Yes, I know I've been MIA, but I'm still alive. I would say alive and kicking, but alive and twitching is more like it.
Ah, the perils of being a financial analyst. It's budget season. That means long hours, major headaches, and a total lack of work-life balance. Smelly the Wonder Dog has forgotten what I look like, my bedroom looks like a bomb dropped, and their are Smelly hairballs drifting down the hall like tumbleweeds through a deserted town.
So tonight I am going to clean. Nope. Screw that. Tonight . . . I'm going to happy hour.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Her Holiness, Helen, Has Spoken . . .
The Vatican, apparently thinking that they have nothing better to do, has issued the “Drivers’ Ten Commandments.”
After reading them, I thought to myself, “Wow, Self, that must have been issued by the Vatican’s Department of Redundancy Department.” Being the self-important American that I am, I decided that I could do better than his Holiness and came up with my very own list:
- If someone is nice enough to use a turn signal, be nice enough to let them merge.
- If you are driving in the left lane and someone is gaining on you, move over and let them pass.
- If you realize that you are in the left turn lane and need to be going straight, don’t hold up a leading-green lane trying to move over. Go down the street and make a U-turn.
- If an emergency vehicle is coming up behind you, get the hell out of its way. They are trying to save lives.
- If you get pulled over by the cops, it’s probably because you were doing something illegal. Take your lumps like a grown-up and don’t give the cop a bunch of lip.
- If you are being tailgated, don’t slam on your brakes to scare the person. Just move over (if you can), because the jerk tailgating you is probably already having a crappy day, and pissing him off further isn’t going to help anything.
- If you see a person pulled over with a flat tire and no clue how to change it and no cell phone (don’t worry these people are easy to spot), offer to help. This is especially true if you see a woman with small children or a dog.
- If you hit someone’s car, leave a note that 1) apologizes for your carelessness and 2) gives the owner any information he needs to get in touch with you.
- If you are in a parking lot or garage, park BETWEEN the lines, not on them.
- If you can’t remember the first 9 rules, remember this: “DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU’D HAVE DONE UNTO YOUR MOTHER.” (This of course assumes that you like your mother. If you don’t, then substitute someone else’s name there, even if it’s your own.)
Now, please, if you live in the DC Metro area, please try to remember these simple rules. Learn them. Live them. Love them. Because if we were all just a little nicer in traffic, I'm convinced that the domestic violence, alcoholism, drug abuse, and asshole rates in our area would all drop dramatically.
Drive safely.
Helen
Monday, June 18, 2007
Effing Budgets . . .
So, as some of my loyal readers (yes, both of you) have probably noticed, I've been a little absent from the blogging world lately. And I have my job to thank for that.
For the past three weeks, we have been gearing up for the beginning of the 2008 Fiscal Year, which starts on October 1st. Because I work in Finance, I have been working LONG hours trying to get everything done. The first iteration of our budget was due last Thursday, but then they extended that to Friday, which was then extended until today. Oh, and now it's been extended until tomorrow.
I don't mind working hard, and putting in long hours isn't something that normally would get to me, but the last few weeks have required me to do the following:
1. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver.
2. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver again.
3. Get in an argument with my new boss because we were both in horrible moods.
4. Cry at work three times in one day.
5. Cancel a trip to visit my dad (who I haven't seen since Christmas) for Father's Day.
6. Cancel dinner with Beaver for a third time.
7. Come into work on scheduled days off for the 6th and 7th times since March.
8. Be late getting home on Ship's birthday.
9. Not spend enough quality time with my dog.
There have been other things too, but they are mostly trivial compared to these things. Not that any of these is a major deal, but I'm starting to see a pattern develop of me effing over my friends and family because of work, and I don't like it.
Is it too early to retire?
For the past three weeks, we have been gearing up for the beginning of the 2008 Fiscal Year, which starts on October 1st. Because I work in Finance, I have been working LONG hours trying to get everything done. The first iteration of our budget was due last Thursday, but then they extended that to Friday, which was then extended until today. Oh, and now it's been extended until tomorrow.
I don't mind working hard, and putting in long hours isn't something that normally would get to me, but the last few weeks have required me to do the following:
1. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver.
2. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver again.
3. Get in an argument with my new boss because we were both in horrible moods.
4. Cry at work three times in one day.
5. Cancel a trip to visit my dad (who I haven't seen since Christmas) for Father's Day.
6. Cancel dinner with Beaver for a third time.
7. Come into work on scheduled days off for the 6th and 7th times since March.
8. Be late getting home on Ship's birthday.
9. Not spend enough quality time with my dog.
There have been other things too, but they are mostly trivial compared to these things. Not that any of these is a major deal, but I'm starting to see a pattern develop of me effing over my friends and family because of work, and I don't like it.
Is it too early to retire?
Friday, June 01, 2007
Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad!
Today is my parents' anniversary. Ma and Pa Skor have been married for a long, long time. A REALLY long time. I'm not exactly sure, but I think this is their 39th anniversary.
But I wanted to give them a shout out and tell them happy anniversary. I have the greatest parents in the world. Seriously. My mom is a few miracles shy of sainthood, and despite some rocky times in the past, my dad is the one man in this world that I will always trust.
These two managed to survive not only the ups and downs of every marriage, but a slew of other rough times and tragedies. There were the temperamental mood-swings of a teenage girl, the son who blew up the engine in the family van on a spring break road trip, the daughter who dropped out of college (but eventually went back), the break-up of one child's marriage, the death of all 4 parents plus a step-father, various health problems, the passing of two much-loved family dogs (and countless fish and hamsters), vacations with the extended family, and my dad's relentless snoring. They have even survived a 3-legged dog with a propensity for breaking into fits of howling in the middle of the night, and both children moving far away from home.
As I get older, I realize more and more how important it is to find that person who compliments you. (And not in the "your butt looks great in those jeans" kind of way.) I'm talking about the chocolate wafer to your cream filling. The point to your counter-point. The Eddie Haskell to your Wally Cleaver.
I have also realized by watching my parents that marriage isn't easy. It takes compromise, patience, communication, and respect. And it takes forgiveness. There is no such thing as a charmed life. We all have our ups and downs. But if we're lucky, we find someone to enjoy the ups with, and who makes the downs seem not so low.
So, to my parents, congratulations and thank you for never giving up on one another, or your children. I love you.
But I wanted to give them a shout out and tell them happy anniversary. I have the greatest parents in the world. Seriously. My mom is a few miracles shy of sainthood, and despite some rocky times in the past, my dad is the one man in this world that I will always trust.
These two managed to survive not only the ups and downs of every marriage, but a slew of other rough times and tragedies. There were the temperamental mood-swings of a teenage girl, the son who blew up the engine in the family van on a spring break road trip, the daughter who dropped out of college (but eventually went back), the break-up of one child's marriage, the death of all 4 parents plus a step-father, various health problems, the passing of two much-loved family dogs (and countless fish and hamsters), vacations with the extended family, and my dad's relentless snoring. They have even survived a 3-legged dog with a propensity for breaking into fits of howling in the middle of the night, and both children moving far away from home.
As I get older, I realize more and more how important it is to find that person who compliments you. (And not in the "your butt looks great in those jeans" kind of way.) I'm talking about the chocolate wafer to your cream filling. The point to your counter-point. The Eddie Haskell to your Wally Cleaver.
I have also realized by watching my parents that marriage isn't easy. It takes compromise, patience, communication, and respect. And it takes forgiveness. There is no such thing as a charmed life. We all have our ups and downs. But if we're lucky, we find someone to enjoy the ups with, and who makes the downs seem not so low.
So, to my parents, congratulations and thank you for never giving up on one another, or your children. I love you.
Why Oh Why Couldn't I Be Obscenely Wealthy . . .
Not rich, but wealthy. Wealth implies a certain level of class that is lacking with the rich. That's what I want. Old money. The kind that requires a certain level of respect and awe, even though it's not always deserved.
This desire has been fueled lately by a growing irritation with my job and the stress that it causes. Yes, everyone has stress, and most of us have a job (sometimes several). And I don't mind working. In fact, I kind of like it. But the last few weeks have been exceptionally bad for me. This is not the result of extended hours or other such annoyances. In fact, I've been working shorter days (less than 9 hours) recently than I have been in quite a while.
It's the frenzied nature of work that is wearing me down. I was knocked flat on my arse a few weeks ago with what I assume was the flu. I started feeling bad late on a Sunday night, and by Monday morning, I was a shivering, stuffy-headed mess. Despite the fact that everyone knew I was sick, my cell phone rang non-stop with work-related questions. I eventually turned it off.
For the next 10 days, I came in to work with a lingering cough and runny nose. And it wasn't until I took an extended, 4-day holiday weekend that I finally started feeling better. That's why I'm counting down the hours until I get to escape from this place, and head out for camping in the George Washington National Forest with some friends.
That's also why I want to be wealthy. I want to be able to take off whenever I want and go to exotic locations around the world (and here in our great country). I want to go to Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Portugal. I want to visit Egypt, Russia, and Australia. I want to take a fly-fishing trip with Ship to Patagonia. I want to take Pita to Morocco. I want to go on a Safari with Jo. And I wish that I was with Yogi in Zambia right now. And I really want to go visit my brother in Aspen whenever I feel like it.
More importantly, I want to feel like my presence here on Earth counts for something. Something significant. I would want to do humanitarian work of some description. I don't know if I have the "intestinal fortitude" to work in Darfur, but there are a lot of needy people out there, even in our own country. I think I would have to work with kids. I would be the chubby Angelina Jolie . . . taking in underprivileged children. But I don't think I would want to adopt them all. That seems kind of selfish. Maybe I could take in foster children to provide them with a stable environment until they could be adopted by a good family. I would make it my personal goal to keep siblings together. That would be my contribution to the world. So thirty years from now, a brother and sister could be having Christmas dinner together with their spouses and children, and they would know that it was all possible because I cared enough to make it my mission.
Sorry. I'm rambling today.
Have a great weekend.
This desire has been fueled lately by a growing irritation with my job and the stress that it causes. Yes, everyone has stress, and most of us have a job (sometimes several). And I don't mind working. In fact, I kind of like it. But the last few weeks have been exceptionally bad for me. This is not the result of extended hours or other such annoyances. In fact, I've been working shorter days (less than 9 hours) recently than I have been in quite a while.
It's the frenzied nature of work that is wearing me down. I was knocked flat on my arse a few weeks ago with what I assume was the flu. I started feeling bad late on a Sunday night, and by Monday morning, I was a shivering, stuffy-headed mess. Despite the fact that everyone knew I was sick, my cell phone rang non-stop with work-related questions. I eventually turned it off.
For the next 10 days, I came in to work with a lingering cough and runny nose. And it wasn't until I took an extended, 4-day holiday weekend that I finally started feeling better. That's why I'm counting down the hours until I get to escape from this place, and head out for camping in the George Washington National Forest with some friends.
That's also why I want to be wealthy. I want to be able to take off whenever I want and go to exotic locations around the world (and here in our great country). I want to go to Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Portugal. I want to visit Egypt, Russia, and Australia. I want to take a fly-fishing trip with Ship to Patagonia. I want to take Pita to Morocco. I want to go on a Safari with Jo. And I wish that I was with Yogi in Zambia right now. And I really want to go visit my brother in Aspen whenever I feel like it.
More importantly, I want to feel like my presence here on Earth counts for something. Something significant. I would want to do humanitarian work of some description. I don't know if I have the "intestinal fortitude" to work in Darfur, but there are a lot of needy people out there, even in our own country. I think I would have to work with kids. I would be the chubby Angelina Jolie . . . taking in underprivileged children. But I don't think I would want to adopt them all. That seems kind of selfish. Maybe I could take in foster children to provide them with a stable environment until they could be adopted by a good family. I would make it my personal goal to keep siblings together. That would be my contribution to the world. So thirty years from now, a brother and sister could be having Christmas dinner together with their spouses and children, and they would know that it was all possible because I cared enough to make it my mission.
Sorry. I'm rambling today.
Have a great weekend.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Thank you, Captain Obvious!
"Now THAT's a big girl."
With those words, my evening took a turn from pretty darned enjoyable to just plain shitty.
At first, I didn't really want to write about this, because it exposes me in a way that I'm really not comfortable with. But then I decided to share it as a lesson to all of those people out there who comment on the appearances of others while drinking in a "quiet voice" that the entire world can hear.
After we went for the screening of our movie from the 48-hour film festival, we all went to meet C-Reg and Ship at the Crystal City Restaurant for a little dinner and stripping. You see, C-Reg loves strippers. Don't get me wrong though . . . I've never met anyone straighter than C-Reg. She doesn't want to make out with other chicks or anything like that. I think it has to do with her ability to recognize the athleticism and dedication it takes to be able to be a good stripper. It's not just about being skinny with big boobs . . . it really does require a certain aptitude that most people lack.
Anyway, we were at CCR enjoying the sights, and, naturally, we were surrounded by mostly men. There were your typical strip-club regulars: the military guys, the dirty old men, the rednecks, the biker dudes, and the guys there for a pre-bachelor party (it was a Thursday after all!). The few women there looked like they were dancers themselves who were just hanging out off-duty or possibly paid escorts (for the bachelor and his friends).
Well, I had been holding the urge to pee for half the night for fear of missing something, and I finally couldn't hold it any longer. So I excused myself from the table and walked toward the back where the bathrooms are. To my right, just a short distance from the stage, was a table with three guys. They looked a little worse for the wear. The redneck types that you generally don't see in Northern Virginia . . . at least inside the Beltway. But here there were. And, if you've ever had the pleasure of knowing any rednecks (and I mean REAL rednecks), you know that if they THINK it they SAY it. The are missing that little internal dialog filter that most of us, as members of polite society, rely on to keep us from saying something offensive and cruel.
And then, BAM . . . there it was. "Now THAT's a big girl." It wasn't one of those, "WIDE LOAD COMING THROUGH" comments that are intended to cause emotional pain. It was just an observation. And that made it all the more horrific. Here was this guy with dirty, scraggly hair, bad teeth, and jailhouse tattoos looking down on me based solely on my appearance. Well, that's basically what I just did when I described him, but at least I had the decency not to point out his physical flaws directly to him as he had done to me. But I kept my chin up, went to the restroom, regained my composure, and fought with all my might the urge to go back out there and knock the rest of his yellowed teeth out of his mouth. And I succeeded. After all, I have class.
I went back to my table, sat down in stunned silence, and didn't tell anyone what had happened. And what had been a wonderful evening turned to shit in less than 30 seconds. I sat there for a while before someone finally figured out something was wrong . . . after all, it's not like me to sit in silence for long! And I just let it out. I told them every horrifying detail of what had happened. Even though I was there with some friends from work who I had never really spent a lot of time with outside of the office. Sharing that with them was as utterly degrading as the words themselves. In fact, I think it was worse.
About an hour later, I had to go to the bathroom again. So, as I got up to go, Ship stood. When I looked at him, he told me that he was going to follow me to the bathroom in case they said anything else. Now, Ship and I have been roommates for 7 months, and we've been friends for much longer than that. But I have never felt as close to him as I did at that moment. He wasn't just my friend anymore, he was my brother, the defender of my honor, and my hero.
As I was standing in the shower the next morning, tears pouring down my cheeks as I thought again about what had happened, my mind flashed to the memory of Ship's eyes the night before. They weren't full of rage. And more importantly, they weren't full of pity. They were full of the confidence and righteousness that people have when they are protecting someone they care about, whether that person is a lover, a friend, or a sister. Thanks, Ship. You gave me further proof that every cloud has a silver lining.
With those words, my evening took a turn from pretty darned enjoyable to just plain shitty.
At first, I didn't really want to write about this, because it exposes me in a way that I'm really not comfortable with. But then I decided to share it as a lesson to all of those people out there who comment on the appearances of others while drinking in a "quiet voice" that the entire world can hear.
After we went for the screening of our movie from the 48-hour film festival, we all went to meet C-Reg and Ship at the Crystal City Restaurant for a little dinner and stripping. You see, C-Reg loves strippers. Don't get me wrong though . . . I've never met anyone straighter than C-Reg. She doesn't want to make out with other chicks or anything like that. I think it has to do with her ability to recognize the athleticism and dedication it takes to be able to be a good stripper. It's not just about being skinny with big boobs . . . it really does require a certain aptitude that most people lack.
Anyway, we were at CCR enjoying the sights, and, naturally, we were surrounded by mostly men. There were your typical strip-club regulars: the military guys, the dirty old men, the rednecks, the biker dudes, and the guys there for a pre-bachelor party (it was a Thursday after all!). The few women there looked like they were dancers themselves who were just hanging out off-duty or possibly paid escorts (for the bachelor and his friends).
Well, I had been holding the urge to pee for half the night for fear of missing something, and I finally couldn't hold it any longer. So I excused myself from the table and walked toward the back where the bathrooms are. To my right, just a short distance from the stage, was a table with three guys. They looked a little worse for the wear. The redneck types that you generally don't see in Northern Virginia . . . at least inside the Beltway. But here there were. And, if you've ever had the pleasure of knowing any rednecks (and I mean REAL rednecks), you know that if they THINK it they SAY it. The are missing that little internal dialog filter that most of us, as members of polite society, rely on to keep us from saying something offensive and cruel.
And then, BAM . . . there it was. "Now THAT's a big girl." It wasn't one of those, "WIDE LOAD COMING THROUGH" comments that are intended to cause emotional pain. It was just an observation. And that made it all the more horrific. Here was this guy with dirty, scraggly hair, bad teeth, and jailhouse tattoos looking down on me based solely on my appearance. Well, that's basically what I just did when I described him, but at least I had the decency not to point out his physical flaws directly to him as he had done to me. But I kept my chin up, went to the restroom, regained my composure, and fought with all my might the urge to go back out there and knock the rest of his yellowed teeth out of his mouth. And I succeeded. After all, I have class.
I went back to my table, sat down in stunned silence, and didn't tell anyone what had happened. And what had been a wonderful evening turned to shit in less than 30 seconds. I sat there for a while before someone finally figured out something was wrong . . . after all, it's not like me to sit in silence for long! And I just let it out. I told them every horrifying detail of what had happened. Even though I was there with some friends from work who I had never really spent a lot of time with outside of the office. Sharing that with them was as utterly degrading as the words themselves. In fact, I think it was worse.
About an hour later, I had to go to the bathroom again. So, as I got up to go, Ship stood. When I looked at him, he told me that he was going to follow me to the bathroom in case they said anything else. Now, Ship and I have been roommates for 7 months, and we've been friends for much longer than that. But I have never felt as close to him as I did at that moment. He wasn't just my friend anymore, he was my brother, the defender of my honor, and my hero.
As I was standing in the shower the next morning, tears pouring down my cheeks as I thought again about what had happened, my mind flashed to the memory of Ship's eyes the night before. They weren't full of rage. And more importantly, they weren't full of pity. They were full of the confidence and righteousness that people have when they are protecting someone they care about, whether that person is a lover, a friend, or a sister. Thanks, Ship. You gave me further proof that every cloud has a silver lining.
I've Been Neglectful . . .
The last few weeks have been rather chaotic for a series of reasons, but I just wanted to let you know I haven't completely abandoned you!
Just a quick re-cap of what's been going on:
Just a quick re-cap of what's been going on:
- First, and foremost, the 48-hour Film Festival was a blast! We successfully entered our movie on schedule and got to view it (and other short films from the competition) on Thursday night at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Springs, along with a group of other filmmakers. The good news is that everyone laughed when they were supposed to. And there really isn't any bad news . . . except for maybe my acting. Let's just suffice it to say that drama queen doesn't necessarily translate into screen queen! I plan to tell you more about the competition later, so stay tuned for details!
- Ship, his brother, and one of their friends competed in an adventure race a few weeks ago and took third place. And yes, there were more than three teams (far more)! It was their first race of the season. Unfortunately, it rained cats and dogs and was pretty chilly, but that didn't seem to phase the "Squirrels Gone Wild!" Congrats, guys!
- C-Reg competed in her first half-marathon last weekend and came in second. This is especially impressive given the fact that this was a TRAIL run, not a street race! Good job, C-Reg!
- Jo, C-Reg, and Smelly the Wonder Dog all had birthdays this weekend. Needless to say, it was an entertaining weekend which started on Thursday! Jo is 26, C-Reg is 24, and Smelly turned 3 (or 21 in dog years). And no, Smelly didn't get any beer for the special occasion, but she did get a new dog bed.
Anyway, this is a brief recap of a few of the things that have been going on lately. I hope to be able to post more regularly in the coming weeks. I've been so swamped that I haven't even had time to keep up with my gossip!
Friday, May 04, 2007
The 48-Hour Film Project Is Here!
The madness begins tonight at 7 PM.
PL Catlady will be representing "A Likely Story Film Production" for the selection of our genre, prop, character name, and line of dialogue.
The rest of the team will be waiting at base camp in nervous anticipation, ready to bang out a cinematic masterpiece. And I don't think most of us will get to sleep a wink until Sunday when this whole thing is over!
Wish us luck!
PL Catlady will be representing "A Likely Story Film Production" for the selection of our genre, prop, character name, and line of dialogue.
The rest of the team will be waiting at base camp in nervous anticipation, ready to bang out a cinematic masterpiece. And I don't think most of us will get to sleep a wink until Sunday when this whole thing is over!
Wish us luck!
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Happy Hour, Indeed.
It's rare that I am able to enter a room and be surrounded by so many kindred spirits. I was a little apprehensive about the happy hour . . . I guess I was letting self-doubt (my biggest enemy) get the best of me. But I can't remember when the last time was that so many hours have flown by so quickly.
I know I am going to fail to mention quite a few folks, but I want to tell everyone how nice it was to meet them. Especially Carrie, Mandy, Arjewtino, INPY, Dagny Taggart, LMNtal, Freckled K, Bathroom Reading, and, of course, the "fat on the inside" Average Jane. It was much fun.
As Jo and I were wandering to the car in the pouring rain, I told her that it wasn't really a good night out unless you went home wet. And I was soaked. Thanks, kids . . . can't wait until the next one!
I know I am going to fail to mention quite a few folks, but I want to tell everyone how nice it was to meet them. Especially Carrie, Mandy, Arjewtino, INPY, Dagny Taggart, LMNtal, Freckled K, Bathroom Reading, and, of course, the "fat on the inside" Average Jane. It was much fun.
As Jo and I were wandering to the car in the pouring rain, I told her that it wasn't really a good night out unless you went home wet. And I was soaked. Thanks, kids . . . can't wait until the next one!
Friday, April 27, 2007
Things That Are Good In Theory
Squeeze-Top Mayonnaise – Yeah, it’s wonderful that you don’t have to get out a knife just to get the mayo out of the bottle. But then you still have to get out the knife to spread the mayo around evenly on your sandwich. So it’s kind of pointless. (Except you don’t get mayo all over your knuckles anymore trying to get to the last few globs in the bottom of the jar.)
Friends with Benefits – I could go on and on about this one, but I think we all know how it ends. One person falls in love with the other person and that love is not reciprocated because the other person just wanted to get laid and the one person was just convenient. Point being this: someone always gets hurt, and the friendship is irreparably damaged.
Cable Competition – Have you ever wondered why you don’t get to pick your cable company? You either have Comcast or Cox or Brand X, but your address makes the choice, not you. Competition would mean that they couldn’t charge you a bazillion dollars every month just to watch the 5 or 6 good shows on TV. Yeah, there’s satellite TV, but not if you live anywhere with trees or a strict homeowners’ association. Cable competition is great in theory because right now that’s all it is . . . a theory.
Top-Split Hot Dog Buns – Pepperidge Farms splits their hot dog buns on the top. This makes perfect sense. Why is it, however, that hot dogs just don’t taste the same when you eat them on one of these buns? It’s like you’re cheating. I think half of the thrill of eating a hot dog is having to worry about how many toppings you are going to drop on yourself before you’re done.
Diet Sodas – Wow! A refreshing carbonated beverage with no calories? Sign me up! The problem? They taste like crap. Another problem? A long-term scientific study (don’t ask me to cite it) found that those who drink diet sodas do not show any significant difference in weight loss/gain over their lifetime as compared to those who drink regular sodas. I can tell you why though . . . how many times have you gone through the drive thru behind a guy who ordered a Super-Sized Big Mac Meal with two apple pies and a diet soda? There’s your answer.
Gun Control – First let me say that I am not a card-carrying NRA member, but I did learn to shoot a gun at a very early age. And I’m not opposed to gun control, but I think our government has gone about it all wrong. The problem isn’t the people who go in to gun shops and buy guns legally. It’s the people who buy them off the street or through gun shows, and it’s the people who sell them. Gun control, as we currently know it, does not work.
Medical Marijuana – Or rather, the legalization thereof. What about the rest of us? Don’t get me wrong, I am all for cancer patients and people with AIDS being able to smoke up to increase their appetites and to help alleviate their pain. But I also think that it should be available to the general population. Control it like alcohol is controlled, with a minimum age to purchase, and then tax the living dickens out of it. Why? There are a couple of reasons: 1) do you have any idea how much tax revenue would be generated? 2) it would cut down on organized crime, much like when they did away with prohibition; and 3) it would cut down on the number of people in jail, thus freeing up the police to focus more attention on violent criminals.
The War on Terror – Sign me up! That sounds great. Who wouldn’t want to do away with terrorists? But this war of ours (whether we are willing to claim it or not) is a prime example of the truth behind an old saying: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Way Cooler Than A Bulldog . . .
Today, I present to you another adorable picture of Smelly the Beast Dog, just because I can:
Office Politics
I've been working since I was 14, and I've been in an office environment for at least 9 years. So, with all that experience, you would think that I would have learned the rules of engagment as they relate to office politics. No such luck.
My biggest problem is this: I make friends with my co-workers. I work a lot, and, sadly enough, I don't have a lot of outside interests, so I don't meet a lot of people. Most of my friends are people that I have either worked with or met through people that I've worked with. I used to work with Pita, through whom I met Jo, Bergle, and a bunch of other friends. I currently work with my roommate Ship, his girlfriend C-Reg, PL Catlady, and Yogi. But none of those guys work in my operation, so we rarely see each other during the day, and none of our projects overlap.
The real problem is the pseudo-friend co-workers. The ones you have the occassional lunch with or go to happy hour with once in a blue moon. I trust those folks not to be assholes. Unfortunately, I find myself being disappointed by them over and over again.
I had my monthly status update meeting this morning, which is a conference call with about 20 other people. I hate this meeting because there is inevitably something that I get called out for every time. It's usually because someone has been dragging their feet on an effort and then springs it on me 2 hours before the meeting. This means that the blame is no longer on their shoulders, it's on mine. And since I just got the action a few hours earlier, I haven't had time to do anything with it yet, which makes ME look like a slacker. And that ticks me off.
And of course it happened this morning. Keep in mind that I worked until almost 11 last night and then was back here at 7:45 this morning. I was tired, and in no mood for a fight. That's when Rose decides to launch into a tirade about how she had been waiting for two months for this, that, and the other. Quite frankly, it had been so long since I had heard mention of this project that I couldn't even remember what it was for, much less the details of correspondences that had gone back and forth. So, rather than sticking up for myself, I decided it was better to say that I'd look into it than it was to end up looking like a fool because I had misspoken.
Luckily, my boss, Leone, had no such memory lapses. I adore my boss. She is the first female boss I've ever had who I really, really get along with. She is a tall, thick woman with a beautiful accent and a kind heart. And she doesn't take crap off of anyone. She immediately made Rose look incompetent by reminding her that I HAD indeed done what I was supposed to and that she (Rose) had failed to follow up. BAM! Bitch went down! I was vindicated, because no one challenges Leone. Hers is like the voice of God . . . "Leone has spoken."
But I have learned a valuable lesson today: Cover Your Ass. I also learned that women are catty bitches and can't be trusted. That's why I could never be a lesbian. That, and the whole eating p*ssy thing kind of grosses me out.
My biggest problem is this: I make friends with my co-workers. I work a lot, and, sadly enough, I don't have a lot of outside interests, so I don't meet a lot of people. Most of my friends are people that I have either worked with or met through people that I've worked with. I used to work with Pita, through whom I met Jo, Bergle, and a bunch of other friends. I currently work with my roommate Ship, his girlfriend C-Reg, PL Catlady, and Yogi. But none of those guys work in my operation, so we rarely see each other during the day, and none of our projects overlap.
The real problem is the pseudo-friend co-workers. The ones you have the occassional lunch with or go to happy hour with once in a blue moon. I trust those folks not to be assholes. Unfortunately, I find myself being disappointed by them over and over again.
I had my monthly status update meeting this morning, which is a conference call with about 20 other people. I hate this meeting because there is inevitably something that I get called out for every time. It's usually because someone has been dragging their feet on an effort and then springs it on me 2 hours before the meeting. This means that the blame is no longer on their shoulders, it's on mine. And since I just got the action a few hours earlier, I haven't had time to do anything with it yet, which makes ME look like a slacker. And that ticks me off.
And of course it happened this morning. Keep in mind that I worked until almost 11 last night and then was back here at 7:45 this morning. I was tired, and in no mood for a fight. That's when Rose decides to launch into a tirade about how she had been waiting for two months for this, that, and the other. Quite frankly, it had been so long since I had heard mention of this project that I couldn't even remember what it was for, much less the details of correspondences that had gone back and forth. So, rather than sticking up for myself, I decided it was better to say that I'd look into it than it was to end up looking like a fool because I had misspoken.
Luckily, my boss, Leone, had no such memory lapses. I adore my boss. She is the first female boss I've ever had who I really, really get along with. She is a tall, thick woman with a beautiful accent and a kind heart. And she doesn't take crap off of anyone. She immediately made Rose look incompetent by reminding her that I HAD indeed done what I was supposed to and that she (Rose) had failed to follow up. BAM! Bitch went down! I was vindicated, because no one challenges Leone. Hers is like the voice of God . . . "Leone has spoken."
But I have learned a valuable lesson today: Cover Your Ass. I also learned that women are catty bitches and can't be trusted. That's why I could never be a lesbian. That, and the whole eating p*ssy thing kind of grosses me out.
Lowered Expectations . . .
I have been mulling over the possibility of coming to the blogger happy hour on Friday. Jo has been telling me for ages how much fun they are and how nice everyone is, blah, blah, blah. And I keep making excuses . . . it’s a pain getting into DC on a Friday afternoon from where I live; it’s on a weeknight and I have to work the next day; I won’t know anyone; ew, karaoke?!
But it all kept coming back to one thing that I didn’t want to admit out loud, but that was the REAL reason that I had stayed away: Expectations. Not that I am concerned that my fellow bloggers won’t meet mine, but rather that I won’t meet theirs.
Jo always tells me how she envies how much confidence I have, but it’s all a sham. I’m a mess, just like most of the other people I know. I’m terrified that I’m going to walk in and some bitchy girl will turn to her friend and say, “Who invited Large Marge?”
Yup, there it is folks; out there in the open. I’m not a skinny girl (far from it). I used to be, but I’m not anymore, and I’ve paid dearly for that. Guys who absolutely adore my personality immediately relegate me to the friend zone without a moment’s hesitation, and then complain to me that the tall, leggy model they are dating is stupid, selfish, and emotionally void. Most girls are fine once they get to know me, but there are those few that every once in a while give me that look that only someone overweight knows. It’s a combination of disgust and pity, and it is the single most degrading and offensive look in the world.
So, consider yourselves forewarned: I’m coming, damn it, and I'm bringing my fat ass with me, so watch your drinks. The only thing that will stop me is a sale at Lane Bryant. (I’m kidding. I’m kidding.) But before you judge me (because, lets be honest, we all judge one another), make sure you take a few minutes to get to know me, because I’m an effing nice girl. (Oh, and did I mention I have really big boobs and great legs?)
But it all kept coming back to one thing that I didn’t want to admit out loud, but that was the REAL reason that I had stayed away: Expectations. Not that I am concerned that my fellow bloggers won’t meet mine, but rather that I won’t meet theirs.
Jo always tells me how she envies how much confidence I have, but it’s all a sham. I’m a mess, just like most of the other people I know. I’m terrified that I’m going to walk in and some bitchy girl will turn to her friend and say, “Who invited Large Marge?”
Yup, there it is folks; out there in the open. I’m not a skinny girl (far from it). I used to be, but I’m not anymore, and I’ve paid dearly for that. Guys who absolutely adore my personality immediately relegate me to the friend zone without a moment’s hesitation, and then complain to me that the tall, leggy model they are dating is stupid, selfish, and emotionally void. Most girls are fine once they get to know me, but there are those few that every once in a while give me that look that only someone overweight knows. It’s a combination of disgust and pity, and it is the single most degrading and offensive look in the world.
So, consider yourselves forewarned: I’m coming, damn it, and I'm bringing my fat ass with me, so watch your drinks. The only thing that will stop me is a sale at Lane Bryant. (I’m kidding. I’m kidding.) But before you judge me (because, lets be honest, we all judge one another), make sure you take a few minutes to get to know me, because I’m an effing nice girl. (Oh, and did I mention I have really big boobs and great legs?)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
This Means War . . .
Alright, Jo, way to use puppies to draw attention to your blog. You do realize that this means war, right? So, in retalliation, I present "Smelly the Beast Dog at 12 weeks." It's hard to believe she was ever that small.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Doing It On Your Own
I had an interesting conversation with my mom a few weeks ago. It started with us talking about my cousin who had a baby a few months ago with his girlfriend. Apparently, their relationship has hit a rough patch, and she left with the baby. (She has since returned, however, and things are getting back on track with their relationship.)
This then segued into talk of whether or not my older brother (who is 35) will ever have kids with his girlfriend who is 7 or 8 years his senior. I then threw out something that totally knocked my mom off balance, and I am still not 100% sure why.
I simply told her that if I didn't have a husband (or at least a very serious relationship) by the age of 37 or 38*, I was going to start looking into adoption or having a kid on my own through the use of artificial insemination. She was flabbergasted and utterly taken aback by the prospect of me raising a child on my own. This came from the woman who told me that if I was as good with my children as I was with my dog that I would be mother of the year. This is also the same woman who has been bugging my brother and me for grandchildren ever since my ex-sister-in-law’s little brother had a baby about 6 years ago.
Is this a generational thing? A small town thing? What? I don’t know. My parents do tend to be rather closed minded, especially when “appearances” are involved. It’s the whole “what-will-the-neighbors-think” mentality I guess.
But what’s wrong with a woman of a certain age, taking charge of her life, and bringing a child into the world (or helping one who is already here)? It’s not like I’m going to do it today without any thought or planning! And it’s not like I’m going to find a man to knock me up just so that I will have a baby-daddy to rely on for child support payments! If and when I do this, I will be financially secure enough not to need help from anyone.
Quite honestly, I am NOT ready for a child right now. I want to travel and enjoy being (relatively) young before I settle down. I want to be married for at least a couple years before I start having kids. And I want to give the prospect of a “traditional” family a chance to happen because I think (in most cases) kids are better off with two parents.
And another thing . . . we don’t get any guarantees in life. Even if I am lucky enough to find the perfect guy, he could get run over by a bus or struck down with cancer before we ever have a chance to have kids. Or maybe it could be me. You just never know.
So to my mom, I say this: I love you, but if and when the time comes, this is a responsibility that I will be ready to take on by myself. Remember, you’re the one who always told me that I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it.
I feel that the greatest gift you can give the world is a loved child. Children who are truly loved are blessed, and they share those blessings with everyone whose life they ever touch.
*obviously, some things are out of my control, and I don’t know what the future holds. This is a plan, not set in stone, and is subject to change based on things that may change in my life over the next several years.
This then segued into talk of whether or not my older brother (who is 35) will ever have kids with his girlfriend who is 7 or 8 years his senior. I then threw out something that totally knocked my mom off balance, and I am still not 100% sure why.
I simply told her that if I didn't have a husband (or at least a very serious relationship) by the age of 37 or 38*, I was going to start looking into adoption or having a kid on my own through the use of artificial insemination. She was flabbergasted and utterly taken aback by the prospect of me raising a child on my own. This came from the woman who told me that if I was as good with my children as I was with my dog that I would be mother of the year. This is also the same woman who has been bugging my brother and me for grandchildren ever since my ex-sister-in-law’s little brother had a baby about 6 years ago.
Is this a generational thing? A small town thing? What? I don’t know. My parents do tend to be rather closed minded, especially when “appearances” are involved. It’s the whole “what-will-the-neighbors-think” mentality I guess.
But what’s wrong with a woman of a certain age, taking charge of her life, and bringing a child into the world (or helping one who is already here)? It’s not like I’m going to do it today without any thought or planning! And it’s not like I’m going to find a man to knock me up just so that I will have a baby-daddy to rely on for child support payments! If and when I do this, I will be financially secure enough not to need help from anyone.
Quite honestly, I am NOT ready for a child right now. I want to travel and enjoy being (relatively) young before I settle down. I want to be married for at least a couple years before I start having kids. And I want to give the prospect of a “traditional” family a chance to happen because I think (in most cases) kids are better off with two parents.
And another thing . . . we don’t get any guarantees in life. Even if I am lucky enough to find the perfect guy, he could get run over by a bus or struck down with cancer before we ever have a chance to have kids. Or maybe it could be me. You just never know.
So to my mom, I say this: I love you, but if and when the time comes, this is a responsibility that I will be ready to take on by myself. Remember, you’re the one who always told me that I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it.
I feel that the greatest gift you can give the world is a loved child. Children who are truly loved are blessed, and they share those blessings with everyone whose life they ever touch.
*obviously, some things are out of my control, and I don’t know what the future holds. This is a plan, not set in stone, and is subject to change based on things that may change in my life over the next several years.
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