Life thru the haze of cat hair.

Tag Archives: new attitude

(This is the 2nd time I’m writing this. The first one is out in the ether, even though I hit “publish”. So if that one does show up, this one won’t be any better.)

Ever since my unfortunate run in with chicken at Thanksgiving (*shudder), I still cannot bring myself to eat it. There are times when just looking at chicken can bring me back to that day and put me off whatever I am eating now. In fact, I am experiencing what I call “chicken-gross-out-overflow” at times – I can’t enjoy the steak (or whatever) I am eating.

So, back in my early 20s, I claimed to be a vegetarian. I say “claimed” because I didn’t really do it right – I didn’t take the time to really learn how to eat, or how to get my protein, etc. I missed bacon and I loved the smell of burgers on an outside grill. So after a few years, I went back to being a meat eater and never looked back.

Now, though, I’m thinking about cutting out meat again. Except bacon. I can’t seem to give up bacon. It’s just so yummy. And before you say – there’s turkey bacon, or fake-on, or whatever, NO. If it’s not real bacon, then it shouldn’t even have bacon in the name.

So is there such a thing? A vaconitarian? A flexitarian?

I know I can’t go vegan. I love leather. And cheese. And being in Maine, I don’t want to give up lobster. I don’t eat it very often, but I like knowing that I can. There is a pescitarian – a vegetarian who eats seafood. (I’m sure I’ve spelled that incorrectly, but spell check wants me to change it to “nonsectarian”. *snort)

So, I am leaning toward a pescitarian who eats bacon. A flexitarian. That’s what I’m trademarking.

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PHOTO CREDIT: http://livingalimitlesslife.wordpress.com/2011/11/29/its-over/

Dear John,

Or as your friends know you: “Target”,

It’s over. We’re through. I cannot do this anymore. It’s time we go our separate ways. We are breaking up.

Don’t tell me  you are surprised. You had to have seen this coming. Over the 14 or so years we were together, you continued to get bigger and more influential. I relied on you.

You, Target, were my happy place. If I had a bad day at work, I knew I could visit and wander your halls and somehow, you would lead me to that certain something that made me feel better. I don’t know if it was your bright lights or the clear hallways or the bright red symbol, but you comforted me when I needed you.

Remember when I was in graduate school? I would visit you for a highlighter, and come out with $150 of stuff I *had* to have. You did that for me. You were there for me. You comforted me.

But then? Gradually, you started to change. It was just the small things at first. Your parking lot was full. Or the size I needed was not available. Or the items offered in my size were dated and unstylish. I ignored the fact that you stuffed “my” section in, between maternity and the fitting rooms, all the way in the back as if you were ashamed of how I looked. As if I were to be hidden away.

Then it was bigger things – you decided to contribute to political campaigns that went against everything I believed in. I *still* defended you. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs, right? I didn’t like it, but you were still my happy place.

But this weekend? This weekend was the last straw. The camel’s back is broken. This weekend convinced me that I need to make a clean break with you.

I can accept that you want to remodel. I can! I encourage it, in fact. Brighter lights! YES! Shinier stuff! ABSOLUTELY!

And then I walked in.

Your shelves are now lined with higher priced items. Items that, in my opinion, don’t warrant the higher price tag given the fact that you are *Target*.

You have made “my” section even smaller – the 4 racks and wall display of unattractive options has now been reduced to 1 rack in amongst the Maternity section and Boys section. I can take the hint. I am not welcome there.

You have put the Pet section up front, in the Frozen Food section. You heard me. Frozen Food.

You have put *some* of your Health and Beauty items in a random display between Girls and Greeting Cards. The rest are over near paper towels.

Your aisles are now wide enough for a single cart. There is no wiggle room. Another person in the aisle? No problem, as long as they back out of the aisle. Perhaps that is your way of giving people some privacy; that “alone time” that some people need.

At the checkout, your clerk was complaining about computers. I might even say whining about them. But she rang up my items and then…..

The computer froze. The clerk’s response? “I wish this was mine so I could take a hammer to it!” Followed by “WHY ME!?!?” No sign of “I’m sorry for the delay. Let me get the manager.” The manager wandered over at the sound of the whining and said she had to reboot and it would take a while so I had to go to another register. No sign of “I apologize for the inconvenience. Let me help you move your purchases.” It was just “You should go to that one. She’s not doing anything.”

So, my friend. You are no longer my happy place. You are dead to me. I will find my items elsewhere. You aren’t the only big box store on the block. I will no longer go in for a birthday card and come out with a cart full of stuff.

It’s not just that you let me down. It’s that you let me down, and had your people brush me aside like “I” was the problem. I deserve to be treated better. I deserve respect.

As I said before. It’s not me. It’s you. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.

Regards,

MaM

 

PHOTO CREDIT: http://livingalimitlesslife.wordpress.com/2011/11/29/its-over/


As I was thinking about this post, it sounded somewhat familiar to me. I may have written something like this before; I don’t know. I started looking back through old posts, but whatever. If you’ve seen this before, feel free to move along.

*****

I think the time has finally come to face reality.

The Gas ‘n Sip has won. I have lost.

They have won the war. They have successfully beaten me down to the breaking point, and beyond.

I’m officially waving the white flag, crying “Uncle” and I’m ready to sign peace treaties.

I just cannot do this. Anymore.

If you know me at all, you know that I like to laugh – even while at work. I think it’s important to have fun at what you are doing. But at the same time, I would describe myself as being incredibly conscientious and motivated to do a good job. I *want* things to go well. I *want* projects to succeed. If I’m researching a new Slurpee flavor, I want to make sure that what I provide reflects the care and thought that went in to making that available. I get extraordinarily frustrated when others don’t have the same drive. Or when, just before I put up the “New Flavor” sign, they throw in some sort of curve ball to change, delay, or otherwise screw up what I have worked so hard on.

I will fight and stand up for my opinions, but at some point it’s better to just agree.

Before I went on vacation, I was a colossal bitch. I know I was. And I was looking forward to the week off to sort of smooth some ruffled feathers and come back ready to go.

And then I came back.

Within 4 hours of my return? I had cried twice.

The Zen place I had been when I walked through the door? Gone.

The knots in my shoulders were back. My upset stomach was back. My exhaustion and all around ill-humor were both back.

In the week I was gone, my new Slurpee flavor project fell apart. The players had changed. The focus had changed. And once again, every conversation became a battle. Instead of working together to resolve, there was a huge amount of time spent on finger-pointing. Blaming. There may as well have been hair-pulling. It was just that bad. Something I submitted *3 WEEKS AGO* to make the new flavor a particular shade of red WAS STILL SITTING THERE, and yet somehow, it is my fault that the request is not done yet.

And while there is some benefit on looking back to what we could have done differently, addressing the problem at hand and moving past it seems to me to be a better course of action. I’m just spit-balling here, so who knows.

So this morning, after yet another round of “You suck. You screwed up. We can’t release this on time because you did/didn’t/should have/shouldn’t have…”, I am officially, but not irreparably, broken.

I’m 45 years old (tomorrow). (Yes, happy birthday to ME!) 🙂

I cannot work another 20+ years in this state of mind. I just cannot do it.

With that in mind, and to quote Mike Dooley, thoughts become things. I am going to put my request out to the Universe right here and invite the Universe to help. me. out.

I want a new career.

I want it to be creative, and fun, and growth-oriented, and educational, and altruistic, and generally just ADD to the world around me. I want to read books, and enjoy the sunshine, and be encouraged to take my vacation days. I want to make money that appropriately takes in to account my education, my work ethic, and my skills. I want to work with people who are encouraging and interesting and who challenge me to be a better person. I want to be able to challenge others to be better people too. I want to work with people who can learn from each other and who all want the same end result.

I would love to be a professional organizer – but not one of those people who tackle hoarders. I couldn’t do that. *shudder*

I would love to be an editor. Or a proofreader. Or a book reviewer.

I would love to be an event planner. Or a personal shopper. Or a writer. Or a painter. Or a professional sit-on-the-beach-and-count-grains-of-sand-er.

I want to look forward to my day and my projects and not look at the clock and think “Oh, dear goat. It’s only noon?!?!” I want to get up in the morning with the joyful anticipation of what I can bring to the table and put out into the world. And I want to go to bed each night thinking about all that I have done that day and all that I *get* to do tomorrow. (Not that I *have* to do. Big difference.)

I want to work in a place where a budget needs to be filled out once, not in 3 different place. Where status updates are given once, not 5+ times. Where EVERY. SINGLE. DECISION. does not require 5+ conference calls to make. Meetings at a table in a coffee shop? Sure!

So, Universe, what do you say? I know that there are jobs out there that fit my criteria. I know there are. If you want me to move to another state or country? I’m in. If you want me to sell my beautiful little doll house? I’ll do it. If you want me to look in certain areas? Send me a sign.

I’m ready to do this. And to do it in a big, big way.

(Also? If anyone reading this knows of something that might kinda sorta fit the bill? Let me know. It just means the Universe was waiting for me to say this out loud, so to speak.)

I don’t want to be broken any more.


We are 4 days into May. 4 days into the 5th month. Where has the time gone?

My favorite things about May:

  1. My birthday is this month. MY birthday. It’s the one day a year I get to be specialer than anyone else. Yes, I know that I’m of an age where birthdays should mean less, but guess what? They DON’T!
  2. The days become warmer, the trees become more beautiful, flowers bloom. The earth comes alive again.
  3. Mother’s day. I mean, come on. Every day should be Mother’s day. Think about all the good things Mom has done for you! (Or, for those of you with a less-than-ideal mother experience, a mother-figure). My mother deserves a Mother’s day EVERY day. But, then again, my mother is my hero.
  4. Fresh air! The windows come open. The winter musties get swept out with a good breeze. The screen door replaces the winter storm door.
  5. The cold/warm clothing swap-out. All those warm, winter clothes of which you have become so tired, get put away in favor of the lighter, brighter spring/summer clothing and open-toed shoes. EVERYTHING is “lighter”.

I hope you love May as much as I do. And think of it…if your birthday is in November, May is your 1/2 birthday month. So celebrate with me.


Hi Strangers! Where’ve you been?

*blink blink*

I’ve been thinking about you for a while now, but honestly? I couldn’t stand myself! And for the one of you who still stops by (Hi Debra!! *waves*), I couldn’t subject you to any more ick from me! I could hardly stand myself! Subjecting you to me? NO!

*****

So.

I am on vacation this week. Thank GOAT! I cannot tell you how badly I needed to get away from the Gas ‘n Sip. It was practically unbearable. The mechanics were being ornery. Every time I asked them for something, it became a giant battle. Then they had to “escalate” it to their manager. *headdesk*

Even Don, the Nacho manager, said to me last Friday – “You need a vacation! I can’t stand to listen to you any more!”

I KNOW! Ugh!

Enough about that place.

*****

Today, I decided to clean. Big whoop, you say. No, no. This was a clean the closet/drawers/under the sink in the bathroom, AND clean the bedroom closet.

I was RUTHLESS! There was NO ruth in my house today.

Turns out? I? Am ridiculous.

I am NEVER allowed to buy another makeup brush for as long as I live. The number of brushes I found today is EMBARRASSING.  Really. I have washed them all, and stowed them in one of the 14 (literally) makeup bags I found. The sad part? I wear very little makeup. I have, no word of a lie, 27 makeup brushes.

Ridiculous.

Also? Apparently, I have a “thing” for fingernail clippers. It always seems I cannot find one when I really need it, so it seems I have taken to buying them in bulk. I will never need to buy another one.

Ridiculous.

Moving on to the bedroom closet….

Wallets. I have issues.

Scarves? Ditto. Now, granted – I went through a stage when I wore scarves very often. I love them. They are so pretty. But once I hit a certain age (SHUT UP!) and the scarves started making me sweat, I don’t wear them any more. (Not to mention that crew-neck t-shirts make me all chokey.)

All in all, I have a back seat full of stuff to go to the charity shop. And enough garbage bags to fill up my bins for 3 weeks.

Ridiculous.

Although… being ruthless felt good. I have been wanting to do this for months. I have been looking in my bathroom closet and rolling my eyes at the chaos there. Now? The shelves are clean and organized. Everything is labelled (I love my label maker!).

So, now, I am relaxing on the sofa with a book, wallowing in a job well done.

Tomorrow? Perhaps I will tackle the cold/warm weather clothing swap.

Ruth won’t be allowed there, either. *wink*


“What other people think of you is none of your business.”*

“Do you really care what other people think?” *

“I can’t wear this; people will make fun of me!”*

 

We have all heard/used/said these statements at some point. Do you believe it to be true?

I do. I did before, but I really do now.

Why?

This past weekend, I got my hair cut. For the first time in more than 2 years. For me, this was a big deal.

About 3 months ago, I thought “UGH! My hair is getting too long.” So I pulled it back with a barette (down low) and cut 3″ off myself. (I don’t recommend it.)

Then, on Friday, I was combing my hair out, and I thought, “UGH! I can’t take this anymore. I’m too old to have hair this long.” (I’m not one of those who believes that once you turn 40, you need to cut your hair. It just seemed right for me.)

ANYhoo.

My friend recommended her salon, I called, and told them I had a hair-emergency. They fit me in on Saturday. Cut, color, highlights, the works.

I won’t bore you with the ridiculous amount of inane conversation I endured. I could feel my brain melting. It was scary, really.

Now, my hair is dark (dark chocolate-ish) and short. I estimate that she cut off about 8″. It is a big change. And I LOVE it!! It’s probably a shade or 2 darker than I’m happy with, but that’s okay. I will get used to that. But I love that it’s short, and light-feeling, and curly.

The point?

Of all the people I have seen today at work, and there are probably 600 people in this building, 3 have commented. 3.

Three.

And one of those knew I was getting it done.

The moral:

Wear what you want. Do what you want. As long as you are not harming others, NO ONE CARES. No one. They are just as wrapped up in themselves as you are in yourself. Think about all the time you spend thinking about yourself.

Scary right? There’s no time to think of anyone else. So no one else has time to think about you either.

So get over it. If I can change my hair by 8″ and go from red-ish to dark chocolate-brown, and have NO ONE notice? No one cares.

Be you and be happy.

 

*I know these quotes are not mine, but I can’t find a good reference as to who actual is credited with them. My apologies to you if they are yours. Let me know and I will give you credit.


I know I’ve posted on here that I don’t watch the news. I find the “It bleeds, it leads” premise disgusting. There is very rarely anything positive reported. And I just can’t deal with it. I read headlines online, so I’m not completely oblivious to the world around me.

I’ve also posted that I have disconnected cable. I did it at the beginning of the year. If I want to watch something, I have Netflix or Hulu. And so far? I don’t miss it.  I missed all the awards shows, which are gross displays of excess and self-congratulations, in my opinion. “Who are you wearing?” “How big is your diamond?” Really? Who cares? $5,000+ for a gown that you can only wear once? That’s disgusting.  But, then again, I don’t know who most of the young actors are anymore, anyway. One of the benefits of not having cable is that I don’t see movie trailers, so I don’t know what’s playing or who’s acting in them.

My friend Debra beautifully wrote about giving up Twitter (which I proceeded to twist around to make it all about me.) (It’s a gift.) (Shut up.)

Then she wrote about giving up all social media. I’m not ready for that yet. Her comment that she doesn’t want a 140-character live makes sense to me, but I do like Twitter. I met Debra via Twitter. I’ve “met” a lot of amazing people and found blogs, blogging, stories, websites all because of Twitter.

For months though, I’ve been irritated and logging on to Twitter less and less. I was “muting” people rather than “unfollowing” them. Heaven forbid I unfollow someone and hurt their feelings. (Insert eye-roll, here). I felt like I was sifting through loads of noise to find the posts of people who matter to me.

So, this past weekend, I set up a new Twitter account. And deleted my old one. I am following 40 people (I think) and have 13 following me. And it’s lovely. When I pull up my timeline, I know there are going to be posts by people who I would love to meet. I will get my news. I can keep in touch with people, to a degree.

This is just one more way to turn down the noise.