I'm about to overshare. I've obviously been spending too much time with Big Red.
So here goes...
I have my period.
It's either that, or my sex drive is finally returning after an eight month hiatus.
No...it's because I have my period.
For the past month or so, maybe more (I've lost track of time in general), I've been scoping out a SEXY ASS at the gym. This guy is delicious. Y-U-M-M-Y.
My attraction reached a frothy peak this evening.
Why this particular muscle man, you ask?
He has a perfect body, but doesn't flaunt it, works out for what I am sure is hours (I never stay that long), but doesn't grunt, groan or stand around with his buddies with his hand down his pants, making sure every woman in a 100 foot radius knows how big he thinks his dick is. He quietly strains. He subtly struts. He smolders.
My beautiful, beautiful man.
I'm pretty sure I caught him looking at me tonight. But he could have totally been looking at the female trainer who was doing some come hither maneuver on the yoga ball next to me. Bitch!
Yummy and I have made brief eye contact a few times (OK...exactly twice), but I'm scared of him he's so beautiful. The words "Hello I think you're yummy wanna bang?" don't so much roll off the tongue lately. Or ever.
And how can I flirt at the gym? Especially after cardio. The dark, sweaty circles under my boobs cannot be sexy. Match that with the afro that my hair turns into after sweating my ass off for 30-40 minutes, the abundant ass crack/flop sweat, and the mascara running down my face. Not cute.
So I will continue to watch him glisten from a distance and hope he doesn't catch me staring at him while he's doing his squat thrusts. mmmm HMMMM.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Big Red like whoa
I started my new job on Monday. It rules.
There A LOT of confidentiality rules, so I'm not even going to tell you what the company does or who I work for, except in broad strokes, otherwise I would get so canned and I don't want to risk losing this job because it's really rad. Those of you who know where I work, I beg you not to mention details in any comments you may or may not post. I won't publish them. Just warning you not to take it personally.
What I can tell you are the following things:
1. It's awesome.
2. I'm still doing HR.
3. I share an office with a guy I will lovingly refer to in this post and moving forward as "Big Red."
I technically manage Big Red. He's a super nice guy, I'll start with that. However, he's an oversharer, which I really despise mostly because I used to be an oversharer. But that was about 10 years ago, when I was a freshman in college. And Big Red happens to be right around my age. He should have grown out of this stage by now. No one wants to know that your Dad is a recovering drug addict or that you've been with your girlfriend for three years, but only see her on weekends. I could go on and on here.
I work with some extremely socially awkward people. I've been told by "The Big Guy" aka "The Mayor" that Big Red just wants to be everyone's friend. But let's face it, the awkward guys should be the ones doing the real work, the work that makes us all more money, not the HR/Ops stuff. We should be the smooth ones.
Not Big Red.
Added to that, I share my office with Big Red. In fact, our desks face each other. They touch. He came up with a great (NOT) idea today to teach me about the industry. (I'll give him that he knows more than I do). This is made up of word of the day definitions and meanings of various industry related acronyms. After he reached about three, I told him that was enough for today. He then informed me he would quiz me tomorrow to make sure I had retained the information. I'm not sure how much longer I can go before I tell him that our conversations are limited to work related issues. Unfortunately this new little game of his technically falls under that category. Hrm.
Big Red is so weird.
We all go paintballing next Friday. I'll be sure to let you know how that goes.
There A LOT of confidentiality rules, so I'm not even going to tell you what the company does or who I work for, except in broad strokes, otherwise I would get so canned and I don't want to risk losing this job because it's really rad. Those of you who know where I work, I beg you not to mention details in any comments you may or may not post. I won't publish them. Just warning you not to take it personally.
What I can tell you are the following things:
1. It's awesome.
2. I'm still doing HR.
3. I share an office with a guy I will lovingly refer to in this post and moving forward as "Big Red."
I technically manage Big Red. He's a super nice guy, I'll start with that. However, he's an oversharer, which I really despise mostly because I used to be an oversharer. But that was about 10 years ago, when I was a freshman in college. And Big Red happens to be right around my age. He should have grown out of this stage by now. No one wants to know that your Dad is a recovering drug addict or that you've been with your girlfriend for three years, but only see her on weekends. I could go on and on here.
I work with some extremely socially awkward people. I've been told by "The Big Guy" aka "The Mayor" that Big Red just wants to be everyone's friend. But let's face it, the awkward guys should be the ones doing the real work, the work that makes us all more money, not the HR/Ops stuff. We should be the smooth ones.
Not Big Red.
Added to that, I share my office with Big Red. In fact, our desks face each other. They touch. He came up with a great (NOT) idea today to teach me about the industry. (I'll give him that he knows more than I do). This is made up of word of the day definitions and meanings of various industry related acronyms. After he reached about three, I told him that was enough for today. He then informed me he would quiz me tomorrow to make sure I had retained the information. I'm not sure how much longer I can go before I tell him that our conversations are limited to work related issues. Unfortunately this new little game of his technically falls under that category. Hrm.
Big Red is so weird.
We all go paintballing next Friday. I'll be sure to let you know how that goes.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Madge, seriously? Really? Shut the fuck up
I went to the Madonna concert tonight. If you can't tell by the title of my entry, I really wasn't having it.
Some disclaimers: I'm not so much a large stadium concert person. I'm not so much into dance music. I do not own Madonna's two most recent albums. I paid $115 for my nose bleed (three rows from the very top!) ticket. My sister was next to me, and dripped sweat on me (AND repeatedly scratched me with her bracelet, then did not apologize) because she was doing a full on aerobics routine for nearly two hours. There were four of us and someone (I won't name names) only bought three bottles of water (after offering to get me one) and then offered me the swill left in hers when she realized the other two had been drained. Yum!
It's an election year. It's a big deal. It's less than a month away.
Today was my last day of work. I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm stressed.
I am taking into account ALL of these things.
Other pertinent information: The amount of money and fame that Madonna has is ridiculous. I mean, let's give her publicist a round of applause.
Yes, that's right!
Stop what you're doing.
(I'm serious)
I'll wait
....
....
....
And clap your hands for that person.
I hope they retire early. That's miracle work.
To continue: Her money and fame allow her to do some awesomely self indulgent shit. She's worked very hard to get what she has and she deserves what ever crazy insane out of control completely unnecessary lasers she wants. She looks great for 50. I saw her Reinvention tour two years ago and was blown away. The lady puts on a show. I'm not denying any of this.
Now the good part. Let me tell you what I HATED about this concert.
1. The sheer amount of electric energy that went into putting on the show, during which we had to watch a cute little montage about taking more responsiblility as citizens, and using green energy.
(my throat is tightening)
2. As if the completely random and slanted political montage wasn't enough, we had to listen to her "talk" to us for 5 minutes about how we better be "fucking" registered to vote and we better "fucking" vote for Obama and how Madge "won't mention what an idiot Sarah Palin is." Listen. I'm ALL for having a political agenda you support and are passionate about, no matter what side of the fence you are on. I admire it. Bravo and all that shit. What I absolutely will not tolerate is having to pay to hear her policital agenda. Take an add out. Write an article. Do an interview. Anything else. I am paying for YOU to entertain ME. Period. Get off your fucking soap box and stop lecturing me. And should I even bother to mention that WE DON'T LIVE IN A SWING STATE SO IT DOESN'T MATTER!!!
Ok, I'm sorry about the caps. But I really needed the emphasis on this one.
3. Yet another montage about commercialism and how we are all stupid for being swayed by media and basically blind and stupid. Uhm...then give me my $115 back and stop selling T-shirts for $50.
Is this completely enraging anyone else?
4. Her arms. They are gross. Eat a sandwich and lay off the Bikram Yoga for a month. Just enough. You're fit. We get it. Wear more things with sleeves.
5. Her fake hair. You're 50. Stop with the extensions and please don't "grow" bangs mid show. I just. Sigh. I just can't deal with it.
6. The almost constant demand for the audience to scream louder and jump higher. Leave me alone! Let me BE, woman!
The vein in my neck is throbbing again so I will leave you with this one last thought: I want my money back.
Some disclaimers: I'm not so much a large stadium concert person. I'm not so much into dance music. I do not own Madonna's two most recent albums. I paid $115 for my nose bleed (three rows from the very top!) ticket. My sister was next to me, and dripped sweat on me (AND repeatedly scratched me with her bracelet, then did not apologize) because she was doing a full on aerobics routine for nearly two hours. There were four of us and someone (I won't name names) only bought three bottles of water (after offering to get me one) and then offered me the swill left in hers when she realized the other two had been drained. Yum!
It's an election year. It's a big deal. It's less than a month away.
Today was my last day of work. I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm stressed.
I am taking into account ALL of these things.
Other pertinent information: The amount of money and fame that Madonna has is ridiculous. I mean, let's give her publicist a round of applause.
Yes, that's right!
Stop what you're doing.
(I'm serious)
I'll wait
....
....
....
And clap your hands for that person.
I hope they retire early. That's miracle work.
To continue: Her money and fame allow her to do some awesomely self indulgent shit. She's worked very hard to get what she has and she deserves what ever crazy insane out of control completely unnecessary lasers she wants. She looks great for 50. I saw her Reinvention tour two years ago and was blown away. The lady puts on a show. I'm not denying any of this.
Now the good part. Let me tell you what I HATED about this concert.
1. The sheer amount of electric energy that went into putting on the show, during which we had to watch a cute little montage about taking more responsiblility as citizens, and using green energy.
(my throat is tightening)
2. As if the completely random and slanted political montage wasn't enough, we had to listen to her "talk" to us for 5 minutes about how we better be "fucking" registered to vote and we better "fucking" vote for Obama and how Madge "won't mention what an idiot Sarah Palin is." Listen. I'm ALL for having a political agenda you support and are passionate about, no matter what side of the fence you are on. I admire it. Bravo and all that shit. What I absolutely will not tolerate is having to pay to hear her policital agenda. Take an add out. Write an article. Do an interview. Anything else. I am paying for YOU to entertain ME. Period. Get off your fucking soap box and stop lecturing me. And should I even bother to mention that WE DON'T LIVE IN A SWING STATE SO IT DOESN'T MATTER!!!
Ok, I'm sorry about the caps. But I really needed the emphasis on this one.
3. Yet another montage about commercialism and how we are all stupid for being swayed by media and basically blind and stupid. Uhm...then give me my $115 back and stop selling T-shirts for $50.
Is this completely enraging anyone else?
4. Her arms. They are gross. Eat a sandwich and lay off the Bikram Yoga for a month. Just enough. You're fit. We get it. Wear more things with sleeves.
5. Her fake hair. You're 50. Stop with the extensions and please don't "grow" bangs mid show. I just. Sigh. I just can't deal with it.
6. The almost constant demand for the audience to scream louder and jump higher. Leave me alone! Let me BE, woman!
The vein in my neck is throbbing again so I will leave you with this one last thought: I want my money back.
The one where modesty completely escapes me
Something was brought to my attention last night by a very dear friend (lots of love, CJ) that had seriously never occured to me. I'm not lying. Not at all.
People are jealous of me? Or maybe we should call it envy. Is there a difference?
Now I don't mean all people and would not be able to tell you who. But after about ten minutes of convincing, I came around to this: If I really sit back and evaluate myself from someone else's perspective (or at least try, this is nearly impossible), on the surface of things, I really have my shit together and am pretty awesome.
Honestly, I had no idea. To me, I'm a big giant mess with mommy issues.
People are jealous of me? Or maybe we should call it envy. Is there a difference?
Now I don't mean all people and would not be able to tell you who. But after about ten minutes of convincing, I came around to this: If I really sit back and evaluate myself from someone else's perspective (or at least try, this is nearly impossible), on the surface of things, I really have my shit together and am pretty awesome.
Honestly, I had no idea. To me, I'm a big giant mess with mommy issues.
The doctor will patronize you now
I was flooded with new material last night while I was trying to fall asleep. Maybe it's my own way of escaping from my "real" problems or maybe it's yet another form of proscrastination. Either way, you better like it.
Last Friday I had a physical with my primary care physician. I obviously don't know her all that well, since I rarely go to this particular brand of doctor, but I decided back in late summer that I should really go and make sure I had a clean bill of health, my blood wasn't infected with any strains of rare bacteria, and that I hadn't caught Hepatitis C from my old roommate. I hear that spreads like wildfire in tanning beds and I also hear it's just horrible. Early detection is key!
I started out with a very grumpy nurse, (why are they always so sullen?) who had me stand awkwardly in the hallway while she prepared my pee cup. Really? We can't do this in an exam room somewhere? She handed it to me and pointed to the bathroom. Apparently nurses do not speak. Lucky for her, I had to go. I actually had to go too much and I overfilled the thing. So I had pee all over my hands and it was just generally unpleasant. I cleaned up and handed the cup back to her and she proceeded to open it and put pH strips in it just, you know IN THE HALLWAY. Ugh.
Then after waiting for a little too long for the doctor to come in, she arrived and started asking me all of the requisite questions. I lied and told her I didn't drink or do drugs and that everything was "just great." Because what can she really do about my digestive problems besides tell me to keep a food journal and then NOT diagnose me with IBS? Why bother! I'll just keep self medicating on that one, thanks.
Then she asks me about what medications I'm on, I tell her, then she asks me this question: "So the antidepressant you take, does that make you happy?"
EEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. What kind of fucking question is THAT coming from a DOCTOR? I know I did that thing where my chest got all blotchy and red because I was pissed (also happens when drinking) and I just said "Yes, exactly. It makes me happy." She asked me a few minutes later during the "exam" part if I was allergic to the detergents they wash their johnnies in. Yeah, that must be it.
We quickly moved on to talking about Tetnus shots.
We decided I couldn't remember the last time I had gotten one, so let's do this thing. She tells me I may have a mild reaction of a fever or maybe a redness around the injection site but nothing major. Sounded fine to me. The grumpy nurse comes back in, quietly gives me the shot and then says THIS gem: "Grrrrl, that shot is gonna to make you SO sick."
Wait, what? Can all of you maybe chit chat amongst yourselves before giving me medical information? Or maybe you can get a nurse who isn't such a Debbie Downer? Just maybe?
Four days later, I didn't get sick at all. My arm was a little sore from where the shot was but other than that, absolutely nothing happened.
And I guess if I had the hiv, I would have gotten a phone call by now.
Last Friday I had a physical with my primary care physician. I obviously don't know her all that well, since I rarely go to this particular brand of doctor, but I decided back in late summer that I should really go and make sure I had a clean bill of health, my blood wasn't infected with any strains of rare bacteria, and that I hadn't caught Hepatitis C from my old roommate. I hear that spreads like wildfire in tanning beds and I also hear it's just horrible. Early detection is key!
I started out with a very grumpy nurse, (why are they always so sullen?) who had me stand awkwardly in the hallway while she prepared my pee cup. Really? We can't do this in an exam room somewhere? She handed it to me and pointed to the bathroom. Apparently nurses do not speak. Lucky for her, I had to go. I actually had to go too much and I overfilled the thing. So I had pee all over my hands and it was just generally unpleasant. I cleaned up and handed the cup back to her and she proceeded to open it and put pH strips in it just, you know IN THE HALLWAY. Ugh.
Then after waiting for a little too long for the doctor to come in, she arrived and started asking me all of the requisite questions. I lied and told her I didn't drink or do drugs and that everything was "just great." Because what can she really do about my digestive problems besides tell me to keep a food journal and then NOT diagnose me with IBS? Why bother! I'll just keep self medicating on that one, thanks.
Then she asks me about what medications I'm on, I tell her, then she asks me this question: "So the antidepressant you take, does that make you happy?"
EEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. What kind of fucking question is THAT coming from a DOCTOR? I know I did that thing where my chest got all blotchy and red because I was pissed (also happens when drinking) and I just said "Yes, exactly. It makes me happy." She asked me a few minutes later during the "exam" part if I was allergic to the detergents they wash their johnnies in. Yeah, that must be it.
We quickly moved on to talking about Tetnus shots.
We decided I couldn't remember the last time I had gotten one, so let's do this thing. She tells me I may have a mild reaction of a fever or maybe a redness around the injection site but nothing major. Sounded fine to me. The grumpy nurse comes back in, quietly gives me the shot and then says THIS gem: "Grrrrl, that shot is gonna to make you SO sick."
Wait, what? Can all of you maybe chit chat amongst yourselves before giving me medical information? Or maybe you can get a nurse who isn't such a Debbie Downer? Just maybe?
Four days later, I didn't get sick at all. My arm was a little sore from where the shot was but other than that, absolutely nothing happened.
And I guess if I had the hiv, I would have gotten a phone call by now.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Things to do when you're bored at work...
...but still trying to look "busy"
1. hassle others into blowing off their jobs to play games on the internet with you.
2. write notes no one will read on your facebook page.
3. walk around and start saying "goodbye"'s one week early.
4. take long trips to the bathroom, intentionally or unintentionally.
5. when given a real work task, delegate to your replacement immediately.
6. write lists of things you intend to do at home, but that you will most likely continue to put off because, let's face it, you're kind of lazy.
7. shop online (this is less fun when you don't have any money).
8. daydream about your new flat screen television.
9. listen to voice mails and then hold the receiver to your ear long after the recording has finished (hold between shoulder and chin while typing lists for extra "busy" effect).
10. Put post it's labeled "mine" on items on your desk that are obviously not at all yours, and wait for others to comment, then act as though you have no idea how those post-its appeared. Alternatively, blame it on the cleaners.
1. hassle others into blowing off their jobs to play games on the internet with you.
2. write notes no one will read on your facebook page.
3. walk around and start saying "goodbye"'s one week early.
4. take long trips to the bathroom, intentionally or unintentionally.
5. when given a real work task, delegate to your replacement immediately.
6. write lists of things you intend to do at home, but that you will most likely continue to put off because, let's face it, you're kind of lazy.
7. shop online (this is less fun when you don't have any money).
8. daydream about your new flat screen television.
9. listen to voice mails and then hold the receiver to your ear long after the recording has finished (hold between shoulder and chin while typing lists for extra "busy" effect).
10. Put post it's labeled "mine" on items on your desk that are obviously not at all yours, and wait for others to comment, then act as though you have no idea how those post-its appeared. Alternatively, blame it on the cleaners.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
I want hooters
This past Saturday, Donald and I were puzzled as to where we should get lunch whilst out on our errand running. I suggested Kelly's originally and he wasn't so much having it (can't really blame him), but then I remembered that a new restaurant had opened up recently right down Route 1.
And yes, that new restaurant is none other than the infamous Hooters.
Now I had never been to a Hooters but I have always ALWAYS wanted to go. I had a picture of what it would be like in my head but N=nothing, however, could prepare me for the full blown adventure that is lunch on Saturday at Hooters in Saugus, MA.
First of all, there is an endless line to get in. It was 1pm and it was almost akin to waiting in line at Target on tax free weekend. When I got inside, I immediately understood why. It really is very warm and welcoming. I think it's all the wood paneling.
There is orange EVERYWHERE. The ladies are in tight white tank tops and ridiculously short polyester orange shorts. Yet, none of the men (that I could see) were oggling or being rude. They, like myself, were taking in the entire sensory experience. There were families there! Everyone from Grandma checking out cleavage to little Joe eating curly fries, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.
The wings (I had to get wings) were amazing and the prices were reasonable. There were flat screen TV's as far as the eye could see. What's not to love??
Now, I'm sure that later in the evening, things get a little shifty. When the men start knocking back those beers, the ladies who are employed there most likely put up with some serious bullshit. Keeping that in mind, I gave our lovely waitress Kacey (Kaley? Kailen? who knows) a very generous tip.
But I will return to investigate and frollic in the night time (if I can even get past the door) and report back to you. I promise.
And yes, that new restaurant is none other than the infamous Hooters.
Now I had never been to a Hooters but I have always ALWAYS wanted to go. I had a picture of what it would be like in my head but N=nothing, however, could prepare me for the full blown adventure that is lunch on Saturday at Hooters in Saugus, MA.
First of all, there is an endless line to get in. It was 1pm and it was almost akin to waiting in line at Target on tax free weekend. When I got inside, I immediately understood why. It really is very warm and welcoming. I think it's all the wood paneling.
There is orange EVERYWHERE. The ladies are in tight white tank tops and ridiculously short polyester orange shorts. Yet, none of the men (that I could see) were oggling or being rude. They, like myself, were taking in the entire sensory experience. There were families there! Everyone from Grandma checking out cleavage to little Joe eating curly fries, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.
The wings (I had to get wings) were amazing and the prices were reasonable. There were flat screen TV's as far as the eye could see. What's not to love??
Now, I'm sure that later in the evening, things get a little shifty. When the men start knocking back those beers, the ladies who are employed there most likely put up with some serious bullshit. Keeping that in mind, I gave our lovely waitress Kacey (Kaley? Kailen? who knows) a very generous tip.
But I will return to investigate and frollic in the night time (if I can even get past the door) and report back to you. I promise.
Friday, October 03, 2008
S&M 80's drama
Everything was going just fine last week. A crisp fall breeze was in the air, I that that wart on my foot is finally going away, and I was looking forward to a final countdown of old, icky job and starting a new, amazing job.
Then the drama started. Without getting into details, I'm caught up in a web of manipulation and chaos that I've been running from since my teenage years. The separation has gotten harder to maintain and I'm out of ideas as to what the fuck I'm supposed to do next.
So once again, I choose to do next to nothing. It seems the best avenue for self preservation. That's the goal, right? RIGHT!??!
But the guilt is plentiful and runs deeps. There's the rub.
In other news, I saw a woman on the T last night wearing black stirrup pants with the stirrups hooked BEHING her high heels. I cannot get the imagine out of my head. It's like she was trying to channel an S&M 80's style. No, there was no ball gag but still...she was one whip away from an episode of Saved By The Bell gone horribly, terribly wrong.
If I had been thinking, I would have snapped a picture. I'm so sorry I did not. You know, for your sake.
Then the drama started. Without getting into details, I'm caught up in a web of manipulation and chaos that I've been running from since my teenage years. The separation has gotten harder to maintain and I'm out of ideas as to what the fuck I'm supposed to do next.
So once again, I choose to do next to nothing. It seems the best avenue for self preservation. That's the goal, right? RIGHT!??!
But the guilt is plentiful and runs deeps. There's the rub.
In other news, I saw a woman on the T last night wearing black stirrup pants with the stirrups hooked BEHING her high heels. I cannot get the imagine out of my head. It's like she was trying to channel an S&M 80's style. No, there was no ball gag but still...she was one whip away from an episode of Saved By The Bell gone horribly, terribly wrong.
If I had been thinking, I would have snapped a picture. I'm so sorry I did not. You know, for your sake.
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