Monthly Archives: March 2013

Things that suck, 2013 edition

  • Sitting in front of my laptop watching animal rescue videos and realizing: these are only a handful of needy/homeless/neglected/abused animals. First order of business if I win the lottery: no-kill shelter (built directly in my backyard if zoning/permits allow, or buy the lot next to mine, raze the storage units, and put it there since it’s zoned business/mixed-use).
  • Bustling along at work, making good progress, smiling at the fact that a subject’s cancerous node decreased significantly in size, then remembering that is it one of the subjects who is now deceased because of their disease.  Suck it, cancer.
  • Pulling up to grab a quick lunch and hearing the employee who is outside for her lung cancer cigarette break loudly scoff at me.  Okay, lady, you look like Jabba the Hut and you’re expressing loud disapproval on something about me.  I have no idea what it could be, but good luck with your awesome life.
  • Getting multiple message from dudes on dating sites that either say, “Hey,” “So sexy,” or, “Your cute.”  My cute what? Also, have something intelligent to say, please.
  • People who get off on criticizing people who have goals/are aiming to do something with their life.  A girl I work with is taking a new position that will put her in proximity to a department in which we both formerly worked, though she won’t be in that department directly.  The verbal arrows and shittalk that are going on about her are out-of-this-word ridiculous.  She’s a grown ass woman who can make her own decisions.  Just because you’re miserable with YOUR job doesn’t mean she has to be. Lay off.
  • Having people tell me that I’m either “too picky” or “the right guy will come along.”  False.  I tend to meet guys who are either so full of themselves they poop out self-portraits, dirty dirty liars (oh, so that’s your real age and name? I doubt it), or dudes who think that because I work an awesome job and went to college that I MUST be a horrible snob.  That brings to mind someone who once said to a friend of mine, “Why do people like you hang out with people like us?”  Don’t play the pity card buddy, if we thought you were trash, we wouldn’t be spending time with you.
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Listen to it on repeat

One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands: “Does This Always Happen?” by Mogwai

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Good freakin’ morning

I am a bit out of sorts today.

Sinus headaches that turned into migraines. Starting Thursday and ending Sunday afternoon.  After which I felt GREAT.  More than great, like superhuman.  It warranted me finally dyeing my hair and going to the gym after slacking for three days.

Until this morning, when my sinuses decided to rebel again.

But more on that later.  Let’s talk about the gym.

I have begun dreading that I will see a handful of people when I enter.  Here is the cast of characters:

“Beautiful”
This attractive young black man is one of many easy-on-the-eyes fellas at the gym.  One night, I happened to be at a machine near the one he and his buddy (also attractive, but very loud and seemingly arrogant) were working on.  I did the awkward thing where my eyes keep going to one spot, mainly because they are both good looking.  I usually have my music blaring, but I thought I saw Beautiful’s friend mouth, “She’s hot.” Which, of course, I figured was NOT about me.  Let’s face it, I can sometimes pull off cute, I can be considered striking, but “hot” is not really a descriptor people use for me. I also caught “Beautiful” looking at my boobs several times.  I am NOT one of those girls who shows cleave at the gym, but there they were (my boobs and his eyes).

Cut to later on, I’m working on the hip abductor machine (what my friend Katie calls “the sex machine”) and Beautiful came over and put something on the ground next to it. “Oh,” I thought, “he must want to use it next, so he’s putting his stuff here.” The he smiled at me.  When I finished my set, I looked down and noticed it was not a water bottle or headphones he’d place there.  It was this:
Image

At first, I was pretty flattered.  Then the English  major in me immediately took over. “Um, so your name is ‘Beautiful’?” I thought. “Where is your comma?!?!”

I, of course, never called him because a) I am horribly awkward when it comes to dudes and b) he looked like he was about 24 years old.

So, of course, I dread every time I walk in possibly seeing him.  Not because I think he’ll say anything, but simply because I feel bad.  Then I remind myself he probably has plenty of chicks who are way into him, and one chubby 30-something not calling will probably not hurt his feelings.

The Trainer
The trainer is one of those people that I was forced to meet. Basically. One night, I was happily awkwardly doing tricep extensions when a tall, attractive, and wiry-but-muscular young man (with tattoos!) walked by giving me a weird look and saying something. As I had my music up, per the norm, I went “Huh, what?” as he continued speaking but walking away.  He came back over to me after a few minutes and I took my headphones off. “Do what?” I said.

The trainer replied, “Where do I know you from?”

“Oh! I thought you were like ‘Get off that machine, I want to use it!'” and we both laughed.

And he stayed. He asked where he knew me from and I asked about places he worked.  “I work here,” he said.

As we laughed and talked, I started thinking, “Where is he going with this?”

And then he asked, “Can I text you goodnight?”

Since I am horribly awkward and panic when caught off guard, I replied, “Yes” even though by this point I could tell this guy, although VERY nice, had a bit of the player mentality going on.  Plus, he was a mumbler. It took me asking for the spelling to understand his name.

He told me he’d be by the cable machine and when I was ready to leave to come give him my number.

“Shit.” I thought. I could see myself being good friends with this fellow, but not dating him, citing the player mentality and the fact that there are far more attractive and fit chicks around him all day than myself.

But what could I do? If I tried to sneak out, he’d see me. I’d rather be awkward and uncomfortable than labeled a bitch.

Gah.

So I walked up to him and gave him my number.

He texted me later that night with just his name and a smiley face. So I texted for him to have a good night.

Subsequent text messages from him simply said, “Hey” and I knew my feelings of “I don’t want to go out with him” were warranted.  Conversation starters are a must.

But, again, I walked in not wanting to see him because I feel bad for ceasing response.

Until last night.  He was there and I walked right by him.  He did not even flinch.  I’m pretty sure mine is not the only number he’s gotten since he obviously did not remember me.

Crisis averted.

The big lady
There is no delicate way to put this: she is LARGE.  While I am no fitness model, I am also not literally pushing 400 pounds like this chick.

And I applaud ANYONE who works out instead of sitting in front of the tv all night.

THE LATTER OF WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS WOMAN DOES AT THE GYM.

I have entered the locker room countless times to see her taking up almost an entire bench, watching television.  When the gym had massage chairs in front of a large tv in the back room, she would camp out there, but since the chairs and tvs have been replaced by hydrobeds, she makes the locker room her home.

This would not bother me in the least except for one detail: she scream-talks to anyone who walks in about what is on tv at that moment.

That is literally all she will discuss.

She is often on the phone, scream-talking to some unfortunate soul about what she is viewing, giving her commentary on each person… in detail.

A few weeks ago I walked in to put my things in a locker and she immediately busted out laughing at something on the screen, turned to me and said, “A white girl named Rashida. That’s a first.”

It took all I had not to reply to her, “Since you are glued to the television, I am surprised that you are unaware that Rashida Jones’ father is Quincy Jones, making her both white AND black.”

The big lady didn’t used to be this bad.  I used to converse with her briefly when she spoke at a normal volume and didn’t obsess over tv.

Now, it is like some alien life force has overtaken her body and its only sustenance is anything television-related.  All other forms of communication are verboten.

Last night, I walked toward the locker room and could hear the big lady’s voice before I could even see the doorway.

Her topic of conversation? “So-and-so is too big to be in an exercise video.”

I almost kicked her.

For someone whose extent of workout is running her mouth and possibly doing a snail’s pace on the stationary bike, she has absolutely no room to talk.

And that is why I dread seeing big lady.

The mormons
I’m pretty sure these chicks AREN’T mormons, but since “Pentecostal” just doesn’t have that ring to it, we’ll go with that tribe of Joseph Smith followers. The only reason I call them that is they appear not to cut their hair and all wear skirt type things to work out in.

Now, these chicks themselves aren’t too entirely bad, but there are two main players who need to get their shit straight.

One is a girl who reminds me EXACTLY of Esther from “Amish Mafia”.  Yes, I have watched this show.  Yes, I know it is probably 99.9% fake.  No, I don’t care. (Fun fact: Jolin looks EXACTLY like the love child of Tony Hawk and my awesome eye doctor. I would not kid you.)

She tends to speak LOUDLY while doing “cardio.” It’s in quotes because she is moving abnormally slow.  She often recites verbatim conversations to the person next to her, constantly complains about being in pain, etc etc.

I would have ZERO problem with her conversations if she were speaking at volume that was not conducive to me hearing every word over bands like Bane and Witchery (ie, LOUD BANDS WITH GUITARS AND SCREAMING).

The other culprit is someone I can only describe as “the Mom figure.”  She seems to be the leader of the pack, older than the others, with an air of authority.

AND AN AIR OF STARING.

While I may be guilty of eyeing people without knowing (I am an ardent people-watcher, which I think is sometimes translated into “creep”), I am sure it is nothing like this lady.

She looks at everyone near her with an expression of near-terror on her face. I’m not sure what this is about.  It could be that instead of bitch-face like I have, she has “scared face.” In any case, I dread seeing HER because I’m afraid she’ll give me the scared-stare and I won’t know where to look.

There are other minor players in the cast of characters including: loud college students, girls who bathe in perfume before entering the gym (offenders who, I believe, were catalysts for this past week’s sinus fiasco), gym-socializers: people who are there to be seen and to talk instead of working out.  Also known as: people I wish would get the fuck out of my way.  Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy meeting new people and talking to them (when I can avoid bouts of being awkwardly goofy) but that is not my primary reason for possessing a gym membership.

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In other news, I did not sleep well last night.  I felt like I could hear every car that passed my house, every jet that flew overhead.  I woke up several times to loud vehicles and eventually thought, “OH MY GOD. MY SINUS PROBLEMS HAVE DONE SOMETHING TO MY EARS AND NOW I HAVE SUPERSONIC HEARING. I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.”

I woke up this morning to realize that the back of my bedside fan was stuck to a curtain all night, hence lower output, hence quieter.

Whew.

BRB, Dying

After YEARS of wishing one of my favorite bands would reunite, they have begun posting teasers on facebook (yes, my deactivation lasted a few days short of one mere month). They posted this video from their final show, and I had never seen it before. SO. MANY. FEELS.

To this day, I listen to this band in the car, at home, at the gym, at work, etc etc etc.

They are one of the many reasons NC is awesome, and I discovered them at a time in my life when things were a’ changin’ and I was still in my mid-twenties.

Give ’em a listen.

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It’s 3am, you say?

If it was based solely upon the way my head/sinuses/allergies are going, today would NOT be a day about which Ice Cube would write a song.

Painkillers that make you feel not-even-really high but do nothing for the pain? Medical fail at this point.

I guess I’ll go stare at pictures of my nephew repeatedly so I can die of cute multiple times.

God, I love that kid.

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The ever-evolving blog post. It might be brain vomit.

LOL WUT

Why the hell do I get messages like this? OFTEN.

While it maybe very well have been intended as a compliment, let’s dissect how I feel about this:

While I am largely ‘let’s do this’ about life, I am also largely “let’s do this’ about punctuation. Learn it.

Furthermore, being ‘always up’ and ‘Let’s do this’ don’t always go hand in hand. While there are points in my life that these two attributes show up in tandem, there are also points in my life where I’m very ‘let’s do this’ about being angry, depressed, or frustrated. But I’m working on it.

Countless times on dating websites, I’ve had people assume that they know me from just a few words or paragraphs.  These people see me as fun-loving, or weird, or prudish, or someone whose personality automatically means ‘sure thing, one night stand.’  While some or none of these may be true, that doesn’t change the perception.

Which is a hell of a thing, always somehow skewed in my life.

I have people that I have known for YEARS assume that I’m a complete moron because of some or all of these: I am eccentric; I love corny jokes; I do not push my religion, intelligence, or opinions on others; I despise debates and arguments, so they assume I’m a pushover.

But guess what. I am one smart cracker.  Oh, how I’d love to tell the former friend of mine who always attempted to insult my intelligence (and my bank account, and my home decor…) that she would walk into ONE DAY at any of the jobs I’ve held since college and cry at the difficulty/intricacy.

This is the same ff who used to boast about making “$45,000.”  A: while that is an honest living and not too shabby, it doesn’t make you a millionaire, B: people who regularly discuss their salary with others are clearly lacking in some aspect of their lives, C: you’re not making that $45,000 now, seeing as you have no job, yes?

The same ff who, now that she is in school for interior design, remarked that she wanted to “Come redo” my house. Excuse me? You live in a house with wildly colored walls that gives off a distinct “a twelve-year old designed this” air, while my home has actual cohesion in its decor, however off-putting my penchant for displaying skulls, preserved insects, and the like may be.

And she is just one example.

Most people do not know that I have had bouts of crippling depression, during which I can’t do much more than shake my hands, cry, and sleep.

I attribute my survival to Jesus (yes, I’m serious) in tandem with modern medicine and a doctor who understands whole person treatment.

Thankfully, the past 2 years of my life have gotten exponentially better, with medication that actually works, a perspective that is  a little bit clearer, and, since November 2012, a job that I enjoy immensely.  Same company, different department, different management, different WORLD. I have realized who I really am, but I still maintain that horrid curse of never really being sure of myself around people, no matter how “confident” I may seem.

While I still get easily irritated at the ignorance of others (blame it on keen observational skills and a bit of road rage), I am learning to tone it down while avoiding the brain-busting internalizing that left former me with migraines, stress headaches, and a clenched jaw.

Example: I volunteer once a month at a food pantry in my city.  I have had people mumble under their breath at me for the entirety of their check-in, snap at me because I ask if they have a stove (it’s required so you’ll get the right amount of food, dumbass), yell at me and tell me I “was cute until [I] put all that mess” in my hair, snap at me about address verification, and so on.  While the former me would have cried, yelled back, or gone silent, I addressed these issues in what I believe to be a fitting manner:

The mumbler, I ignored, citing that her constant blather could very well be a result of mental illness.
The stove-snapper: I calmly informed that some people DO have an address and no stove.
The hair yeller: I VERY calmly (probably eerily so) replied, “Well, that wasn’t very nice now, was it? I don’t really appreciate that.” He proceeded to grovel. Repeatedly.
The address yeller: I simply stopped and looked at her, waiting for her to make eye contact.  She, of course, didn’t, so I inquired if there was a problem. “No, ma’am.”

I wish I could go back and tell the former me all of this. But as I was telling my mother just this week, everything I have done, been through, and all the people I’ve met, have gotten me to where I am now.

That shitty job out of college, other shitty jobs with employers who broke labor laws to have me on call, the shitty department of managers who are both nazi-like and lackadaisical, all those have led me to a job where I use my English degree, my experience in the CRO world, and my knack for computers.

AMEN

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FREEEEEEEDOMMMM!

I realized today that, not only do I enjoy the actual work part of my job like a thousand times better than my previous job, the number of perks of being able to work from home when I want are quickly adding up.  Of note:

  • pants? COMPLETELY OPTIONAL
  • no bra? NO PROBLEM!
  • making up (and then loudly performing) funny songs and/or profanity-laden word salad at things I see? WHY THE HELL NOT?!
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yiiiiiiiiiikes

so, my good friend is getting married this evening. SO excited. yet the only wardrobe decision i have made is to wear my sparkly plugs instead of my tunnels. i THINK i have a good black dress to wear, but a cursory try-on is all i’ve done. methinks spanx may be in order.

why do i do this? hopefully i won’t show up in an ill-fitting dress and chucks!

How the…

Today is my first day working actually IN the office all week.  I have been craving sleep like crack and decided that working from home Monday and Tuesday would be the best way to maximize my sleep while still reporting to work on time. And it was.  My alarm went off 8 minutes before time to work so I was able to get up, feed the cat, and get crackin’.

It’s amazing how focused I was at home, even with the knowledge that my glorious bed and an even more glorious guest bed were mere steps away.  However, I got my ass on the computer and reviewed and reviewed and reviewed.

I was going to take a nap, even laid down with my glasses off, then decided to get up and finish working. And I worked until after quittin’ time.

So why, pray tell, am I so distracted and blah today IN the office (where there are no beds present, except maybe the mythical cot in HR that people have mentioned but I’ve never seen)? Could it be the time change? Could I possibly have mono AGAIN?

sidenote: The last time I was sick for an extended period (before the tonsillectomy of 2012) they gave me a mono test. “You don’t have mono now, but you have had it in the past,” they said. News to me. Probably a present from my awful, assholey, yellow-testicled ex-boyfriend.

But I digress.  I have shoved a bagel and a Coke Zero down my throat. Still spacey.

Maybe I need to go home, ignore my bed(s) and finish the day.

In other news: my dreams are becoming FAR too literal.  I was thinking yesterday how I relayed my visit to Chichen Itza to a friend, then realized I dreamed the whole thing.  I distinctly remember describing the small steps of el Castillo and the rope that was the only means of stability as I climbed. I even remember the clammy palms I had saying, “I was scared shitless, but I did it anyway.  Being at the top made me uneasy, but I got a picture to prove it. I’m getting sweaty palmed just thinking about it.”

p.s. my palms smell like potatoes when I sweat. God knows.

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Well, shit. I’m back.

Since I deactivated my facebook account and only use my tumblr for short text posts and lots of picture reblogging, I think I should rejoin the world of wordpress. Yes?

The REASONS I no longer have facebook are as follows:

– dudes I barely knew in HIGH SCHOOL decide to add me, I accept, then receive messages at 1:20 am like “Are you awake?” and then, mere hours later, “Good morning.”  Add in the fact that he’s friends with someone I actually had to block, and you get a problem.

– people putting things like “OMG life is so hard and terrible and I hate it.  Don’t ask, it’s personal.” Oh yeah? Then why the fuck did you put it on the internet to begin with?!?!

– people posting political-HOLY SHIT I JUST REALIZED I STILL HAVE A “MYSPACE” CATEGORY ON HERE. WTF?

*AHEM*

– people posting political rants, anti-president rants, etc. These are usually the same people who either “did not have time” to vote, or spend zero time looking into issues and trying to do something about them.

– my mother making a comment about almost everything I post. Especially if it involves cursing. Shit hell damn fuck, I’m almost 34 years old, okay?

– in the same vein, people thinking “she’s a horrible Christian” if i post something along those lines. I’m pretty sure Jesus isn’t condemning me to hell for saying “dickhead.”

I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea.

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