins. Well played.

Twin Sister = Complete Awesomeness

So Twin Sister and I often email each other at work, if we're both in a relatively similar smart-ass-y mood, some pretty weird/funny-maybe-only-to-us comments are conveyed. It starts off slow, but it picks up. Hope you have as much fun reading this as we did avoiding our work (filing for me, national security for her).

Oh, and we call each other Pablo and Emilio.

It reads top to bottom:

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 10:29 AM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: Photos this weekend

Hey Emilio you never told me what time we're doing your engagement/family photo shoot thingy this weekend

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 10:53 AM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

We are going to start pics at 6pm at Newcastle Beach. And then you and Keith will start with us at 7. She said you guys can come with us at 6 in order to help, which I would love if you can manage (at least you).

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 11:03 AM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

That all sounds cew. And yes, we'll have the dogs. I had no idea it was going to be in the evening, that'll be loverly. What time do you think we'll be done? I have a karaoke night to attend, remember? I'm a very important person.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 11:21 AM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I would guess we'll be done around 8 or 830.

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 11:58 AM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

That sounds good. Wanna have lunch after your hair appt tomorrow? If you say no then I'll feel sorely neglected and terribly unappreciated, but I'll cover it up nicely by smiling like a psycho and pretending to bounce on a trampoline full of cats.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 11:59 AM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Wouldn't all the cats scratch up your panty hose flying around you like that?

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:06 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Not exactly, (I don't know how "not exactly" would apply because it seems to me that if you're on a trampoline with a bunch of cats, everything is pretty "exact"), because I wouldn't be wearing pantyhose. I would be wearing jeggings. And I'm not sure if there are any test examples out there on the internets that would predict if 100 bouncing felines could scratch a pair of hideous jean print Spandex-pants.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 12:09 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Well you'd at least get a pretty bad case of the camel toe with something like "jeggings" I would gather. Anyhow, yes I'll have lunch with you. My appt is at 1145, so I would guess it takes at least two hours. Can you wait that long for lunch?

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:13 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I'm not quite sure what you're implying, but this is what I heard:

Can you wait that long for lunch? = Are you sure that your fat a$$ can last until mid-afternoon to fill up two airplane seats-worth of restaurant booth and shove two pounds of raw beef down your gullet while rubbing your elbows in ranch dressing so you can lick it off later?

And the answer is yes. Yes I can wait that long.

I think.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 12:17 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Gross Pablo. Get your ears checked. That is not what I said. Your listening/hearing skills are in dire need of some professional help.

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:19 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I think we're both missing the point. You can't "hear" an email.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 12:22 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Indeed. I HEARD that!

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:24 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I don't think you're understanding me. You can't HEAR an ema....screw it. Nevermind. Sometimes I think you look dumber than you really are.

That came out meaner than I had intended.

I WANT CHEETOS SO BAD MY BUTT HURTS!!!!!!!

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 12:33 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I no longer care about this conversation.

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:34 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Okay, so THAT came out meaner than YOU intended. I understand. We all make mistakes.

P.S. Please don't stop emailing me today because I'm really really really bored and I think I might die if you don't make me laugh and I can honestly say I think we all want the opposite of that. *sad face*

A PERIOD OF ACTUALLY WORKING....

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 1:26 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Your silence has clearly indicated that you do, indeed, want to me to die from boredom.

I'm going to the gym now because I'm very important and have lots of important stuff to do for important-er people.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 1:37 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I do apologize for your boredom, however, I am very busy and important as well. When you get back from your very important workout and important stuff with importanter people....give me a freakin important shout. I may or may not be willing/able to reply. :)

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 2:59 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I just worked out for the FOURTH day this week (I know right? GET OUT OF TOWN) and I got back and I'm sitting at my desk and I have this REALLY sharp pain over my right eyebrow and it hurts SO BAD and it WON'T stop and now my eyelid is twitching and I just got on WebMD and I totally know what it is.

It's a tumor.

I hope you don't mind having a tumor-head in your extra-special photo shoot on Saturday.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 3:03 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Just don't let it get too big. Unsightly for photos.


-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 3:09 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

You were always so compassionate. I suppose you're also against the School for Kids Who Can't Play Sports Good and Want to Use a Skip-It Good Too.

Man those things hurt when that huge-a$$ ball whacked your ankle.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 3:21 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Didn't hurt as bad once our brother cut the end with the ball off of it, huh?

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 3:31 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Yah just like how choosing between playing in the kiddie pool or watching t.v. was such a huge dilemma until he and Mikey Lees ran over the pool with their bikes and cracked it.
Problem solved.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 3:34 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

Well you had a little trouble with that 1.5 ft slide anyhow, as I recall. Problem solved for all of us. The ones having to save you from it (Mom) and the ones waiting in line behind you (me).

-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 3:36 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I'M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS YOU WHORE!!!!!!

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 3:37 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I know. Heights, slides, bikes...we could have made a 1,000 piece puzzle featuring all the things you were afraid of.


-----Original Message-----
From: Kate.Karch
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 3:39 PM
To: Higgins, Courtney LT
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend

I just broke up with you. Consider us broken up.

P.S. I love you.

-----Original Message-----
From: Courtney.A.Higgins
Sent: August 19, 2010 3:41 PM
To: Karch, Kate (Seattle)
Subject: RE: Photos this weekend


Ditto. See you tomorrow Pabs!

Tinsel Tribulations

So I realize it's been over two weeks since my last post, and there's a good reason for it. My posts began to devolve into these bitter, amorphous blobs that were satirically clever, I must admit, but leaning a little too far out of the negative seat on the ferris wheel of doubt and insecurity. And maybe it's because I'm over-medicated, or obsessed with chirpy Taylor Swift music, or I've been working out again for the first time in three weeks, but I am ridiculously content today for the first time in a REALLY LONG TIME. I can't seem to stop from smiling at the craziest, most unimportant, completely random things. Like this morning I saw a Rastafarian man in the International District that was wheeling around on a bicycle literally COVERED in Christmas garland, and you know what? He looked SO HAPPY. And I thought, if that crazy guy can ride around on what is probably his only worldly possession without a care in the world, why can't I? Yes, he's probably smiling because he just smoked a doobie in the train station and he found a dollar for Cheetos, but it's the little things that should make us thankful for every day that we have on this earth. Am I going to feel this way tomorrow? Probably not, but who can really predict how they're going to feel from day to day about life in general? All I can do today is try to maintain this mild euphoria and pray that someone doesn't ride a killer elephant through my proverbial peppy parade. I have a good job, though I may not always revel in its monotony, I have a safe home, I have wonderful friends, and most of all, I have an incredible family that is waiting for me at the end of the day.


And how great is that?

Double Negative

It took me approximately a week after my Crying Game episode to rejoin the real world again, and a lot has happened over the last few days. It's amazing the things you debate when you feel your world is literally dragging you under the bus by your Spanx. I feel as though I went through an entire episode of Ninja Warrior, clawing up pillars wrapped in gym mats that are covered in the previous contestant's mucus, scrambling through kiddie pools filled with urine laced mud, desperate for a final, positive outcome that would leave me triumphant and clear-headed on the other side of such turmoil. So after debating new jobs, new homes, new cities, new hobbies and finally, new clothes, I can honestly say I am officially standing on the winner's platform with clear sky above me and the storm clouds below. A little bruised, a little tired, and with yet another new pair of cute summer wedges I really don't need (summer's almost over, but with the right pants they'll look perfect for fall I swear!), but alive and hopeful for what the future could hold. I have decided to enroll in an online masters certificate program in business marketing at Tulane, after which I will finally be qualified to apply for a job that I might actually enjoy. If I can get my freakin company to pay for it, that would be miraculous, but right now I'm getting the "this course doesn't really pertain to your position" run-around. Or as administrative assistants know it, the "you're not important enough to the company for us to waste our pilfered dollars so why don't you shut your whiny trap and keep on copying those financial journals that we're never going to look at and are too cheap to buy from the wholeseller, aren't you defeated enough to not have any goals" defense. So I'm practically forcing them to say to my face that I'm not a valuable enough employee to get support in pursuing an educational goal. After which I will probably cry, but whatever, I'm still a winner in the end. Yes I may continue to be ignored and bitched at at the same time, but at least I can be the only one in the company that exists as a walking double negative; ubiquitiously invisible, or rather, "not there everywhere." I may continue to be an oversighted employee, but at least that oversightedness will be doled out by everyone. And then one day *POW*, someone will realize they don't know how to print a powerpoint double-sided and when they attempt to call me for assistance, all they will get will be a voicemail that says "You've NOT reached me because I'm NOT here EVERYWHERE SUCKA!!!" Which I'm sure will have quite an impact, because any statement that ends in ebonics is rather dramatic. So as of now, that's the game plan. Plead for tuition assistance, get denied, replace all consultants' paper clips with open safety pins, take out loan from shady lender who doesn't care about my horrendous credit score to pay for tuition, complete marketing courses while moonlighting as stripper for said shady lender to pay back tuition loan, obtain marketing certificate from accredited educational institute that can actually spell accredited and currently has no outreach ads featured on daytime television trying to convince unemployed lumber yard workers to pursue careers in dental hygiene, search for job that is related to obtained certificate, ace interview with hiring company by making clever references to popular television dramedies and hiding Republican tendencies, and then promptly giving two weeks' notice and a pack of Original BubbleYum to the managing staff. And then try to achieve the possibly impossible by literally doing NOTHING for the remaining two weeks.

I'll let you know how it goes.

In other news, Nubbins is still determined to audition for Deadliest Catch.



He seems to think that despite lacking opposable thumbs, he could very well be the next Captain Phil. God rest his soul.

Pet Rocks and Porta-Potties

After taking a personal day yesterday to basically just sit in an empty bathtub and cry while Nubbins brought me every skanky toy he owned just to stop the wailing noise, I decided the only thing that was going to keep me sane and employed was to become utterly and definitively complacent. All work objectives brought up in my performance review last month are now officially irrelevant. Network more? Not going to happen. Show more initiative? Like fun I'll show more initiative. Seek more professionally enhancing opportunities? What am I, a magician???? Until I begin the marketing management masters certificate program in the fall, I will simply arrive at work, complete mundane tasks while considering my various employment options should they catch onto my game and decide that not only am I not a "valuable" member of the team, I am also a significant drain on resources. Options I've come up with so far: security word generator (you know, that person that has to come up with the words that you have to type replicas of in order to access complete time-wasting bullshit websites that end up spamming your email), porta-potty architect (seriously though, how hard could THAT design be?), or a 911 dispatcher. (I'm pretty useless in life threatening emergencies but I have a lovely speaking voice). I also came up with a brilliant business idea last night that just might be my very own pet rock. (Keith likes to call his good ideas pet rocks because they might one day take off and make us millions and then we'll lose it all to some Madoff-copycat. The latest one was culturally-themed dog crates.) I was thinking about how different people always come up to me on the sidewalk (and this time by "different" I don't actually mean the guy in the cut-off denim shorts riding a unicycle) and ask me where certain department/retail stores are. And I thought, wouldn't it be great if Seattle had "shopping tours" where you would take all these bored rich women around to different stores so they could shop without having to worry about finding it or paying for parking or getting accosted by a man with a Squeegee wearing nothing but an American flag speedo and a cowboy hat offering to wash your window while claiming to be the mayor of Seattle. Pretty good idea, no? And give them champagne and little appetizers while you're tooling around. Thoughts? Ideas? Any input is helpful.
In other news, my dear old dad got a virus on his email and promptly decided to nip the problem in the bud and buy a new computer. I tried to explain to him that he merely needed to generate a new email address, but this is the same man who notifies you VIA EMAIL that he is going out of town so hold off on all electronic messages because HE WON'T GET THEM. It's precious. But then I guess your technological knowledge becomes fairly limited when all you use the internets for is to check football scores and share EVERY SINGLE FORWARD that comes within the vicinity of your inbox. I can honestly say one of the worst things that ever happened to me was when my father gave my Aunt Nancy my work email address. At about 3:18 p.m. every afternoon (I'm assuming she picks this time because it's just before supper and right after nappies), I get a barrage of emails in my inbox with subject lines like "Sad today but in 1955............", "Beautiful, God Bless Our Troops", and "Funny; People at Walmart." I have to admit I am intrigued by the Walmart forwards; I constantly find myself scanning each picture to see if any of the downtrodden customers even slightly resemble a family member. Needless to say, while I am appreciative of my dear aunt's patriotic furvor, I simply do not have the heart to tell her that my workplace is not the appropriate venue to be viewing massive powerpoint slides of mountains and angels inclusive of a signature Randy Travis song. And my Catholic guilt completely rules out blocking her email address.

Back to my groundbreaking decision. Now that I have made the decision to meet and not exceed expectations, I feel an oddly freeing sensation. As though I'm on a fried chicken train riding through a vat of mashed potatos while it rains gravy...which, btw, is my idea of heaven, with Weight Watchers preferrably snicking disapprovingly from a hot barrel of broccoli in hell.

Nubbins and Bella have informed me that they want a pet kitty. I have repeatedly refused on the grounds that they are physically incapable of taking responsibility for another animal, and I'm pretty sure H-Nubs just wants something to carry around in his mouth. This has not deterred them a single bit, and they continue to assure me that they will be "real real good with hugs and kisses please please please" and plead with me to just "believe" in them.

Cute huh? So not going to happen.

Losing it with Limericks

Just as I predicted yesterday, today definitely started out with a lot more potential for enjoyment. Despite waking up with a start after dreaming that my father hacked a robber to death with a hatchet who had just minutes before been force feeding me Oberto pepperoni sticks (did you know those things are made out of PIG HEARTS????)I bounced out of bed with the fresh-faced optimism of someone who is either an appreciating recognizer of life's simplicities or severely bipolar. Even my tangerine body wash escaped my usual sarcastic regard at it's constant proselytizing to "waken and refresh" even the most narcoleptic of corporate minions. I even skipped my daily ritual of standing in front the mirror sans towel harshly addressing all the areas of possible improvement (I could totally be a commercial building contractor, it basically contains the same elements of employ) and threw on a wonderfully summery outfit that would reflect my ridiculously cheerful mood. In extreme contrast to my semi-manic state, Henry Nubbins was NOT in good spirits when I passed him on my way out the door. Apparently he went out with his buddies Bean and Wally last night and they hit it pretty hard.

While I could sympathize with his obvious misery, I have told him numerous times to steer clear of those boxers; they spend far too much time getting hammered and humping everything in sight. And while I've always had a sneaking suspicion that
H-Nubs was happily and obliviously asexual, it is incidents like these that make me think he's dangerously close to using substance abuse to erase the shame of losing his manhood to a crazy old British guy with a folding table and a rusty knife. I decided the issue would need to be addressed sometime in the near future, and gave him some ice cubes and his favorite stuffed tail from the raccoon he drew and quartered when he was 3 months old. In the meantime, my spirits continued to lift with the heavy Seattle fog on the way to work as I relished my new book (In the Woods by Tana French) and calmly resisted the urge to punch the guy next to me in the nuts for violating my personal space with his ever-spreading leg posture. I practically skipped off the platform onto the lower level elevator and made my way to the street entry escalator. And then I saw it. WE ARE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE BUT THIS ESCALATOR IS UNDER REPAIR. PLEASE. USE. STAIRS. And in one dammit short of a shit, I was back on the guest list to Bitchy Bat Mitzvah at Cynical Square. WHY ME????? I was having such a Sex and the City morning, why did SJP in her cute pink tutu and catchy soundtrack have to be replaced by Andy McDowell in a cornicopia apron and an off-tune self-titled folk song about pie? Just to give a little background to all of you who are thinking I'm just a big old pile of sissy, the University Street metro station is REKNOWNED for it's mile long plummet into darkness on the escalator from hell, and naturally, what goes down, must come back up (not really, but what else can I possibly say?) You would be safe in assuming that it is possible to read the paper, eat half a bagel and dig through your purse/satchel for that missing lip gloss before you ever get to street level. So naturally, if the escalator is out of service, there is another option. A much less favorable option. The ever-frustrating limerick stairs. I seriously believe that King County Metro has come up with the best "green" weight loss solution that is not only super effective, but incredibly sneaky as well. On each step of approximately five billion stairs, exists three words to an apparent limerick. And you would think that you would gradually comprehend the entire verse as you gained altitude. You would be sadly (and I mean REALLy sad) mistaken. The higher you climb, the more nonsensical these collection of words become. So much so, that you find yourself going back down two stairs and up three more just to see if you can somehow, some way derive SOME sort of meaning out of it. And by the time you reach University Street, you have climbed 653 out of 208 stairs. And the son of a bitch still doesn't make a damn bit of sense. But does that stop you from doing it all over again the following morning? Nope. Not one damn bit. Because you KNOW that you can figure it out, if you just take a different approach, even if there is really only one approach available. And that approach is UP. So 3,000 calories, two sweaty armpits and four make-up reapplications later, I'm at my desk. Pissed. Right. Off. And then it hits me. That bastard Nubbins is going to have a way better day than me.

Team Jacob

Today is the beginning of the first full week I've had to work this whole month, and after a super fun weekend at my ten-year reunion, I was feeling completely defeated and underestimated. In an attempt to curb the doomy effects of dejection, I ignored my emails, paid my bills online, made a pedicure appointment, checked out Facebook, then surfed the net for three hours. (Did you know that they shot a chupacabra in Texas last week?) Then I decided at about noon that I wasn't going to do a damn thing, and I truly feel bad for whoever misunderstood my stifled giggling at Lindsay Lohan's trial footage for awkward professional bliss. When I was given work to appease my apparent eagerness to become the department stalwart of the month, I totally morphed into this undermedicated and rabid creature seething with resentment and pure corporate rage, which immediately led into my daily ritual of inventing ways I could get fired AND get severance pay. After debating if I could indeed maintain my current lifestyle on just Keith's paycheck and a weekly unemployment check, I called my husband and told him that we needed to start our own business. To which he replied "Don't be disappointed, but it doesn't happen overnight and we would need to do a lot of research. But we should definitely consider it." To be honest I was disappointed, and after "researching" for about ten minutes on the Small Business Administration website, I just decided it would be easier to request a higher dosage in medication, join a tanning bed, and find another hobby that I could covertly maintain at work. So I started this blog. And downloaded Eminem onto my Mp3 player. Somehow running at the gym doesn't seem so bad when you have someone screaming "I'm doin' this for me bitch." Maybe tomorrow will be better, if Henry Nubbins doesn't keep me up until midnight again debating the nutritional benefits of consuming sheep poop or wavering on his Twilight loyalties. Nubbins is Team Edward. I am decidedly Team Jacob. It's becoming an issue.