Oh, hello! Come in. Have some coffee…
After today, I’m going to try to give up coffee. *SOB* This is not a decision I just made this morning while taking a walk. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.
A few weeks ago, I took a Friday off from the Gas ‘n Sip and decided to not have coffee. Well, it was really more that I was too bloody lazy to get off my substantial ass-et and make some. When I woke up on Saturday, I had the most excruciating headache and knew that it could only be the result of caffeine withdrawal. So after diving in face first and swimming around in a freshly brewed pot, I felt so much better!
I also recognized that this was not good. Clearly, I was jonesing for a fix. (OOOO, I sounded so gangsta right then… heh.) I decided that once my supply of coffee ran out, I would stop. I’d done it before. I can do it again. Right? *sob*
One other thing I also knew. I could not go thru detox while at work. If my previous headache was any indication, the Gas ‘n Sip and I could not be a part of each others existence during this time. My snarkiness was already too well known and documented around the Slurpee machine to add this fiasco.
Originally, I thought I would be well stocked enough to make it until my August vacation. (Nope, not doing anything during that time either. Thanks for asking. Well, maybe a trip to see Meffa in VT…) Anyhoo, turns out, I just brewed my last pot. I’m sitting here, savoring the flavor and the smoothness. *sob*
I love the flavor of coffee. I love the smell of coffee. What did me in the last time – why I started drinking it again – was that I just switched to decaf. I teased my taste buds with that delicious liquid and thought I was stronger than my need. HA!!! I’m such a fool. I am powerless against coffee.
“Hello. My name is Mary. I’m a coffee-holic.”
In preparation for this fiasco life change, I have purchased some lovely loose tea. I’m looking forward to trying it. It’s called Raspberry Sangria Tea. (I do love me some Sangria!!) Tomorrow will be the first day. I’d like to apologize now for any residual snatchiness that might surface during my withdrawal. Other than the anticipated headaches, frothing at the mouth, eye tics, convulsions, vomiting, and sweating, I think I will be fine. *sob*
Wish me luck. And pray to whichever goat you worship that I make it thru alive. Where is Dr. Drew and his “Gas ‘n Sip Employee Rehab” when I need him??
For now, I’m going to sit and cry into my coffee…
Oh, hello! May I offer you a Lorna Doone and tea?
I’m on vacation from the Gas ‘n Sip this week. Actually, it sort of started last Friday. As much as the Leg Jiggler bugs the snot out of me, he can sometimes do something very nice – like let me “work from home” the Friday before my vacation. We all know that “working from home” means sleeping late, doing laundry, mowing the lawn, checking in via email occasionally just to indicate that you are, in fact, putting in a slight effort.
The first question most people ask when they find out you are going on vacation is “where are you going?” Why do people always have to go somewhere? More importantly is, if I am going somewhere, why would I tell you? MYOB, honestly.
I have been fortunate enough to go away on some wonderful vacations. Paris was, by far, my favorite place. Of course, Ireland holds a special place in my heart, thanks to Mum. London was not my favorite, but due to the company I travelled with, more than the location. Given another opportunity to visit, I would very likely have a wonderful time.
The only problem I have with “going away” is that it’s exhausting! The planning, the travel, the desire to see everything, the jet lag, the unpacking, telling everyone about it, blah blah blah. My favorite vacation locally was in Vermont. My friend, Meffa, has a condo up there, and visiting there is like going off planet. She doesn’t have cable up there, nor an Internet connection, nor the ability to make long distance calls without a credit card. Right after she bought the place, I took her dog and her keys and went up there for a full week. By the time she got there the second weekend, I was completely relaxed and totally news deprived. I had no idea what was going on in the world, hadn’t watched TV, had read 10 books, eaten locally grown food and felt wonderful. Vermont had completely de-bitched.
My only goal for this week off is to relax, read, and to get my ruffled feathers smoothed again. I have been feeling out of sorts lately, as has been made ridiculously clear in my recent posts. I hope to gather myself back together and feel like I have some sort of control in my life – BUAHAHAAHAHAHAHA! The only one whole has control of my life is the goat himself. But I still want to give it a go. A girl can dream, right?
I know the twins will be delighted to have me here. Their own personal servant. Taking pictures of them. Watching them sleep. They certainly have the right idea. Sleep when you need to, eat when you are hungry, forget the bad things right away. I think I will live like a cat this week. However, I am going to draw the line at licking myself clean. *shudder*
Oh, hello! Come in. Can I get you some water? With lemon?
Do you ever have days where you just feel alone? It’s similar to lonely but…. no, I guess lonely is a good way to describe it. But at the same time it’s also a feeling that no one “gets” you. Today is one of those days for me.
I’ve been lonely a lot lately. But it’s not the kind of lonely that getting out of the house will fix. It’s the kind that no matter how many people are around, they just don’t get your thoughts or wit or snark or kindness. It doesn’t feel judge-y either; more like they just don’t care. They are so wrapped up in their own lives and loves and work and troubles that they listen but they just don’t hear. And they may attempt to interact, but you know, looking into their eyes that they are a million miles away and everything you just said is gone. Then they get up, and go back to their bubble, and you don’t feel any better.
I know, deep inside, that I have people who care, and who love me, and would listen. And this is where the conundrum comes in. I really don’t like dumping my sh!t onto other people. They have enough to deal with without having my baggage. And so begins the viscious circle. Who do I trust enough to vent to, and yet care about less than the people I love, to not worry about leaving my cr@p there with them.
Before you say it, I know that the people who love me would listen to my b!tching. I know that. So do I dump my stuff on them, and risk alienating them if I do it too often?
And the people with whom I work, at the Gas ‘n Sip, they think nothing of it. They stop by my counter and just vent and go off and unburden themselves and think nothing of it. Maybe I’m a good listener, who knows? ::note to self: add “good listener” to my list of fabulous traits:: But then my counter is just awash in their negative chi and I have to sit there and marinate in it. I can’t smudge my area because the dang smoke alarms will go off!
The only one I can really do that with is the K2Kid and she is so busy, uh… working, that I don’t like to do that to her. I can’t talk to the Leg Jiggler because he is one of the most negative people, EVER! And somehow, he manages to turn every conversation around to himself. (Seriously, even in my annual review, he was going over things about himself that he needs to work on! Hello!?!? Can this one hour be just about me? Please??)
Holly Golightly (aka Audrey Hepburn, whom I adore!!) called this feeling “a case of the mean reds”, where it’s more than the blues, and you aren’t quite sure what’s wrong, but you just feel down. I think I need to grab my lute and go sit on my fire escape, and sing “Moon River”. Oh, that’s right, I don’t have either of those things. *sigh*
I just can’t win… where are the twins? Maybe they’ll snuggle with me if I give them treats…
Oh, hello! Come in! We’re having wine. And cake.
When I was about 30, I decided that I wanted a tattoo. I had long wanted one, but since no one in my family had them or much liked them, and since I was the dutiful baby of the family, I had never had one. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with tattoos. In fact, I found some of them to be quite beautiful. (Some, of course, were hideous, but I blame the “artist”)
So, as I said, when I was around 30, I decided, this is it. I’m getting me a tat. Next question? What should it be of? I love Lumiere’ from Beauty and the Beast, but a cartoon character? Really? How pathetic would that be? (Don’t mad-comment if you have a cartoon character tat… wait til the end of the story.)
Finally, I decided to get a Claddagh, to honor my mother, who is from the Emerald isle. And I would get it on my ankle. I found the one I wanted and spoke with Beer Man, my fella at the time, and he said he would take me to where he went. I know there was alcohol involved, and Beer Man had tats, and I was in lurve, so off we went.
The outline went on, and it was a bit bigger than I had originally wanted, but “in order to get the detail” it had to be that big. Uh, did I mention that alcohol was involved. Okay. Go ahead. Beer Man is here; he won’t let anything go wrong.
Those of you who have tats may consider me a big pussy, but good goat, that hurt. The constant poking with sharp sticks (okay, needle, whatev). It was only later that I found out that an ankle tat hurts more because of the bones. Had I known that I could have put it on my fat bum!! Live and learn.
Fast forward about 5 years. Being the brainiac I am, I realize that I don’t want the tat on my ankle anymore. “I don’t want to be 65 with a big inky spot on my leg.” Hello, Einstein, do you think you could have come up with that thought BEFORE?? Of course, I was living in another state by then, and Beer Man was long gone, so I had no reason to keep it. Picking up the yellow pages, I find the nearest laser-removal site.
Dr. Laser tells me that it will take about 6 visits to remove said tat and it won’t hurt any more than a “static snap”. Or like a rubber band snapping against your wrist. Lest you forget, I live in my little naive rose colored world and agree to this. Well, let me tell you this… STATIC SNAP, MY ASS!!! Okay, maybe – but about 1,000 static snaps per minute for at least 5 minutes. Getting a tat is like being licked by kittens, compared to getting it removed. I have never given birth, so I can’t say it is the worst pain in the world, but holy goat, it hurts.
Once that treatment is done, you go home, and try to ignore the smell of singed flesh, let it heal, and then go back for the next treatment. Keep in mind, since you are, in essence, burning the crap out of the same spot over and over again, it takes longer and longer to heal. Good times.
Once though, I went in, sucked it up, got my treatment of seared skin, and started to leave. These two guys were leaving at about that time – one in front of me, one behind me. I didn’t think too much about it, then the one behind me says “Excuse me.” I assumed he was speaking to the one in front of me. I keep walking. Then he touches my arm. “Excuse me, were you just in that office?”
“Yep” (I’m really very articulate.)
“Were you getting tattoo removal?”
“Yes.” (told you)
“Didn’t it hurt? We didn’t hear you scream.”
Now, I’m not much of a screamer. Get your minds out of the gutter! My voice is not high pitched and girly enough to do one of those movie-type screams. I usually just grit my teeth and suck it up if there is pain. So I answer “Yes, it hurt like a bitch.”
“I couldn’t do more than a minute. I had to have him stop. Is it easier as you go along?”
*sigh* “No, it doesn’t get easier. It actually gets more painful.” (You fecking pansy!)
“Well, I don’t know how you did it!”
Anyhoo, so after about a year and a half of treatments – yeah, the predicted 6? LIE! – and about 14 months of that being healing, blistering, oozing, weeping, red, pussy mess – I finally stop. It got too expensive, it was taking forever for each successive treatment to heal, and I was moving back to my home state. My last treatment was about 10 years ago now, and to this day, about 2-3 times a year, my ankle gets itchy and angry looking, turns this odd shade of purple and starts to get weepy. (I’m so pretty!) I think it’s mostly the heat. I have tried EVERYTHING on it to make it calm down and just be. Finally, someone pointed out that it is a 3rd degree burn and it will always be scarred. Kewl.
Then 2 years ago, I went to my first “girl camp”. It’s what K2Kid and I call our girls weekend away with about 30 other women. Shopping and drinking and relaxing. So fun! I, of course, had not learned my lesson from the ankle and decide to get another tat. I know. But, I have also mentioned my unnatural obsession with my cats, and found the cutest kitten tat – she’s cartoonish, and pretty, and bright eyed and proper. I got it just over my right butt-cheek – so it’s not a tramp stamp. I love her. She’s got big green eyes, and pink in her ears, and looks like my kitties. I even thought about getting another one this past girl camp in April, but couldn’t find exactly what I wanted. Maybe next year.
My advice to you – if you are at all unsure about getting a tattoo, either don’t do it at all, or put it somewhere that no one else can see (except those you are “closest” to). It is son NOT worth the paid of getting it removed. And you will walk around with a huge ugly scar. Unless, of course, your Dr. Laser doesn’t suck ass like mine did.
Hi kids…Sam’s out having lunch with Dad so I thought I’d drop by and fluff the pillows and open the curtains. I’m Moo…Sam has agreed to let me stop by every now and then and pontificate in her blog…(It’s not as dirty as it sounds, sicko!)
Let me tell you how Sam and I “met”. As you know, Sam is head Slurpee attendant at the Gas ‘n’ Sip. Well, I am the beer stock girl from the Beer Barn next door. And by next door, I mean about 2,000 miles to the left. You know how people in the same industry make connections…I think it’s called “networking”…
Anyway, Sam and I started cyber chatting about nothing. It was like a virtual Seinfeld episode. We managed to make a connection at least once a day to expound on absolutely nothing of relevance. But, after every time we made a connection, I knew I wanted to talk to Sam again. And over the course of several connections, Sam and I began to share things that weren’t all fluff and glitter. We shared some things that were real.
Now, with that said, we’d much rather prefer to discuss our disdain for Kate Goesslin’s bi level, multi striped, reverse mullet or our love for all things Jeffrey Donovan (you’d better believe that we have plans on how lure him into our lair should the situation present itself.) And we are not completely in agreement on everything in the world (I mean…who doesn’t watch Dancing with the Stars??? Get with the program, Sam!)
But what I know for sure, is that I am so glad that Sam is part of my life…even if it is only virtually. People don’t make organic connections as often in today’s world (Tell me…when was the last time you walked up to a stranger at Starbucks to discuss last night’s episode of “Castle”???) so it’s become quite normal to meet people online.
What’s amazing to me still is when you meet a person that is SO much like you…who holds so much draw…who you feel connected with from the word “hello”…that’s when you get lucky.
Anyway, Sam has introduced me to lots of cool stuff that I genuinely enjoy…I hope that one day I return the favor.
Make sure you lock up when you leave…can’t have weirdos in Sam’s place touching her MacGyver collectibles.
Oh, hello! I haven’t seen you in a while. How are things?
I’ve thought about blogging for a long time. Getting things out that I don’t need anymore. Not allowing “baggage” to reside with me against my will. I know I have started a blog at least 2 different times. At this point, I could not tell you where they are and what they are called. I did not spend a lot of time writing for those, but I did spend a lot of time doubting my writing ability and the thought that anyone would want to read what I wrote.
Recently I joined Twitter and found a whole wonderful group of people who seem to be just like me. Well, other than the fact that many of them are mommies. Luckily, birthing and raising wee people did not cause these lovely people, both moms and dads, to lose their senses of humor. In fact, most of them have wonderful creativity and blog themselves.
Lately, I have spent time trolling thru these blogs, starting at the beginning and moving forward. I feel very much like a voyeur in the lives of strangers. What I have found is that there are some amazing, brave, strong, exquisite, hilarious people who like to write. They have stories of joy and tragedy and mirth and heartbreak and unabashed happiness. And I, of course, being the festering, sniveling pile of self-doubt and insecurity, read these stories and again, feel inadequate about blogging. I have a very basic life with brief flashes of hysteria (see the shower/smoke alarm post) and why would anyone read about it.
Luckily, there are at least 2 people in my life who feel that I not only write well but also have something to say. Oh, I’m supposed to work the word “asshat” into the blog somewhere. I’m told that will help. 😉
One friend I have met, and one friend I know virtually. Both of them I treasure and both of them make my life infinitely more rich. I know “the K2Kid” from work. We met about 3 or 4 years ago and instantly clicked. We joke that we are actually the same person, because we have so much in common. She makes me laugh like no other person I know. She is married to a wonderful man who is also kind and funny and smart. The K2Kid is kind and also scary smart. I’m somewhat intimidated by her intelligence. I have always considered myself to be fairly intelligent, but dang, the K2Kid is brilliant. She has encouraged me, almost from the time we met, to write. She has seen in me something I don’t see in myself – the ability to write and tell a story.
The other friend, Moo, I have never met in person. I know her only on-line and only for about a year and a half. Moo is younger than I but has lived more of a life than I ever will. She is the young, hip mom and has a wicked sense of humor. I laugh to the point of sore abs at something she says at least once a day, but usually far more frequently. Moo is also brilliant. She is smart and quick and sweet. Miss Moo has also seen in me someone who is good and worth knowing. She encourages me to write and tell my crazy stories. She’s even going to guest-blog here occasionally.
So, here I am writing on the internet. I hope people will read it. But you know what? Even if no one does, and it ends up being me just typing away, I’m good with that. I have people on Twitter who find me amusing, people in my life who encourage me, and cats who think I hung the moon. (Okay, if I stopped the treats, they’d kill me in my sleep, but let me live with the fantasy.) And best of all, as indicated above, I have at least two strong, wonderful, witty women in my life, who love me.
Wait until I tell you about about my friend, Vermont.
*****I just realized I need to clarify that the Moo in my story is not, in fact, the Moo from the name of my blog. One is furry and the other isn’t. (I think… as mentioned, I’ve not met her in person. hee! )
Oh, hello. Sorry about bitching, but there are just some things that bug me.
1. Bad grammar. Unless English is your second language, there is no reason to sound ignorant. If you only speak one language, perhaps you should LEARN TO SPEAK IT CORRECTLY!!!!
2. “Nother” IS NOT A WORD! Saying “That’s a whole nother matter”makes you sound like a moron.
3. “Have a good one”. Really? A good what? Orgasm? Bowel movement? Day in prison? Why don’t people say “Have a good day” anymore???? Day has the same number of letters. Same number of syllables. Have a good one just sounds lazy and slacker-like.
4. People on TV NEVER EAT a real meal. The women take these dorky little bites and mimic chewing like they are eating a burger in one bite. It’s annoying. I understand that they have lines to say, but it’s just stupid.
5. Restaurant food, as shown on TV, is never as appetizing when you go to the actual restaurant. It’s usually smaller and just thrown together.
6. People who insist on talking to you but never let you contribute to the conversation. Um, don’t ask me a question or try to engage me in conversation if I’m just expected to sit and listen and nod and look pretty. When I have a conversation, I like it to be 2 way. I may have something important to say – let me try.
okay. that’s enough complaining for today. tomorrow will be a whole nother story though. heheheh
Oh, hello. Let me introduce you…
Seamus and Maggie. The Mag and Moo of the Blog name.
I adopted the twins from the shelter almost 4 years ago. They are from the same litter, brother and sister, and they will be 4 in August. They are tuxedo cats, always ready for a party. But mine have black noses. Most have pink noses.
Seamus, aka Shamu, Mucifer, the Destructor, is a fiesty little boy who loves to pick on his sister and snuggle with his momma. He acts all tough, but he is just a softy.
Maggie, aka Magpie, Maggie Mae, Sweetface, is a sweet little princess who is a total girly girl. Very dainty but she can totally hold her own against her brother.
How to irritate a cat:
- Shake the treat bag, and don’t give them one.
- let him get all comfy on your lap, just fall asleep, then start coughing.
- shake the cat nip tub, and don’t give them any.
- walk into the bathroom and DON’T turn on the water – because they are that spoiled and like to drink the fresh running water from the tap, rather than the fresh water in their bowl.
- sit in the spinny office chair, and when they walk by with their tail up, hold the tail and spin.
- wedge your feet under their bathrobe at the end of the bed to warm them, yet make their “bed” less comfortable.
I know many people are either dog people or cat people. I love either, but my house is too small for a dog, and my babies keep me company. They are sweet and friendly and loving, and I’m glad they are in my life.
If you are going to get a pet, consider adopting one from a shelter. It isn’t a “designer” pet, but they are pets who will love you, and will thank you for bringing them home.
Oh, hello. C’mere, I have a question for you.
Has this ever happened to you?
It’s a little chilly out so you have the windows closed. You need to take a shower.
You’re in the shower, doing your thing. Shampoo, shampoo, shampoo, lather, lather, lather. You know the shower is hot, but you ignore the steam. (BTW, you live alone so the bathroom door is open.)
Anyhoo. You’re just about to rinse and the steam sets off the smoke detector, located right outside the bathroom door. (Convenient, no?) Awwww, crap.
The cats, who are waiting patiently for you to finish so they can rub up against your legs and add hair to them, FREAK OUT! Tails puff, claws scrabble, fur flies.
You reach out from behind the curtain and try to open the window. You have soap running down your face, you grab the curtain to steady yourself, and WHOOSH! It comes down off the wall. MOTHER F@*#^@*(!
Okay, so you drop the curtain, and manage to get the window open to let the steam out. The cats are no where to be found. The smoke detector is still screeching, and the shampoo is now down to your shoulders. You grab a towel and start waving it frantically under the detector to get the screech to stop, water pooling at your feet.
The noise finally stops. You turn around, and see the shower water flowing nicely from the nozzle onto the bathroom floor. You now have shampoo in your eyes, burning. You have to get the shower curtain back up long enough to rinse and to stop the waterfall. You balance the curtain precariously on the edges of the shower and finish your toilette, only to step out and find the cats playing in the puddles. ::sigh::
So, no? This never happened to you? Just me? Huh…
Oh, hello. Good to see you again. The tea is ready, so feel free to sit and chat.
Okay, I have a confession to make. I am living my life in this world as an over-weight woman. I recognize that American’s are the fattest people in the world, but unless you yourself are over-weight you have no idea what it’s like.
I am not blaming my weight on thyroid or some other medical issue. I take full responsibility for being the weight I am. But that doesn’t make the looks, the judgements, and the lack of retail choices any easier.
When I graduated from High School, I weight 120 pounds. I’m 5’6″. I was a competitive swimmer and I was very active. College brought on an additional 25 pounds, which still looked okay (and was likely due to the amount of drinking I did.).
However, after college, there was a period of, shall we say, frequent dating. Again, I take responsibility for my own actions, but I also recognize this was the beginning of the decline of my self-esteem. As the esteem declined, the eating increased. A series of rejections made it worse. I think the final straw in my complete close down was the evening when I was speaking to my on-again, off-again fella, told him I loved him, and he responded with “Fuck off”. Subconsciously, I think I decided then that I would be better off alone.
I have since steadily gained weight and have not dated. Logically, I KNOW that I use my weight as a wall or shield or whatever to keep people away. People don’t like fat people. Fat people are “lazy”, “gross”, and “disgusting”. They aren’t worth getting to know and are easy targets to make fun of. Look at all the movies that mock fat people. Comedians make fat people the butt of jokes.
It also doesn’t help that there is someone in my life who brings diet, weight-loss, calorie counts, and exercise into EVERY SINGLE CONVERSATION and indicates that I haven’t met and won’t meet “Mr. Wonderful” until I lose weight. The constant mental flogging is exhausting.
But, I KNOW that I won’t meet “Mr Wonderful” until I resolve within myself the fact that the men in my past were wrong for me and about me. They were young and immature. And I didn’t and don’t deserve to be treated with anything less than total respect. I have worth and have something to contribute to this world.
I know all of these things. Really. I guess my delay is that, while I know it, I don’t necessarily believe it. I don’t know how to get past that either.How do I become “normal” and have “normal” interactions with people?
Well, I know this isn’t a humorous post. And it probably didn’t bring a smile to your face. Sorry about that.
I’ll be funny next time. Maybe.