Thursday, August 30, 2007

Patience is a Virtue

Regardless of how it may seem on my blog, I actually display loads of patience in real life.
Notice I said display, that's not to imply that I have a lot of patience, I don't. But I keep my internal lack of patience . . well, internal.

I received this in an email from a friend this evening:

. . . so now the new house is chalk full of boxes of crap that I need to throw away but can't. It turns out I'm a packrat.

I read that portion three times and each time I sighed, rolled my eyes and thought "I never would have believed it, but she's probably one of these people that thinks they put their clothes in a Chester Drawers."

Pet Peeve #372:
People who use phrases they don't know the meanings or origins of, nor the spelling of.

Chock or Chuck (if you're in less formal areas) Full is derived from Choke-full: meaning something or someone was full to the point of choking. Over the centuries it has evolved to Chock-full or Choke-full.

But Chalk full??
That doesn't even make sense.
Unless you're talking about an eraser. Or possibly a resin bag.
I have no patience for this level of stupidity.

Tell me not to email her a link to this post.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Satan is Sitting on My Couch and Smiling

It's too damn hot to wear clothing.
The only reason I haven't been fired for nudity at work is because we have an industrial sized air conditioning unit that works sooooo well that one of the Occupational Therapists actually put on a sweater today. A sweater!

However, as of Thursday morning, I won't be at work for a while.
I'm taking a tiny, itsy bitsy, mini-vacation. Hooray for me! I haven't had one in a year. And that one was also a mini-vacation, but hey, I'm not begging for someone to send me free tickets for a cruise ship to Alaska. No, that wasn't a subtle hint for someone to take pity on me and send me free tickets. I promise, it wasn't. But, if it was, send two. I'd like to take the boyfriend. He's expressed some interest in the cold state, as well.

Back on track.
So, I'm leaving Thursday morning for a mini-vacation.
And, being the OCD Queen that I am, I'm starting to pack now.
Actually, physically, pack. I've been mentally packing for a coupla weeks.

However, leafing through my jampacked closet, I've discovered nothing is cool enough for the 120 degree heat indices that this Hell I live in is currently putting us through. No tube top is skimpy enough, no camisole thin enough, no skirt short enough. Plus, I don't wanna walk around like some hoochie mama.

So, I've decided I'm not packing.
I'm just going to be naked for five days.
With the right hairstyling and perfect makeup - not to mention killer shoes - I can pull the look off and few people should even notice that my unmentionables are bared for all to appreciate.
I might wear a piece of costume jewelry or two. Just for conversation pieces. Ya know, for those women that like to come up to you and say: "I love your insert article of clothing, jewlery, shoes, purse here. Where'd you find it??"

Naked is far classier than some skimpy camisole and skirt up to your hind parts.
And it gives you much less to lug into a hotel room.

Oooh! And no laundry! Naked it is!

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Ignorance Abounds

My mother, God love her, is the human resources director for a multi-national speaker company which shall remain nameless to protect the innocent . . and my anonymity. As a human resources director, she's subjected to a great deal of ignorance. This happened rather recently and I just had to share.

At 8:30 A.M. on a Friday morning, one of the plant supervisors calls my mother to inform her that they now have proof that an employee they'd suspected of stealing was indeed taking things that didn't belong to him. In this particular instance, it was a Tweeter.

My mother calls the supervisor and the employee in question into her office and informs said employee that he is being terminated due to the theft of the Tweeter. Strangely enough, the employee doesn't make too much of a fuss. He simply accompanies the supervisor back to his workstation, gathers his belongings and leaves the premises.

Wouldn't it be grand if that were the end of the story?

At 9:00 P.M. that night the terminated employee calls his supervisor at home and demands his job back. I have to use his exact words (and pardon my attempt at his dialect, as well), because it's the only way that the true humor of the situation may be captured:

"I ain't gwanbe fired no mo'. Ima gwana sue all you 'less you give me my job back. I's wrongfully ter'nated."

The supervisor informs him that he was caught - on video, no less - stealing a Tweeter from the plant. The accused comes back with:

"I ain't steal no damn Tweeter. I stole a Woofer. I been wrongfully ter'nated. I didun steal whatchu said I did."

Oh, sorry dude. Our bad. That's a horse of another color. Please, PLEASE, come back to work. We'll see you on Monday morning at 8:00. So sorry for the inconvenience. We'll put a little bonus on next week's check to make up for our grave error.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

I'll Have Time To Be Ashamed Later

I once thought I was in love with this intelligent, attractive, perfect-but-not-quite, guy.
He said and did all the right things. Kinda.

He would take off work early, just to beat you home. He'd stop by the florist's to get you flowers . . . but they would be something like carnations. He'd put one of your favorite, slow, calming CDs on . . . but just a little too loud. He'd light dozens of candles in the tub, on the sink, in the bedroom . . . but they would be a scent that makes you sick; like vanilla. He'd wait until five minutes before you were set to be home and run you a deep, relaxing bubble bath . . . but somehow the water was always cold. He'd cook you your favorite meal . . . but the best parts always ended up burning. He would make love to you passionately . . . but always stop just before you climaxed. He would rise quietly and ready himself for work .. . but then he'd slam the door.

If it was truly the thought that counts, this was your man. But after a while, the thought grows old and it's the actions that matter.

I spent our last night at his place. I put on his favorite CD, but just a little too softly to hear. I cooked his favorite dinner, but burned his favorite dessert. I took a long, steamy shower, but made sure to use all the hot water. I teased him passionately, then fell asleep before he made it to bed. I silently readied myself and packed my bags, but I made sure the taxi knew to honk loudly when it reached the house. I flew to my convention and stayed there for a week, but I never took his calls.

For all I know, we're still dating.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Hell Yawns Before Me

Do you ever read someone else's blog entry - or even mine - and think, wow, I have absolutely nothing positive to say here. I don't want them to think that no one is reading their blog, but at the same time I think it's rude and downright uncouth to leave critical or meanspirited comments on someone else's blog. It's their blog. They should be able to say whatever they want. No matter how longwinded, misspelled or flat-out ignorant.

*sigh*

I did contemplate leaving this on someone's blog the other day: "Wow. Congratulations. You've said less in more words than anyone I've ever known. Way to use the dictionary!"

I decided that would seem bitchy so I just failed to leave a comment at all.
I think that was best.

Monday, August 13, 2007

I Had to Leave Work Early for This . .

He looked ridiculous and cocky; as incredulous as that sounds, in his pale blue Oxford shirt with it's cuffs rolled tightly to the elbow. They appeared to be holding on for dear life, choking the blood supply there and swelling his forearms into great purple eggplants that I had an odd urge to slice and serve up, parmigiana style.

His Ray Ban aviators, relics of the seventies, no doubt, were perched precariously on a shellaced bed of white hair and I could almost hear him speaking to his reflection in the morning: "You're a silver fox. You've got some miles on you, but ladies love an experienced man. These aviators, they're the ticket. They're the glue that holds this ensemble together. There. Now they're perfectly placed atop my head. I can't slide them down over my eyes or it will ruin the look. I'll squint in the sunlight, but I'll look cool. This is it. The pinnacle of fashion. I'm ready." He would then glide out the door to his convertible . . .whatever. Porshe, BMW, Mercedes. Something foreign. No Mustangs for the Silver Fox. Something expensive that subtley screams Mide-Life Crisis.

His plaid pants of hunter green and navy blue clashed horridly with his shiny black loafers and George Hamilton tanned ankles. They didn't do much for the shirt either. But they hung perfectly with a crease the military would envy tracing his leg from thigh to foot. He walked with purpose and determination. An important man with places to be and people to ignore. I was surprised when he eased himself into the uncomfortable chair beside me and threw out a cheap line meant to amuse, or perhaps enthrall: "So . . . .come here often?" I sighed loudly as I rolled my eyes heavenward. This was going to be the longest oil change of my life.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

One of Those Days

I could feel myself choking and I was certain it was the scrubs that I wear day in and day out so I tore them from my body and threw on the roomiest pajamas I own . . . but the air around me still wouldn't fill my lungs. That's when I noticed the walls. They were closing in on me.

Slowly they were creeping inwards as the ceiling descended and the floor rose. Needing to escape, I set a determined pace and walked to the nearest exit.

But once outside, the open spaces made me want to fold in on myself, crumpling to the ground and shrinking until I was as small as a seed that could burrow into the dry summer earth.

In my mind was an inane picture of Spring's rains soaking the soil, touching my seed, breaking me open and, come April, the land would yield a brand new me.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

And the Social Satire Continues . . .

I do not forward emails. I rarely read forwards unless they're from a very trusted source that I am certain knows my sense of humor or political ideals and would not send me something that would waste my time. Much like the YouTube posting below, this crossed my inbox today and I felt the need to share:

Like a lot of folks in this state I have a job. I work, they pay me. I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as it sees fit.

In order to get that paycheck, I am required to pass a random urine test, with which I have no problem. What I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine test. Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check because I have to pass one to earn it for them??

Please understand, I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sitting on their ass.

Could you imagine how much money the state would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public assistance check?????

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Say What You Will . . .

but THIS is the funniest thing I've seen in a while.

Don't blame the messenger. I neither wrote it, nor illustrated it, nor produced it, nor directed it. I've simply appreciated it's humor and underlying theme of truth in some situations.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

The Nature of Belief

The other afternoon at my neighborhood’s pool, I watched a friend’s daughter twisting and turning underwater with her legs seemingly welded together. When Micayla surfaced I shouted to her, "Whatcha doin?!?" She smiled coyly and answered, "I’m a mermaid, Ms. Meghan. See my tail?" and promptly threw her upper body back into the water flicking her conjoined feet to the surface. She played like this for well over an hour. All alone in the deep end, lost in her own thoughts. When Rebecca pulled her from the water, Micayla kept her legs together and waddled precariously to her deck chair beside my own. "Ah, I see you’re still a mermaid." She grinned slyly and said, "Well, yeah. You don’t stop being a mermaid. You’re born like that." Looking in her eyes, you could almost see her belief in that statement.

It made me wonder when we lose the ability to become lost in a belief such as that. I can remember laying in the grass for hours, seeing the clouds over my head not as the foreshadowing of rain to come, but as rabbits and castles and clowns. Now, I just see clouds. When did I become so disillusioned?

The only irrational belief I still hold is the one of True Love. And part of me questions if, in time, that too will go.

When the world around us contradicts our beliefs at every turn. When every dream we held proves a failure or a failed initiative. When the love we've held from the beginning never forms in our partners eyes. It becomes harder and harder to hold hope when every corner we turn shows us that the hope is wasted.

But, every once in a while, we’re lucky enough to find a mermaid to renew our hopes and beliefs.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Bric-A-Brac

I had you in my head yesterday. I could feel you there, wandering around. Picking up the knick-knacks that were strewn about. Casually inspecting them for signs of who I am. Determining what is real and what has been placed there to throw you off course. You discarded items at will. Deciding they couldn’t be indicative of the person you think you know. You couldn’t have been more wrong, but I let you think that you were clever. "How sly of you to recognize those small, glaring untruths! I’m impressed with your sleuthing." my smile seemed to say. If only you knew that what you threw away so easily were the things defined me the most.

And you thought they were there to make you feel sorry for me.