Thursday, July 30, 2009

At Random

I really don’t have one large thing to write about today. So I thought I’d write down random thoughts and complaints instead.

I am tired today. Not the normal tired, because, let’s face it, I’m ALWAYS tired, but the bad tired. What’s the difference. I can tolerate “normal” tired, but with “bad” tired, it’s hard to function. I am struggling to keep my eyes open and my brain focused. I stood for a while, but only because with the “bad” tired do I get restless legs. If you have never experienced restless legs, consider yourself lucky! It is hard to describe, but basically, your legs want to move while the rest of you wants to sleep or sit still. It is almost impossible to keep them still for more than a few seconds. Let me just tell you, when this happens during a meeting, on a car ride, or at the movies it is agonizing. I have actually resorted (once during a car ride, not a meeing) to hitting my legs, because I couldn’t take it anymore. So why does this happen when I’m tired? I have no flipping clue. In an attempt to stay positive . . . maybe it’s my body’s way of keeping me awake. Nice, thanks a lot.

I got in a verbal argument with my co-worker yesterday. The backstabber. She’s back at her stabby ways. According to her, I steal documents. Yep. My boss, who’s office we cleaned last week, called me and asked if I had seen the applications for job opening we are interviewing for. He said it was a large stack. I did not see a large stack of anything when I was in there, and hell to be honest, if Annie or I saw the applications, I am sure we would have at least taken a peek to see who the contenders were. I mean, we will be training and working with this person. It’s common knowledge around here that Stabby has been tasked with reviewing the applications and setting up the interviews. So, one would assume that she had the application packets. I also spotted her walking around with a large stack of packets last week. Anywho, I suggest to my boss that I “thought” Stabby had them last week. So after he goes down to her office (did I mention that Stabby has an office, unlike the rest of us) and again accuses her of having them, he comes back and says that she said I took them. WTF? Now, I guess she is mad that I suggested that I “thought” she had them, but come on, why in the hell would I take them?? Why would you even suggest that? I know without a doubt (confirmed by Annie) that they were not in his office on Thursday. So as she was huffing by me in the hall, I confronted her. I’m fired up at this point, so why not, right? I looked right at her Stabby eyes and said

Me: “I did not take the applications.”

Her: I didn’t say that you did

Me: According to the boss, you did

Her: Well, I don’t have them

Me: I thought I saw you with them last week

Her: I don’t have them and I don’t like being accused

Me: I wasn’t accusing you, I just thought I saw you with them last week

Her: blahblahblahblah blah . . . .BLAH$%$^#& (walking away)

Me: You know, you don’t have to be so nasty (loudly)

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the cat fight you were looking for, but I put up with this BS all the time. No one is mean to her, yet she tattles on us (it’s usually inaccurate), looks right at you when you say “good morning” and just keeps on walking. Not even a smile. Is she human? She’s certainly not professional. However, I’ll admit I was not professional yesterday. Rethinking the whole situation, I could have handled it better, but at least it made for an interesting morning :) Also, my boss tends to instigate. I am sure words were twisted and he probably had his feet up and a bowl of popcorn waiting for the fight. I still have no clue if they ever found the applications.

My kids are so stinkin’ cute. I know I’m their Mom and I am bias, but I still think they are the cutest!! They are each at a different stage of cute. Mikaela is obviously still at the baby cute phase. I love watching her. It’s exciting to see all of the new things she learns. When she finally figures out how to do something, like put the mail in the toy mailbox her Aunt Angela gave her, she immediately looks at you and waits for the “yay!” and then she starts clapping and grinning from ear to ear. It always brings happy tears to my eyes. Every single time. She is so close to walking full time. By this, I mean, she does walk, but only when she’s not paying attention. As soon as you put any type of focus on it, she sits right down. For now I’m ok with this. Life goes by fast enough and I don’t want to rush things, but I know that she would be a much happier gal if she could walk around and be an even bigger diva than she already is.

Ben is at another level of cuteness. He amazes me everyday. He is very loving and sweet and so good with Mikaela (she loves him too). Ben’s wheels are constantly turning. Constantly. He asks a lot of questions, which at times is exhausting. He is getting ready to start school and it is bittersweet for me. We have come so far with him. It’s great to see him finally doing so many things by himself. I feel like I did something right! The one incredible thing I’d like to mention about Ben (because I could say so much) is his ability to build things. He loves Lego sets. However, they never stay together long. He takes them apart and builds new things. First he went through the car building phase. Then he started on transformers. It was then that I knew my kid was super smart. Every transformer he built, he would show us the robot version and then would take it apart. Using all of the pieces, he would transform it to something else like a car or a plane. Not one piece left. Each had a purpose. This left us both dumbfounded. I’m not just talking about 10-15 Legos, we’re talking 35-50+ pieces. I don’t have a clue how he figures these things out, but he does. Lately he’s moved on to Star Wars things. The ships all look realistic and are really very impressive. And of course there is ample room for the Storm/Clone Troopers. I can’t wait to see what he builds next.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Wrestling Match

However kind and fair I try to be, I can’t turn off that little part of me that has to judge people. Not people I know, but random people, people that are clueless that I am judging them as if they were in some sort of contest. Because I technically don’t hurt anyone’s feelings, I somehow feel that I can justify my behavior. I think we all do it. I just do it a lot. I really try my best to keep it to myself. But what fun is that? I guess this is my warning to you, that what follows is my first, but certainly not my last.

So there we are at the mall on Saturday night and I spot one. One so good, that I had to point her out to Matt. In my defense, I didn’t point out the forty-something chick in the Apple store that was wearing shorts that were WAY too short and about 3 sizes too small. I won’t even mention the type of shirt she was wearing, but OMG! So, walking in front of us was a woman wearing a hot pink thin cotton dress. It was pretty form fitting until about halfway down the ass cheek. And there it was. Her ass. I immediately nudged Matt and cut my eyes to her a few times. (The silent signal) This was an event that could not go unwitnessed. Seriously, it looked like her butt cheeks were engaging in a wrestling match under her thin dress. As Matt said, it was like a car crash. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help it. You have to stare. Never in my life have I seen two ass cheeks swing so freely, but at the same time look like they were moving in slow motion. In my mind I say to her, “Honey, I am glad that you are proud to strut your stuff, but next time, I would consider some Spanx or something that can contain those cheeks!. Otherwise, you might injure yourself or someone else. Perhaps a small child that walks too close when you are mid-swing.”

I am so bummed that I wasn’t able to at least get a picture. I’m slow on the drawl with the camera phone, and maybe that keeps me from becoming more sinister. However it won’t stop me from trying in the future. I have 4 followers that I need to satisfy! Even though some of you probably think I am a horrible shallow person, and in ways I am, I am willing to bet that more than half of you think the exact same things. For example, who doesn’t notice a woman walking down the street with her boobs flailing in every direction and think to themselves, “damn, sister could use a better bra.”

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


This morning started off like many others. Running late, half asleep, trying to remember if I grabbed everything. You know how it is. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you have it together. But I leave at 4:45, and there is no part of “together” that I have at that hour. So now that I have checked in on the kids to make sure they are still breathing, I head for the garage. As soon as I open the door, I hear something. Fluttering, scurrying, something to that effect. One of those sounds that I’d rather not investigate. I stand at the door for a few seconds, trying to determine if “it” is indeed in the garage, in which case, I could climb across both cars and try to pry my sunroof open and crawl into the safety of my car. My other thought is, maybe it is outside. We have “porch birds”. These crazy birds seem to return every year rendering our porch useless until they decide to move on. Last night I was the victim of a fly-by. Of course I screamed like a little girl and tried to attack it with the bag of trash I was taking out. Bird 1, me 0.

Anyway, back to “it”. I made the brave decision to venture further into the garage. I went with the “porch bird” theory because the noise was way too loud and I don’t think I could handle “it” being anything other than a dive bombing bird that couldn’t easily get me. “It” couldn’t possibly be inside where it could potentially grab my ankles and pull me under the car. Now that I’ve talked myself into feeling better about the situation, I approach my side of the car and I hear it again. Gasp. It isn’t the “porch bird”, it’s an unidentified moving creature inside of my husband’s climbing gear bag. Of course the bag is not at eye level, so I have no clue what’s fluttering around in there. It might be a bird or maybe a bat that flew in the night before or maybe it’s a re-animated hand waiting to jump out and strangle me. I don’t know, they all seemed likely at the time.

Being the giant chicken that I am, I backed up, went around the front of the car and waited for the fluttering to stop before I made the mad dash for my door. Never in my life have I been so relieved to be inside my car! I know, I’m a huge wimp. I’d probably be the last to die in a horror movie, because unlike the people who have to go investigate the noise they just heard, I would be running in the other direction. See ya!

I felt it was my obligation as a wife and a mother to warn my husband Matt about what faced him in the garage. I mean, “it” could attack my entire family and drag them off into the woods. I just don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to warn them. After texting him, I didn’t feel so bad. He thought “it” was outside to. I begged him to look and tell me what “it” was. Never in a billion years would I have looked in the bag myself. I waited in anticipation to see what was lurking in my garage and here “it”is . . . .

A flipping moth! Ok, so I had to laugh at myself. A lot. And I give “it” credit. It has great scare tactics. If it had been left up to me, I would have just sealed off the area and parked outside with the porch birds until the coast was clear!


It turns out, there is justice in the world, however small it may be. Matt told me that after he took the picture of the moth, a.k.a “it”, he let it go right outside the garage door. It was promptly snatched up by the porch bird.

Friday, July 24, 2009

The weirdest thing happened

This is completely out of order as far as the days events, but I couldn't start this any other way. So there I am sitting on the floor at home with Mikaela helping her practice ring stacking when Ben comes in with his arms stretched to the side and says, "Mommy, the weirdest thing happened." He continues like he's telling a story, that is sure to have a funny ending. "I was going potty in the toilet, and somehow I got pee on the floor. I have no idea how it happened." Mmmhmm. So I respond, "is it just a little pee." he just looks at me. "Well Ben, get a little toilet paper and wipe it up." He's 5. I think he can handle it. He replies, "well, its kind of a lot." Great. So, I get up off of the floor, grab the paper towels and some cleaner and head to the bathroom. Oh, my, God! There was a puddle of pee all around the base of the toilet, like someone took a bucket of water and poured it on the floor. I ask, "Ben, did you get any pee in the toilet?" Of course I can see that he did, but I am completely puzzled as to how my 5 year old could produce so much pee! I've even asked if he was sure it wasn't water. I thought, maybe, just maybe, the toilet leaked. No. It's pee. Damn it. So I ask again, "how did this happen." He has no clue. Maybe he fell asleep for 5 seconds, or decided, "ah, it's mom's day off, she needs to clean up some pee." I don't really know. The strangest part is, as I was cleaning up, I noticed that there was not one drop of pee on the toilet seat. WTF? Ah, parenting. Never a dull moment. Never.

Now, back to the other event of the day. The blood draw. Another prize of parenting, taking your 1 year old to have her finger pricked and squeezed for a lead test. Fun. Actually, things went pretty well. After we went to the wrong office, good move, we found that the waiting room was empty. Fabulous!! Ben immediately dumps the entire contents of his backpack in the middle of the floor, but thankfully, there is no one there to piss off, exept for me. Mikaela wants down right away and starts to explore when the nurse comes out. After what seems like 5 minutes of waiting for Ben to pick up his stuff, we finally go back to the torture room. I manage to catch Ben before he dumps his backback again, while Mikaela hangs to one side grunting to be let down. Not gonna happen. So, I give her my insurance card. Who knew it would have such a calming effect? She sat on my lap and smiled at the nurse as she prepared to jab her finger and squeeze the hell out of it until she got the 2 tubes of blood she needed. Let me just say, my girl is brave! Not one tear. Turns out she's quite the bleeder. A good thing to know. After the nurse was finished, she put a ginormous bandage on it.

Seriously, was all this necessary? It really was. As soon as I took it off, it started bleeding again. I thought an hour would be enough, but apparently not :)

Thursday, July 23, 2009


Today is starting off pretty well. I only poked myself in the eye once with my mascara brush and my hair looked fabulous for about 10 minutes this morning. It was blown out and curled (we’ll ignore the 1 and half inch roots). I’ve been growing my hair out for what seems like 25 years and I must say I am enjoying it. However, my baby fine hair and so called good hair days don’t mesh well. Add in the buckets o’ rain and the 150% humidity that I faced as soon as I opened the door this morning and 0.5 seconds later, my fabulous hair was dead. It has now assumed the standard ponytail position. A favorite among fine hair owners.

I had a meeting today, so I am dressed a little (ok, a lot) better than usual. I do not claim to be stylish by any means. I have a very small clothes budget, so most of my clothes are either years old, and probably out of style or not quite the right size. In the past 5 years I have had 2 children. I have been heavy, in shape, back to semi heavy, and now almost back into shape. I despise things that are too tight. So I have a pile of pants that I hope one day I will get back into comfortably, without having to pull fabric out of my ass all day; about 2 pairs of pants that fit the way I like, and a pile of pants that are too big and sag everywhere, but I wear anyway, because I’m in the “I really don’t care” stage of my life. Ok, so I really do care, but I don’t really have the means to fix the problem. Seriously, I need a full wardrobe overhaul. Everyday I expect “What Not to Wear” to jump out of the bushes and be like “no she didn’t”. So until that happens or I win the lottery, I will continue to wear the same 3 outfits that look good and the 7 that don’t. Oh, and I can’t forget to mention my “meeting suit”, yes the one suit I have that fits and gets worn to almost every meeting I attend. Today, I spiced it up a bit and left the suit at home. In exchange I wore semi-stylish pants that fit and the newest top to enter my wardrobe. Maybe this is a sign of progress. I’ve always wanted to be stylish, but I never quite got there. For those of you who actually put effort into how you look, I applaud you. Seriously, I can’t even imagine how much time, effort, and money it takes to look that good. I’m tired just thinking about it and maybe a little bit jealous. Maybe.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Here it goes . .

So here I am, officially becoming a blogger. In all honesty, I've already re-typed the first few sentences about 5 times. I may be doomed already. I'm a big fan of the blog. I read several on a daily basis and feel like I have bonded with complete strangers. Ah, the power of the blog. I feel that I can reach millions, although I accept the fact that I will probably reach only about 5 of my friends. I'm lying, probably just 4.

A bit of background, I'm 30 (yes, I can finally admit it after only 4 months) I am married to Matt (no doubt his name will come up) and I have two children Ben (age 5 - ADHD to the max) and Mikaela (age 1 diva by day and also by night). I work full-time and commute to DC everyday. I obsess about my weight and the neatness of my desk. I obsess less about neatness at home, because I would probably explode or get some sort of weird eye twitch.

So where to start . . .hmm? As I listen to office chatter, I think I'll start there. Yes, I'm at work, writing my blog. There really is NO time at home to write or even think, so I will take the small or big opportunities I get at work to tell a story, discuss my observations, or bitch about whatever. So, my office. I am in a cube. My cubemate (on the opposite side of the wall from me) *Annie has been a good friend of mine for about 9 years now. I love her, glad she's over there for the most part, but damn can she talk. Really though, I talk too and that's just the way it is. I sit by the door and the copy room and I'm in earshot of, well, just about everything. Life can suck some days. Now, I realize that probably more than half of America's office workers sit in cubes, but one thing you must understand is that my group is the only group (with the exeption a few other unfortunates) on our staff that does not have offices. This is a reasonable situation if say, there was no place else to put us, but no, there are plenty of empty offices. (Cue hard feelings) However, management doesn't understand why we could possibly be upset. In fact, according to them, we have it good. So apparently good equals hearing everyone's conversations, answering the door for all of the folks that forget their keys, listening to the copier, and being stared at from the little window next to the door , and did I mention how hard it is to conduct my job while all this is going on? Forget about calling doctor to discuss anything personal or God forbid you have personal crisis and need to cry. The minute a tear wells up in your eye, 10 people walk by asking you "what's wrong??" I'm not bitter though, not at all ;)

So now that I've bitched about my set-up, It's time to describe the folks I work with. There's *Annie, one of a kind, couldn't handle this place without her (she's talking as I type); The lucky person who takes long vacations; The backstabber; The detailee; and the boss, molehill seaker, mountain builder, spaz, shoosher, button pusher, etc. Everyday life in my office is unpredicatable and will proabably make for some good blogs. Today has been uneventful, however, Annie and I did clean the boss' desk. The desk that I describe as a black hole for important papers. Without fail, when you are called to his office, he spends 10 minutes looking for something. He's on vacation and it was the perfect opportunity for us to organize the hell out of it. There were papers from 2004 on the desk. Seriously. 5 years old. Amazingly, this process only took us just under 2 hours and 1 bottle of cleaner. My hope is that he comes back and can focus on things that are actually important and not that he's lost the 5th pen of the day or that he just had something, but can't find it. It's a lot of hand holding folks. A daily stress. I pray that our work makes it better, even if it's only for a week.