Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Are we there YET?!

Good Lord, is it just me or is this December 97 days long????

I have been planning and planning (and buying and buying) for what seems like forever. For crying out loud, are we there yet?! I've got 4 cities and many a'peeps to see before midnight strikes on the 25th. The next day, I'll be hitting the "fresh pow" reeeeal good-that means I'll be skiing and also that I'm extremely athletic, obviously.

The highlight of preparing for all of these upcoming festive treats was the 2 hour naked break down that took place on the floor of my bedroom Sunday afternoon. Stop imagining it, that's creepy. In an attempt to do some forward-packing, packing ahead of time if you will, I ended up uncontrollably crying due to the ski clothes I have, but could not locate. That seems totally worthy of an all out tantrum in the privacy of ones own 10X10 space, doesn't it? C'mon it's never about what it's "about" as some cynical males say in reference to a woman's emotions (so rude). But really, it wasn't about the ski clothes at all.

Here's what crying about lost ski clothes really meant:
You may now use your imagination...me screaming the following, with a vein popping out of the left side of my blotchy red neck (redness happens when white girls cry) and yea...the vulnerable state of amost nakedness...not just for fun, the trying on of clothes before packing them is a must in my opinion...
1) Why can't I find one thing in this apartment?! I thought I was good at life, organized. So maybe I put things in random spots every now and then to get them out of my sight, cuz I'm completely anal...we all have our hang ups!

2) Like I have any extra money at all to go purchase an outfit (yea ski clothes are outfits, please keep up) that I'll wear once a fricken year. Man, I gotta make more money...

3) It's not like I can borrow ski clothes from any of my size 0 friends! DAMN IT!

4) I hate Christmas!

Please keep in mind that 1-4 (mostly #4) are completely out of line and just a little bit dramatic, even for me. I don't hate Christmas, what I don't like so much is the extraordinary amount of time and planning involved in making sure Christmas is ALL it is supposed to be. Did I see everyone? Did I get everyone a gift...that they'll actually like? Did I spend too much money (generally, yes)? Am I forgetting to put an essential toiletry in my duffel bag? What if I get a migraine in the altitude?!
And so, I pose the question once more...Are we there yet?!
**I posted this early this afternoon once I decided there would be no more actual work accomplished at my desk. A text conversation took place shortly after writing this post-so I blog AND text from my office, it's almost Christmas I shouldn't anywstill be working anyway! This convo brought up the slight option that I bring some of this holiday stress on myself. This was in response to an "I'm out of my mind, what's wrong with my brain?" message:
J-Slow down baby (yes even strong independent women let their man friend call them baby) Just take one thing at a time.
S-You're right. I need to chill out.
30 seconds later...
S-Hey I was thinking we should go backpacking over Valentines' weekend.
Then a purposeful non-response took place.
I was later teasingly scolded (the only way I'll allow scolding, helloooo)
I'm really good at listening to advice.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Vague is so hot right now...

but I refuse to be a part of it.

Thanks to a loyal reader and friend, it was brought to my attention that my previous post was the equivalent of a 20-something male pretending he doesn't like you...confusing and sorta stupid. The last thing I want to do is be one of those vague writers (yea I just called myself a writer, deal with it) that thrives on making everyone guess what the frick she's talking about. Not about that.

So, I will now clarify. See, you even know the next move, that's never happened.

There are two life sitches going on that lead to my deep (like I should've been wearing a long cardigan and converse while writing) post on controlling situations...aka picking noses.
The first is that while I am as blessed as ever to have my current occupation (benies, PTO, and all) I still would have never guessed, or even chosen with the knowledge I thought I had, to end up out of a classroom. I loved being a teacher, it's a part of my being (it's who I am to sound a little less smug). The situation with my most recent employer (Seriously what is up with hag principals impeding on my life???) left me without options as far as furthering my career in that particular school (over specifying here seems like it's breaking some sort of law, hang in there). I have theories on what was going on, but not enough time or energy to muster up putting them into written form. If you were in my world between May and July of this year...you've probably heard all you can handle about it...I'm an external processor, poor schmucks that have to listen to me all the time. God Bless 'em. All that to say, I was left without a choice in the matter. No matter how much I had accomplished, articulated, and attempted to get what I wanted, I was left without a job and one of the things I love the most. Most days in current "big office" position (whoa) I am okay with it all. Then something strikes, either that makes me absolutely loathe things like Excell spreadsheets, or that makes me miss smelly kids, and I am reminded of how little control I have in life. Like literally picking my nose is all I can be in charge of.

Sitch number two is a little bit more of a costly one. You can always find a job (with the help of 'Bauma bucks for a few months and determination) but you can't always find a spare $10, 000. Long story short, I had an "insurance covered" procedure (not exactly a face lift) and am now battling good 'ol Cobra (more 'Bauma in my life) to make them actually pay for it. While I want to make it sound like they're Goliath and I'm sweet little David (who will hopefully end up kicking their a$$) I have to take my part in it. The discrepancy is due to my later than it should have been Cob-ment (Cobra payment: with the amount of bills I have, you'd start abreiving them too). Little do they know, or maybe they know a lot and just don't care, I felt like I was picking all the right things during that time; paying what I could, taking full advantage of their generally lax style of collecting my bartending/unemployment skrill etc. A month and a better rack later, I'm possibly on the line for ten grand. And so far, they haven't fallen for my communicative plea.

And so, with vague attempts to be profound out the window, my reasoning behind yesterday's little "gift" to you is out on the table...or just on your computer screen or smart phone.

Be well.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Picking your friend's nose

You can pick your friends. And you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose. (In my opinion, that depends on what kind of friends you have....I won't over think it)

I've always thought this was a pretty punny saying. Word play-who doesn't love it? Like most common phrases that I try to repeat, I always screw this one up in some way. Usually I start with something like, "You can choose your friends..." you see where it goes astray.

More important than not picking noses, I've been in thought, real deep thought ;) lately about not picking circumstances. While I'm a proponent of making life happen...doing what you gotta do...and all that, I realize as I get older that there is just $hit (it's a family site) that happens that we cannot pick our way out of.

I constantly try to think of possible better outcomes if I (queen of the world) were given more control, in having to deal with a situation that seems so unnecessary and...not fun. I tend to falsely rely on my schmoozing skills (whatever, you do it too) far too often in regards to getting out of these sticky sitchesThinking I can blog, I mean talk, my way out of just about anything thrown my way. Generally I'm right (bragging), but there are times I'm wrong in thinking this way and those times are pretty lame. Not only is an overwhelming feeling of angst upon me, but guilt as well, thinking I can control so much more than I actually can.

You tired yet?
Alright now let's put on our black framed glasses and listen to some acoustic guitar.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Why do blogs always come to me when I'm high on Excedrin Migraine?!?

that's what people are talking about when they say they took "E" right?

Stay tuned...

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Oogling


I'm all for affirming others. I was a teacher who gave all my students "A's" for cryin out loud (most of them anyway). I think telling someone or being told by someone, how great they/you are is absolutely wonderful! I've even build an entire relationship on it. Calm down I'm kidding.
What's really bugging me lately is the constant ooooogling that goes on publicly...not publicly like in the middle of Fresh & Easy, like really publicly; Hollywood.
I may have written a few choice critiques one time on a little lady named Oprah. Her Harpo-rrific show is a prime example of a total oogling fest. This is all based on the episodes I've been forced into watching of course (OK I willingly watched her interview with Georgie W, what can I say I'm a sucker for a sweet smile and Republican values???) Moving on...

Every time I watch (or am viciously tied up and given no choice but to do so), the Big O has one of her Hollywood besties on so they can yuck it up in front of a live studio audience, going on and on for far too long about how fantastic they both are. Yea that's what I want cued up on Tivo after a long day of Excell spreadsheets-a conversation about how amazing O and Travolta's joint Christmas in Belize was. We get it. You have billions and your famous friends have billions and you love nothing more than spending millions in each other's presence. Let it rip.
Me and my friends have spent extravagant holidays together too-like that one 4th of July on the outskirts of Santa Barbara sharing a blow up mattress and bottle of Popov. You don't see me oogling about it in mixed company. Seriously lets just give it a rest. I promise if you do, we won't forget how cool and rich you are...
not for a least a few days.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

The alternative to shacking


While I see the many practical and logistical reasons to shack, I will continue (until further notice) to remain a tenant in my Obcean apartment where I pay rent, utilities, Internet and cable. I am of course motivated by more than just the ghastly bills-the perks include but are not limited to guiltless enjoyment of trashy television without the standard male-I-can't-believe-you-watch-this exaggerated exhale during commercial breaks, and instead with a female companion who enjoys theses classic shows about the upper east side and precocious high schoolers even more than I, assuming that's possible.

Bottom line: There'll be NO shacking.

What occurs instead...

It started out with a shelf. No, not a book shelf-you know I don't read. A shelf in the medicine cabinet. Running into a no deodorant nor toothbrush situation more than once results in the evolution of a girlfriend shelf. A pro, in addition to the obvious better hygiene: the skeevy yet casual "glancing" at what's in that mysterious cabinet no longer has to exist. What? I'm just grabbin my retainer case-for a whole minute while simultaneously rising onto my tippy toes to maybe get a better view of what's livin' up top.

We're at a point of full disclosure, and I believe the girlfriend shelf deserves some of the credit.

Once fresher pits and breath are accomplished one gets tired of packing potential outfit changes in her already stuffed fake Coach bag. And so, a dresser drawer is offered...and a dresser drawer is accepted, gladly.

My time at the home of the significant boo is now cozy and quite functional for unexpected "get ready's." Beware give me an inch...and I'll probably ask for a glass of milk.

**Maybe I DO read ;) Seriously though, I'll take a kilometer at least...and the liberty of acting like I own the place. oops. I mean, I didn't come over the day after Thanksgiving and put up Christmas decorations...that would have been weird.

Did I mention I have a key?

Upon a confused exit from my (I mean his) bathroom an inquiring man asked, "Where'd that huge box of tampons come from???"

From under my sink Silly!

Ah, the alternative to shacking.