Fame is handy
My hand is going to be famous.
No, seriously. I got to be the ‘hand model’ yesterday at work for the instructional video that’s going to be on all of the carts. Good thing my nails were done. My hand will be showing folks how to scan their loyalty cards and items on the cart.
So when the Media Carts start rolling out into stores, my hand will be there.
I feel like George Costanza.
Brain dump
Hello folks. Happy Tuesday to ya. Here’s a mish-mash of things and thoughts from my head today. I’d like to welcome my newest blog groupies, L, the IT guy and his wife, B. I call him when my computer isn’t working, and he calls me the Coffee Nazi. Good times.
I do make good coffee. But at the office, there are 2 kinds of coffee. There’s the coffee for anyone (read: crap in a cup), and there’s the ‘special’ (read: Good) coffee. ‘Special’ coffee is reserved for guests, visitors, board members, etc. I didn’t make the rules, folks. That’s just the way it is. So if I know we’re having guests, I make the ‘special’ coffee. This means, of course, that I have to shoo away any non-guest (read: employee) who dares to ask for a cup of the special coffee. Thus, earning me the title of Coffee Nazi.
Peasants. Let them drink tea.
(Just kidding.)
My daughter called me on Friday to brag about getting tickets to see the Toadies at the St. Patrick’s Day hoopla on Greenville. I have to admit, I was a little jealous. I saw them once years ago and they were awesome. But then she called me on Saturday to cry because she didn’t realize that the gig was 21 and up when she bought the tickets. I only laughed at her a little. But, in the end, she got in anyway, and somehow got to go backstage and meet them too. That’s what I get for laughing at her.
Since getting my hair cut into a much shorter version, I’ve been getting a lot of compliments, which is nice. But over the weekend, I got a really odd compliment. Someone told me my eyelashes looked particularly lovely. Never heard that one before. This came from a woman though. I doubt a man would look that closely at my eyelashes.
Monogamy is still going well, in spite of my best efforts to make that not the case. Last nite I came home from work, expecting to spend the evening alone. The man had a class to teach, so I was going to sit around by myself and probably do a whole lot of nothing. But when I walked in the front door, I was surprised by him with a candlelight dinner. He got someone to take the class for him so we could spend the evening together. Aww. I do love that man. We really have something great, and I’m glad that we’re still happy together. But if one more person asks me if/when we’re getting married, I think I might scream. This is partially my fault, for wearing the ring he gave me on my left hand. But still, the answer to that particular question, although somewhat evolved in a nearly 2-year span, is still unanswerable. The best I can provide, instead of a ‘never’, is a firm ‘I don’t know’. We’re fine with the way things are at the moment.
Spring is in the air, and I feel the need to change things around me. I guess it’s that ‘Spring Cleaning’ mentality that I get this time every year…with the exception of last year. I was in a weird and slightly unhappy place then. There were too many people in my house, and nothing was going right. Now it’s just us and it’s so much better. Changes, I need to make some changes. I haven’t decided what just yet, but something. I already changed my hair, but I need more. More I say!! A new pet, perhaps? Yes, we’re talking about getting a kitten. I may join a health club and start working out again. It’s been a while. Tanning? Possibly. Pedicures and new open-toed shoes? Heck yes! Spring cleaning? A must. Oh man do I need to do some cleaning. Major cleaning. I’m thinking of hiring someone to help me. Roomie left quite the mess when he moved out. I’m so glad to be rid of him and that smelly dog, but it would have been nice if he’d done something, anything, to the state of things before he ran off. Oh well. It also would have been nice if he’d paid a bill the last 6 months he was there. No more roommates. Ever. A couch crasher on occasion, but nothing long-term.
That’s it for now. I’m going to get more coffee and contemplate invading Poland.
Bad dates? We've had a few...
Howdee folks. I realize I haven’t written in a week or so. I really have nothing much of interest to report. But I do have a new project, and I’ll share it with my blog groupies, cuz maybe you’d like to help a sista out.
Ladies - I want to hear your bad dating stories. The worst, the funniest, the most embarrassing, the most uncomfortable, whatever. It could be even be sad. Blind dates, first dates, any date. Weird guys, strange quirks, the oddest thing ever requested of you. We could even throw in a few good ones, so to you optimists out there, toss me a bone. I would like to compile and categorize all of these into a publication of some sort. This is phase 1. You can choose to be anonymous, or I can credit you with the story. Please don’t leave them here in the comments section – I would prefer you email them to me at: datinghorror@gmail.com. If you want to be completely anonymous, email me from an email account that I don’t know you by. You can easily create a Yahoo or Gmail account that you don’t have to keep. And before any guy (I’m looking at you, Tom) reads this and thinks I'm sexist because I only addressed the ladies - dude, if you want to send me a story, that's cool with me. It’s just that women are more likely to share stories like this than men. No offense.
Fair is fair, so I’ll share one of the strangest dates I’ve ever had.
I was 16 and going on a first date with this guy. He came to pick me up (ooh, car date!) and we were going to dinner. When we got to the restaurant, he came around and opened my door for me. When closing it behind me, he slammed his hand in the door. Hard. I mean like full-on hand-in-door slam. He let out a yell and yanked his hand out. There was blood everywhere. He grabbed a towel from the trunk and insisted that we go inside and eat. So we’re sitting there after placing our order, and he looks like he’s gonna pass out. His hand is wrapped up in the towel, still bleeding profusely and I’m thinking, how the hell am I supposed to eat now? I finally talk him into going to the hospital. We spent the next 4 hours in the emergency room, and he got 22 stitches in his hand. I barely made it home by curfew. Surprisingly enough, after that incident, we dated for several months.
I’ve got a million of ‘em. Hope you do too. Tell me!
Turret's of the hand?
So I started taking anti-depressants.
Yes, again.
They seem to be working, but I have this uncontrollable urge to give people the finger. I’ll just be chatting away with someone, and when they walk away, I find myself shooting an obscene finger gesture into the air behind them.
I called my doctor and asked if this was a side effect of the medication.
“No, Jenn”, he said. “You’re just a bitch.”
Well, then. That makes sense.
Laughter, the best medicine?
I'm glad my kids have a sense of humor. Whenever they think I'm being mean, they tease me and say, "That's it, mom! We're gonna call CVS!"Great idea, kids. While you're at it, can you call in my prescription refill? Those anti-psychotics ain't gonna fill themselves! (I'm just kidding. It's really Viagra.)
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