I walked into the bathroom that has been designated for use by the 3 female employees in our office and immediately deduced that one of the guys had been there. The telltale sign? The toilet seat was up. Upon further inspection, I discovered that the seat was also filthy.
As I was fumigating and degermifying the bathroom, I started experiencing violent flashbacks to when I supported myself in college for a year cleaning dormitories. I mostly worked in the girls' dormitories but occasionally, when God decided to punish me, I was banished to the guys' dorm. Naturally, I am all too familiar with cleaning up various expressions of men's nastiness.
Once, at the end of the school year, I had the pleasure of cleaning an empty men's athletic dorm. I lifted up a mattress in one of the rooms and fished out a tattered copy of Jugs Magazine, the pages of which were curiously stuck together. I couldn't drop that magazine fast enough when I realized why the pages were pasted together. It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to keep from running all the way home and plunging my hand in a sink full of bleach. Is it too much to ask that guys take their semen-stained magazines home with them for the summer?
I damned all men to hell the day I had to clean up after some asswipe who thought it would be funny to empty the contents of a fire extinguisher into a three-story stairwell. Mature.
On a side note: what is it about knowing a woman is on the floor that makes guys want to come out of their rooms and parade up and down the hallways half-naked? There is a fully functioning bathroom in each room; there is no logical reason to be walking the public halls wearing only underwear or a skimpy towel.
I never had to put up with these headaches when I worked the girls' dorm. I did learn one valuable life lesson though: men are disgusting. And today, I was reminded of how that truth does not change once they get older.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Could you please pass the KY?
I'm screwed. Not just me, but all of my co-workers too. My boss is in the process of selling the company he has owned for 18 years to a group of investors from Detroit. This is what all business owners live for really - to toil and slave for years as an entrepreneur and eventually sell the company for a shit load of money. It's a great opportunity and I am glad for him but while he is enjoying his new plasma screen TV and vacationing in his condo in Florida, the rest of us will be bending over for the new management and taking it up the rear without the benefit of lubrication.
Amidst all of the negotiations, there has been much discussion of "cost cutting" and "increasing profitability". That's corporate code for "We're eventually going to lay all of you off and hire younger, less experienced people to do your job for less pay. I suggest you update your resume." Regardless of how much my current boss tries to convince us otherwise, every day that passes, we all feel, is one day closer to the inevitable. Call it intuition or divine revelation, it all points to one thing - I need to look for another job.
Normal, well-adjusted people would simply roll up their sleeves and attack the task head on, scouring the want ads and the internet for job opportunities, joining networking groups, cold calling companies, wowing decision-makers with their confidence and ambition. I, on the other hand, have chosen to waffle between fear and confusion in hopes that inaction and indecision will lead me to a better paying, more challenging career.
In case you haven't guessed, I don't do change very well. I have been at the same unsatisfying job for the past 12 years. I would have left already but whenever the equilibrium in my surroundings is compromised, I turn into a rocking, neurotic, retard behaving as if I just found out my underwear was purchased at Target instead of K-Mart. I'm such a nutcase. How am I ever going to find another job?
Maybe if I bring my own lube to work, I'll learn to enjoy getting screwed.
Amidst all of the negotiations, there has been much discussion of "cost cutting" and "increasing profitability". That's corporate code for "We're eventually going to lay all of you off and hire younger, less experienced people to do your job for less pay. I suggest you update your resume." Regardless of how much my current boss tries to convince us otherwise, every day that passes, we all feel, is one day closer to the inevitable. Call it intuition or divine revelation, it all points to one thing - I need to look for another job.
Normal, well-adjusted people would simply roll up their sleeves and attack the task head on, scouring the want ads and the internet for job opportunities, joining networking groups, cold calling companies, wowing decision-makers with their confidence and ambition. I, on the other hand, have chosen to waffle between fear and confusion in hopes that inaction and indecision will lead me to a better paying, more challenging career.
In case you haven't guessed, I don't do change very well. I have been at the same unsatisfying job for the past 12 years. I would have left already but whenever the equilibrium in my surroundings is compromised, I turn into a rocking, neurotic, retard behaving as if I just found out my underwear was purchased at Target instead of K-Mart. I'm such a nutcase. How am I ever going to find another job?
Maybe if I bring my own lube to work, I'll learn to enjoy getting screwed.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
GrizzBabe's X-mas wish list: Item #1
1. To be in the middle of a Jake Gyllenhaal/Paul Walker sandwich.
To the geezer in the red suit: I don't care what you have to do or who you have to do, but make it happen. After all those years of asking for a Barbie dream house and never getting it, you owe me old man!
To the geezer in the red suit: I don't care what you have to do or who you have to do, but make it happen. After all those years of asking for a Barbie dream house and never getting it, you owe me old man!
Speaking of Paul Walker...
Here's what he had to say about his "Into the Blue" co-star, Jessica Alba:
"Come on, dude, you know what I'm looking at. I couldn't take my eyes off that ass. I'm sorry. She's beautiful. And she's such a pain in my ass, too. But that's what I love about her. She's the kind of girl you just want to have angry sex with for the rest of your life because it's just that good."As I type this, I am sitting in the back of a van with a hypnotist trying to convince a kidnapped Paul Walker that I'm Jessica Alba.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Crazy books
"You're not allowed to read anymore of those books," my friend P. pronounced, "No wonder you are so mentally ill." I'm not really mentally ill, but like most people, I do have my issues. Those books my friend was referring to are what I like to call 'crazy books' - books written by authors who come from highly dysfunctional families and/or have emotional issues of their own.
I am currently reading Naked by David Sedaris, an author whose long list of childhood obsessive compulsive tics makes Howard Hughes look well-adjusted. I also found supreme enjoyment in reading Augusten Burroughs's Running with Scissors, a memoir where calling the cast of characters 'nutjobs' could be considered a euphemism.
A common trait in both of these books is that they are side-splittingly funny. I marvel at the ability of these authors to find humor in the midst of the most tragic situations. In addition, it is very encouraging that people with such obvious personality flaws find a way to be incredibly successful. There is hope for me yet.
Despite P.'s suggestion, I'm going to continue reading my crazy books. They are well-written, intelligent, funny and they don't seem to have any negative effects on my mental health at all. At least, that's what the nurse tells me everytime she comes to give me my meds.
I am currently reading Naked by David Sedaris, an author whose long list of childhood obsessive compulsive tics makes Howard Hughes look well-adjusted. I also found supreme enjoyment in reading Augusten Burroughs's Running with Scissors, a memoir where calling the cast of characters 'nutjobs' could be considered a euphemism.
A common trait in both of these books is that they are side-splittingly funny. I marvel at the ability of these authors to find humor in the midst of the most tragic situations. In addition, it is very encouraging that people with such obvious personality flaws find a way to be incredibly successful. There is hope for me yet.
Despite P.'s suggestion, I'm going to continue reading my crazy books. They are well-written, intelligent, funny and they don't seem to have any negative effects on my mental health at all. At least, that's what the nurse tells me everytime she comes to give me my meds.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
The magic koochie
My boss asked me to send a statement to one of our clients in an effort to gently prod him to pay his very outstanding bill. A co-worker, stirring up the old rumor mill, jokingly suggested I tell him to stop paying his female friend’s bills and pay us instead. That is exactly what a sugar daddy is supposed to do, I remarked. “But they have broken up,” my co-worker said “and he is now dating someone else.”
You break up with a woman and you are STILL paying her rent? I didn’t think anybody’s hooch was that good!
You break up with a woman and you are STILL paying her rent? I didn’t think anybody’s hooch was that good!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Only 20% abnormal? I thought it would be much higher.
| You Are 20% Abnormal |
 You are at low risk for being a psychopath. It is unlikely that you have no soul. You are at low risk for having a borderline personality. It is unlikely that you are a chaotic mess. You are at low risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is unlikely that you are in love with your own reflection. You are at medium risk for having a social phobia. It is somewhat likely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement. You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer. |
Monday, February 13, 2006
So, I am understated - tell me something I don't know
| Men See You As Understated |
 You are an intreguing mix of girl and woman. You're feminine, quiet, and a total mystery to most men. Yet they often feel the urge to protect you, even if they don't know you. You *are* a flirt, but you usually only flirt with those you know well |
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Parenthood
After working part-time for two decades as a babysitter, you would think that I would be able to see myself as a good parent. Or at least learned a few things on how to parent. But it's because I have been exposed to other people's rugrats that I am now certain that I would be a less than perfect parent. Way less than perfect.
For the past 5 years, I have been the frequent caretaker of 2 young boys, who, at their core, are good kids. We have known each other long enough that I am sure they sense that I genuinly care for them and desire to look out for their best interests. But sometimes, when I have been pushed to the edge, I just want to tell them to "shut up and sit your whiny asses down!"
I cannot and do not give in to those urges. Mainly because these are not my kids and who wants to hire a babysitter that verbally abuses their kids? I fear, however, that if they were my kids, I would not show as much restraint. Which is why society should be thankful that I am 39 years old and have a biological clock that is destined to quit ticking before I ever have an opportunity to give birth.
A co-worker recently told the story of a confrontation she had with her 6'5", 17 year old step-son. They were arguing and he physically threatened her. She and her husband handled the situation calmly. They punished him, took away some privileges and in general failed to overreact. I, on the other hand, would have been a bitch on wheels. I would have made him pack his bags, hand over the car keys, called him a cab, given him one nights' hotel rent - subsequent nights would be up to him - and told him that if he wants to act grown when he's not then he can do so somewhere else.
That approach might actually be beneficial to extremely rebellious teenagers but for most kids, it's a little harsh. The scary thing is, I don't think my reaction would have been all that different had he been younger. Can you imagine sending a 6 year old packing because he dared to challenge my authority? Exactly. It's a horrible thing to do. Which is why I think I will choose to remain childless. Really, I think it's better this way.
For the past 5 years, I have been the frequent caretaker of 2 young boys, who, at their core, are good kids. We have known each other long enough that I am sure they sense that I genuinly care for them and desire to look out for their best interests. But sometimes, when I have been pushed to the edge, I just want to tell them to "shut up and sit your whiny asses down!"
I cannot and do not give in to those urges. Mainly because these are not my kids and who wants to hire a babysitter that verbally abuses their kids? I fear, however, that if they were my kids, I would not show as much restraint. Which is why society should be thankful that I am 39 years old and have a biological clock that is destined to quit ticking before I ever have an opportunity to give birth.
A co-worker recently told the story of a confrontation she had with her 6'5", 17 year old step-son. They were arguing and he physically threatened her. She and her husband handled the situation calmly. They punished him, took away some privileges and in general failed to overreact. I, on the other hand, would have been a bitch on wheels. I would have made him pack his bags, hand over the car keys, called him a cab, given him one nights' hotel rent - subsequent nights would be up to him - and told him that if he wants to act grown when he's not then he can do so somewhere else.
That approach might actually be beneficial to extremely rebellious teenagers but for most kids, it's a little harsh. The scary thing is, I don't think my reaction would have been all that different had he been younger. Can you imagine sending a 6 year old packing because he dared to challenge my authority? Exactly. It's a horrible thing to do. Which is why I think I will choose to remain childless. Really, I think it's better this way.
Friday, February 10, 2006
The Dream Channel
I love these kinds of dreams.
I am a third wheel in a threesome. (Why? When in dreamland, I don't question these things; I just go with the flow.) The other woman is his main squeeze; I am just a little something on the side. We are in a hotel room that has two double beds. While his girlfriend lays on the other bed, my paramour hops into bed with me and pulls the covers over our heads as if they created some sort of magical sound barrier. As he disrobes, he goes on and on about how his girlfriend is the jealous type and he can't believe she is letting him do this.
As he talks, I let my fingers touch his and lightly caress them. Without missing a beat in his diatribe, he caresses back. I am seduced by this simple act of tenderness. It bodes well for what is about to occur. Unfortunatley, that turned out to be the most explicit act in the whole dream.
Just before the action is about to start, my dream switches scenes like a made-for-network-tv movie being shown before 7 p. m. on a schoolnight. I try to push the rewind on my brain remote to get back to the hotel scene. It doesn't work. I am now being buried alive, Kill Bill style, by the aforementioned jealous girlfriend.
Who is writing this stuff? Why are my love scenes being edited out? What good does it do to have a dream about a threesome and not get to see any of the good stuff? Note to Dream Channel Producers: Next time, please allow me to experience the benefit of a sexy romp before you bury me alive. Thank you.
I am a third wheel in a threesome. (Why? When in dreamland, I don't question these things; I just go with the flow.) The other woman is his main squeeze; I am just a little something on the side. We are in a hotel room that has two double beds. While his girlfriend lays on the other bed, my paramour hops into bed with me and pulls the covers over our heads as if they created some sort of magical sound barrier. As he disrobes, he goes on and on about how his girlfriend is the jealous type and he can't believe she is letting him do this.
As he talks, I let my fingers touch his and lightly caress them. Without missing a beat in his diatribe, he caresses back. I am seduced by this simple act of tenderness. It bodes well for what is about to occur. Unfortunatley, that turned out to be the most explicit act in the whole dream.
Just before the action is about to start, my dream switches scenes like a made-for-network-tv movie being shown before 7 p. m. on a schoolnight. I try to push the rewind on my brain remote to get back to the hotel scene. It doesn't work. I am now being buried alive, Kill Bill style, by the aforementioned jealous girlfriend.
Who is writing this stuff? Why are my love scenes being edited out? What good does it do to have a dream about a threesome and not get to see any of the good stuff? Note to Dream Channel Producers: Next time, please allow me to experience the benefit of a sexy romp before you bury me alive. Thank you.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
I'd be a shopaholic if I only had the time
On this particular day, I was feeling a little bit off - nothing major, just a slight melancholy - when I had the sudden urge to buy something, anything, to help take the edge off an otherwise decent day.
I quickly came to my senses. Between my inability to stop downloading recipes from the internet and my uncontrollable need to collect kitchen gadgets, I don't have the time to nurture another obsessive compulsive behavior. I'm pretty much all booked up.
I quickly came to my senses. Between my inability to stop downloading recipes from the internet and my uncontrollable need to collect kitchen gadgets, I don't have the time to nurture another obsessive compulsive behavior. I'm pretty much all booked up.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Ready for Love (written by India.Aire and Blue Miller)
I am ready for love
Why are you hiding from me
I'd quickly give my freedom
To be held in your captivity
I am ready for love
All of the joy and the pain
And all the time that it takes
Just to stay in your good grace
Lately I've been thinking
Maybe you're not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for
Cause you might receive
But if you ask me tomorrow
I'll say the same thing
I am ready for love
Would you please lend me your ear?
I promise I won't complain
I just need you to acknowledge I am here
If you give me half a chance
I'll prove this to you
I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music
A man who loves art
Respect's the spirit world
And thinks with his heart
I am ready for love
If you'll take me in your hands
I will learn what you teach
And do the best that I can
I am ready for love
Here with a offering of
My voice
My Eyes
My soul
My mind
Tell me what is enough
To prove I am ready for love
I am ready
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)