Oh, hello! Waffles and coffee are ready if you are interested.
Today: Something you love about yourself
I love my laugh. I love my giggle. I love how easily I laugh. Even when things are yucky, if something strikes my funny bone, I will laugh.
Some people at the Gas ‘n Sip think that isn’t professional of me. My feeling on that? We spend so much time at work, if we can’t have fun, life will be miserable.
It’s okay to laugh. I love the deep belly laughs that come from a good joke. I also love those laughs when you are laughing so hard, you can’t breathe. Tears come down your cheeks. You might even pee a little.
And those silly times when you just can’t stop giggling. Every time you think about it again, you start giggling again. Love.
Tomorrow: Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Oh, hello! Chicken and veggie tacos tonight. Soft shells. So good. Eat up.
Something was brought to my attention today. I just told you about the fabulous t-shirts you can get over at megandali.com and that site was created by Mr. Meg, aka my coworker, Frank. Turns out, if you tell someone that you are going to hype his wife’s business on your blog, they check it out to make sure you don’t say something bad. Whoopsie!
Well, despite the fact that in that post, I told Frank to NOT read anything else, Mr. Nosey-parker did. (Giving Frank the *stinkeye*). It was there he found out that I referred to him as Frank, the napkin dispenser filler. (Jeez. It’s his job. What am I supposed to do? Lie?) RUDE.
Then Frank pointed out that I didn’t introduce the whole team of freaks with whom I work at the Gas ‘n Stuff. I thought I wouldn’t because I don’t know that I want to bring work to here. But, in case I ever do want to discuss my day, I think it might be a good idea. So, without further ado, I give you my team: (think “Clerks” ( “I wasn’t even supposed to be on today!”) mixed with “Office Space” (“Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a MO-ment”):
The Leg Jiggler – You’ve heard about him a lot. Nice guy, but he drives me batsh*t crazy. I have no doubt that he knows he drives me crazy. I very likely drive him crazy too. And not in a good way.
Frank – the napkin dispenser filler. He likes to pick on me and crush my spirit. Then, he says, he builds me back up. I’m still waiting for that part, but…. moving on.
Velma – you’ve heard about her. She is the one who convinced me to try composting. Always happy. Always doing *something* outside of work.
Aubrey and Wesley – you’ve met them too. They are co-chief gas pumpers. Wesley and his wife just had the most adorable baby. Those who know me, know I don’t say that lightly. I’m not a fan of babies, as a rule. But this little munchkin is precious. Aubrey is awesome and one of those people who you *know* you would have hung out with in high school.
The Friar – I have lately been working with her more than others. She is a TALKER. Seriously, sista can talk a cat off a tuna wagon. But she makes me laugh. Plus, she has a great dog.
Italia – this man is so unbelievably brilliant at his job that it’s scary. I am completely intimidated by him, and I’m fairly certain he thinks I am a moron. I’ve decided the problem is that he is SO smart, and knows his job SO well, that he cannot “dumb” it down enough for normal people to understand. He can’t think like a normal person.
Carla – she is lovely. Spanish and sweet and funny.
Mingo – I’m convinced that there is more to this woman. There is no doubt in my mind that, outside of work, there is a whole “Bizarro Mingo” who will rock it out. But at work? Still waters.
Lovely Little Lady – I LOVE this woman. She is the sweetest, quietest, loveliest lady I know. She is gorgeous, and has gorgeous children and lives in a gorgeous house. Yeah. I pretty much want to be her.
Whew, there are more. But I’ll stop now. That’s enough. I’m tired. And I want another taco.
Happy, Frank? *stinkeye*
Oh, hello! Come in for some scones and tea.
So, clearly, I am 12 years old.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that the Gas ‘n Sip is being merged with the Pump ‘n Stuff, becoming the Gas ‘n Stuff. Well, of course that means new signs. Today, electric man is here to hook up the power to the sign, and of course the wiring is in the ceiling RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SLURPEE STATION.
That wouldn’t be so bad – I mean whatever, it has to be done and today is an easy day so far. But when I look up and all I see is ASS CRACK. BIG UGLY HAIRY ASS CRACK. Then? I have an issue. (Let’s be honest – if the ass in front of me belonged to… say…. Christopher Meloni, Nathan Fillion, Simon Baker, Michael Weatherly, Vincent D’Onofrio…. I wouldn’t have thought twice about drooling. But this one? Think red-neck meets beer gut. It wasn’t good…)
And why am I 12? Because of course, when this hideous apparition appears in front of me? I giggle. And try to take a picture that I can Tweet. And ask for hazard pay.
I’m so immature.
Oh, hello! Come on in. Have a Guinness. A truly magical drink.
Last night, there was a debate on Twitter about the pros and cons of carrot cake. *gag* There are some who think carrot cake with it’s cloying cream cheese frosting is wonderful. There are others, like me, who think carrots and cake should not mix. “It’s all in how it’s made.” “It’s just gross.” And on and on.
This got me to thinking about my food issues. For the most part, I am a pretty adventurous eater. I’ll try something new, knowing that if I don’t care for it, I never have to eat it again. Based on that theory, I’ve tried alligator. It wasn’t bad, until I started thinking about it, and then the gag factor kicked in and I was done. I might try it again, but it’s not something that I have to go in search of.
I really like calamari. But I can only eat the rings; the tentacle bits sqweeve me out. I can’t even try it. But now sushi? LOVE it. If it wasn’t so expensive, I would eat sushi every day. Tuna, salmon, crab, eel. LOVE it.
I have two really big food issues: wet cake and bananas. *shudder*
Wet cake: tiramisu, birthday cake with ice cream on it, strawberry short cake. (seriously. *shudder*) I am pretty sure it’s a texture issue. But, ugh. I just cannot eat it. Apple sauce has a similar texture. Yick. It’s mushy and just gross. And yet, french onion soup? LOVE it. That has wet bread in it, and that doesn’t gross me out. Someone once said that it’s the cold that that makes it icky for me. Maybe so, but I don’t think I will be changing my mind anytime soon.
Bananas: there is about a 20 minute window of opportunity on bananas. Within that 20 minutes, it reaches perfect ripeness, perfect color and texture. Outside of that window, all bets are off, and it goes in the trash. The perfect banana has just stopped being green, there will be no brown spots, and it will be firm to the bite. I cannot buy bananas in a bunch. By the time I would get to it, the window of goodness would have shut. Once the banana has brown spots, it starts to get a little gushy inside, WAY too sweet, and gets that sweet banana-y stink to it. And the banana peel? That has to go in the trash in another room. The stink makes me gag.
BTDub, my brother Herb? He’ll wait to eat a banana until right before the fruit flies come out. Banana bread worthy. (I just threw up in my mouth a little). I could probably give my “old” bananas to Herb, but since I only eat bananas rarely (because I know they are good for me) and only buy them one at a time, I rarely have “old” bananas.
Now, the white-trash things that most people don’t admit to eating.
- Funyuns? Love them. They are gross, and yet yummy. Except for the fact that they rip the sh*t out of the roof of your mouth, so good!
- Vienna sausages. Admittedly, I haven’t had them for a very long time, but I used to like them. Herb and I wonder if they could be grilled. And what would happen to that weird gelatinous goo that they are packed in.
- Cheese fries. These are actually probably not white trash, but cheese fries KICK ASS!!! But the cheese has to be of the melted cheez-whiz variety for them to be really yummy. The refined shredded cheese type – while good – do not cheese fries make.
- Canned corned beef. Again – gross, yet yummy. Again, surrounded by a weird gelatinous goo.
- Cheez-whiz. So good on saltines, rice cakes, nachos, a spoon *heh*
- Ramen noodles. You can buy about 20 for a dollar, and really? Not very good in the grand scheme of things, but there is a peanut sauce in the international aisle that’s good, and if you add a little chicken and ditch the uber-sodiumized “flavoring” and it’ll do in a pinch.
I’m sure there are other white trash things that I like and other food issues I have, but I think that’s enough for now.
Okay, who wants a snack?? *snort*
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.
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…
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