Sunday, July 26, 2009

Flirting Technique #27: Blogging


Much like every Tuesday night, I met my very favorite gals for dinner. After sharing a bottle of Chard over fish tacos, two of us decided to continue our night out in PB (stands for Pacific Beach, but "Pompous Bros" comes to mind as well). We ended up at a dive called Bub's, nothing but class, where all of 8 girls total, including us, were sharing a bar with many, many....PB's.

Your standard encounters didn't keep us from stimulating discussions on life and an enjoyable Bud Light buzz. We had the lonely bar fly come up with two girly shots, inevitably explaining what they were called and what was in them (not wanting to make him feel like a total idiot I didn't tell him that his knowledge was no good here, and that I am what we call a bartender) so we politely took the fruit juice with a dash of vodka. He left quickly (much appreciated) and mumbled something about a pretty smile. Okay, thanks. Another few came up, attempted chatting yada yada. Although we are what I would consider "nice girls" we do a pretty good job at sending the "I'm a biatch and not interested" vibe...gets 'em to walk within 30 seconds just about every time. Uh thankyou.

There was an amusing group of what seemed like middle-agers who had just finished some sort of league sport...bowling was my guess. One of their soldiers brought my pal Val and I some brewskies, how sweet. He informed us that they were in fact softball leaguers and that tonight they won their championship, hence the trophy on the belly bar. After some banter (shocker, I'm pretty good at that) he suggested I go give his buddies a hard time.

Oooooooooooookay.

So my free beer and I strutted to their table, "Wow! Is that a baseball trophy?"
"No, softball actually."
(Insert disappointed face here) "Oh."
And the rest was history.

A good time was had by all, and after much conversation with one of the "players" (mostly innocent flirtation via making fun of one another) we figured out that we are from the same glorious town of Glendora...Really?! He was no Charger from Charter Oak High, but I suppose I could get past that for the sake of some entertaining conversation.

In his effort to reel me in (now the teasing would have to really be up to par) he made fun of my last date who was in the Navy, the way I spent my day (writing of course being a huge part of it) and the fact that I think it's cool that I was born during the Summer Olympics...all answers to questions he asked and in good fun. I had some good ones for Mr Ex Pro Baseball Gone Corporate as well! I mean, the guy did commercials as a kid (been there, done that) and lives in PB for goodness sake, I got material for daaaays! He made me give him my email address so that he could write me a blog post about that night, from "my" perspective. I'm not an advocate of meeting males in bars, so giving out my number is never an option...but an email to a fellow Glendorian, why the heck not?!

Here's what I received the next day...

Subject line: Blog #1 The One who got away...or did he?

"So last night me and a few friends went out for a bit, I had a long day so of course I had to get in a bottle of cab prior to the night starting!! We end up here and there but our final spot, a local PB joint known as Bub’s, was where it all went down. We had it all folks, I mean everything!! From the random guy buyin drinks for my girlfriend and I, to sexy softball guys with huge trophies getting after it as if it were 1984 and we were celebrating the year of the Olympics (we will save this for another blog people)…..we had it all! So the night is under way and this man, a talk dark skinned rugged handsome man approaches me from behind (not that way ladies but oh do we hope so later) and whispers……’ Glendora , and you?’……….he immediately takes my breath away and I begin to choke on what was a Bud Light from a guy who was in the Navy wearin an extra small polo, front tucked in with a buzz cut and all!!
Well, needless to say he was funny and there was just something about him……..he didn’t want my number, yet wanted my e mail, to write me a blog……"

Seriously? Oh Bub's Guy you may have a trophy in Softball...but I have one in blogging!!!
After meeting up the next night (I'm telling ya, wit speaks volumes to this blonde) I promised to write him a blog, from his perspective of course.

Subject line: A Charger Indeed

"Wednesday started out with what seemed like just your average day...
groggy response to my blackberry going off, pretty tired from last night's softball game and celebration at Bub's. It was no double header ending in blood-stained kaki's, but a real aggressive game nonetheless. Us Glendora boys are KNOWN for being aggressive.
After receiving our well earned plastic, teal trophy the fellas and I could not resist the idea of a few pitchers, a winking bartender and some fly PB-tian honeys. As I stumbled to the shower (in my kind-of-a-big-deal 4 bdrm on Felspar St) I tripped over my flat rimmed hat which held a ripped piece of paper in it. "Ah yes..." I thought to myself, "...that phenomenal blonde I met was gracious enough to give me her email address!" Forget the trophy, that was ALL the reward I needed last night!
Although I told the adorable school teacher I'd blog at her by 10am, my duties of saving the world took precedence-after all, if I didn't tell the mexicans where to move the cubicles and copy machine, who would?
By 6pm, the ideas I'd been brainstorming all day (in a grand attempt to impress Sara without an 'h") finally came to flourish and a blog-tastic email was sent, witty title and all.
The intriguing Charter Oak cheerleader actually responded to my written pursuit! To keep her on her toes I sent her MY number, instead of getting hers, I mean c'mon it's the 21st century!
Long story short, she agreed to meet me at my favorite joint (not that kind of joint...I don't do drugs, I'm an ATHLETE!) When she walked into "Tap Room" I felt like a kid in a candy store!...or one in a canadian field on the set of a McDonald's commercial.
I mean, the girls that I usually meet at Bub's have two-toned hair, tramp stamps and wear Uggs with their jorts for cryin out loud!!!
This gal was pure class...a Charger indeed! All I could ask for was that she'd grace me with her presence again..."

Will this become a blogging war? Survival of the wittiest?

Stay tuned...

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Orange...or Purple haze?

In an effort to start running, I hear it gets you in shape or something like that, I've decided to run the Carlsbad 1/2 marathon.

Knowing myself pretty well, I am very aware that I have the ability to find every possible excuse NOT to run. "Serving on a beach is like running, I mean think of all the calories I burn carrying mai-tais through sand!" or "I don't need to run today...I skipped lunch!"

So, to keep myself accountable, and so as not to keel over in public on the day of the shweaty event, I joined a running group. We meet on Saturday mornings at 7:30. Feel free to let out a gasp...that's right, 7:30...a.m. I played with the idea of raising my hand the first day and asking (in front of the 60 person crowd) "Does anyone else feel the need to push this thing back about 3 hours? Cuz I'm thinkin' 10:30ish would work out really nicely for me." Instead, I conformed to the social norm of getting up early...it's a fad I'll never really get into.

Last week was the first week we met and after an orientation and the standard shaking of 3 peoples' hands, we did what's called a "pacing exercise." This is all new to me. I try to keep up and act like I am familiar with all the verbiage. Ya know, look at the guy in spandex next to me and say something like, "Oh yea, pacing exercise, totally did one of these yesterday." Low and behold, a pacing exercise, tells all the In Motion Fit experts what pace you run. Pretty tough one to grasp. We are put into groups based on how fast we run and whether we're running the 1/2 or full marathon. I assumed I'd be in the purple group. Purple basically consists of pregnant women, the enthusiastic individuals choosing to walk the marathon, and the ladies over 50 who wear visors. To the naked eye, I did not belong in the purple group, but deep in my heart I knew I did! I'm not a runner. When I was a cheerleader, running to the end of the football field for the touchdown got me out of breath was the worst part of the entire experience.

A step up from the purple group is the green group, and then the (way out of my league) orange group. During the pacing exercise, we were told to carry on conversations with fellow runners so we'd be sure not to run too fast (obviously I know this cuz I do this kind of thing ALL the time) so I chatted with another slow-poke. Small talk of course, "Yea...pretty sure I'll be in the purple group..." Seemingly annoyed with my bothering her pace, "Ya know, they have a group called Purple Haze? They are the fastest of the Purples!" Now my inevitable status would be purple haze...and I was okay with that. She scurried off after giving this piece of information, I think admitting my lack of running experience may have been a bad move!

Pacing exercise over, time written down and guess which "slow poke" made the fricken orange group?! It was like the 10 year-old inside me just got picked first for the cool athletic kid's dodge ball team. I couldn't help but laugh...and tell everyone I knew (including you).

Now it was on. Today, running group sesh #2, I had to prove that I deserved to run with those orange people. We were given an option of running to the closest mark, or the furthest, I chose the furthest. What's that church saying, something about a last chair in heaven, first chair in...? Well, on a totally nonspiritual level (hopefully) that's me folks! I am indeed the last chair in that orange heaven! Okay maybe not DEAD last, but pretty close. Who doesn't like a good challenge right? Obstacles aside, I was going to run the whole time, none of this walking crap - except for the stop to retrieve the key less entry remote (that was looped onto my shoe laces) and flew off into a planter, awesome.

My mind as usual was running wild (no pun intended)..

"Mission Bay smells like sulfur...
when did bike shorts come back in? and how did I miss that? I love bike shorts...
I have to go to the bathroom...
Is that a purple coming up behind me? I better pick up the pace!"

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Vulnera-mole

I recently got some health insurance. It's amazing how much peace of mind one can have knowing that in case some dirty kids get ya sick...you can actually get some affordable medicine! Since it's the off season in my industry, in other words school is out for summer, I don't worry about this quite as much as I worry about things like that weird lookin' mole on my left thigh.

I scheduled a full-on, check 'er all out, physical last week. The insurance I have has a list of providers much like any other. I scrolled down and found the first doctor that met my three requirements:
1) Within 20 minutes of my house, gas these days is rough. 2) A female...for annual exam situations and such 3) A last name which I can pronounce. Not that I don't enjoy and appreciate other cultures and even a thick accent from time to time (especially on a tall, dark and handsome male) but, in conversations about my irregularly frequent heart burn for example, I'd like to have all communication barriers avoided...this is also part of the reason for requirement #2.

So Dr. Lund made the cut. She's even kind of a hippie, gotta love it. After many a question, she left the room and had me strip on down. I vulnerably asked, "Everything off?" for the sake of being thorough of course. "Yup, everything." So I sat on the tissue table cloth and put the comfortable and stylish, cut-out paper sheets over myself. I expressed some concern about a few moles (along with the heart burn) so she of course was going to take a look...at everything. Again, requirement #2 is a must, know your non-negotiables! I thought she was finished when she caught the two "suspicious" moles (I love how they use this word for such an inanimate object. Really? My mole is suspicious? Is it going to rob me or something!?) Then she casually said, "Okay now stand up." With paper sheets off I stood in the center of the small room, now in front of my tissue table cloth, spread eagle and completely in the buff! She checked samore for suspiciousness and then let me sit back down.

I wanted so badly to blurt out...

Dr. Lund, I feel so vulneraMOLE!!!

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

People on Paper


As I attempt to survive this summer I find myself filling out lots and lots of paperwork.

There is the job application paperwork which includes things like name, address, previous address, address before your previous address, last 100 places you've worked and the skills you used at those places, references from people who cannot be related to you or know you on a professional level, personal level...or any other level...

Once you've gotten someone to hire you, you're called a "NEW HIRE." You have "New Hire" training, "New Hire" codes to get into buildings and of course "New Hire" packets of paperwork to fill out. This includes questions like, "During work hours, if you slip and crack your head open, do you want the option of seeing your own personal physician, or will you be okay seeing ours? I don't know, I'll be unconscious wasn't one of the options. Then of course there is the on going document called the resume. This is supposed to give a brief insight into who you are, where you've been and where you'd like to end up. If you want a job anywhere, a resume needs to be provided. I have a few. One is titled Teacher Resume, another Restaurant Resume and another (although it has never been successful in attaining a position) Office Jobs Resume...probably a disguised blessing, ADHD kid in a cubical has to be a recipe for disaster.

I've been thinking lately...What does all this paperwork have to say about who we are? If it's all supposed to tell some company why they should hire us, I'm pretty sure mine is failing...although I have nailed down some jobs, uh thank you very much. What I mean by failing is that it is not saying the greatest of things!
Think about it...

If the address/previous and even more previous address question is to establish that I'm established...au contraire! I have moved just about every year for the past 7 years, this includes stinky dorm halls. If anyone looked even a little deeper than that, in regards to this address inquiry, they would see that ya know what...I don't always pay rent on time. So as far as a prospective hire, you've got a flaky transient on your hands!

As far as the jobs/previous jobs/previous previous jobs question....how many families can one gal nanny for? Did she keep getting canned or what? (Of course not, although if families fired nannies for eating their Sun Chips and watching Sex and the City DVD's during nap time, I definitely would have been!)

It's starting to make sense that getting a job is all about knowing the right people. Knowing someone who knows someone who knows someone that can get you an interview is key. I mean, a sparkling personality is definitely going to win 'em over more than a document proving 24 years of instability, right!

I am thankful for all the people in the world who can see beyond paper!

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Drug Screen

I'm a thankful gal today.  I have many jobs now...just waiting for the paychecks from them. So is my Portuguese landlord, we play a little game called "Hide and Seek" from the 1st of the month until whenever I give him some cash.

Today I had to go through a drug screen for my new serving job.The nice Filipino nurse gave me lots of instructions.  She made sure I didn't have pockets in my puffy skirt, I'm thinking they would be for smuggling in drug-free urine?  As we stood awkwardly in the doorway of the restroom she told me not to wash my hands nor flush the toilet.

"Okay" I said as I listened intently.

"Can I wipe?"  

She doesn't think I'm funny.

Hope I passed!

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Seriously...Who does that?...brought to you by the medicated girl


I have a lot on my mind today. This week seems especially anxiety ridden. My full-time job ended almost three weeks ago. That's what happens every June when you work at a school.

The first week of Summer I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, continuing the process that I started back in April...finding a job for summer! I have my "side job" but whadoya know, bartending 2-4 shifts a week surprisingly doesn't pay all the bills...maybe like 1/2 the rent and a payment on that Visa I racked up the first year out of college.

The second week was "7 Days, Live or Die?" A title Dad came up with for our first ever vacation with "Dot 1" only (Dot = daughter).

Now here I am on week #3 out of a job, sitting in my car, in OB. Don't worry, I'm not living in it, not yet at least! But the "Seriously who does that?" moment I just experienced called for nothing short of a silent, car, sulk sesh.

Before you read this you outta know just a few pieces of the spin cycle going on under that pony tail of mine...and what might have been a minor cause of my stupid, stupid move:

1) I got a call yesterday from Nordstrom and it seems I've been chosen to assist them during their big Anniversary sale in about a week. 10 days of crazy women prematurely shopping for fall attire. I can't afford to purchase and had to be a part of it somehow! So-I will be the person taking your money and wrapping your newly purchased cardigan in tissue for those of you that plan to partake. This is a blessing. A week and a half of insane hours and total madness, but extra income I would not have otherwise had.

2)I have an interview tomorrow for a job that will begin in the fall, that can only work out if about seven other situations fall into place...ya know one of those ones where if it all comes together you know if was divine! The thing is, I shouldn't even be using the gas to get to this interview right now (La Jolla is just SO far away) I'm that broke! Which is why I can't really be focusing on a FALL job, when I need to get my summer ones under control!!! WILLIAM SHATNER!

3) Immediately following Fall job interview (hope it doesn't take longer than an hour and a half) I have an interview for another serving job. I am just praying the Lord will place all these crazy puzzle pieces together to make one nice little clean summer schedule!

4) I started a new migraine medication. I'm high maintenance in a few ways, this is one of them, I get migraines. I'm getting used to the new meds day by day. I'm finally okay with the numbness in random body parts but the feeling like a stoner thing has got to go! (BTW No pun intended on the "High" maintenance thing. But it just jumped out at me. yea ok)

Which leads me to my experience...

I ventured to the OBcean laundry mat (closer than my usual fave that's in Mission Beach) and figured I'd do the whole 2 birds/1 stone thing. While my clothes were drying I'd take a run down the pier, hopefully getting my body moving would make my brain catch up! After 24 minutes of the wash cycle (which I spent reading Job Giant magazine and watching a homeless man play PacMan) I thought I'd save some quarters by drying both loads together, so economical these days. I mean we're in a recession for goodness sake!

I stuffed the clothes in the "Double Loader," threw in $2.50, hit start and then got that feeling, that even stoney kids get when something is just off. The attendant told me I could put all my clothes in that one machine if my hand still could still fit in the machine, on top of the pile. Well it did. But how could it all spin and get dry without more room than just the space of my freakishly small hand?

Wait a minute!

That's a WASHER MACHINE!

That's right, all those whites...and darks just got washed a second time...together! Good one. I will now go take out the very clean garments and put them in the DRYER.

If I don't get more acclimated to these meds I'll be one really BLONDE blonde.
Seriously, who does that?!