Bonesy's Blahg

Doing Double Duty, Blahg Style

The last time I sat in a class, it was 2001. I had just been laid off from my job & enrolled in a week-long session of employment classes. It was me and 10 or 12 other sad &  jobless people, sitting in a room trying to learn the skills to put us back in the workforce & off of the the government tit. Which seems like a great idea, especially since tits really aren’t my thing.

At the end of the class, if you had done reasonably well & attended all of the classes…they would pay for you to go to the local community college to obtain a degree from a list of “approved” courses.

It didn’t help me figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up.  It did teach me that I am far more ADD as an adult than I ever was as a kid, though!

I did not go to community college.

I found a “real” job & took myself off the government tit.

10 years later, I still have that job… but am taking online courses.  Why? Because structured classes just don’t work very well on a brain like mine. But also because I have started a new project that I’m having a hell of a lot more fun with than my day job & need to learn more about how to do it well.

All of this was just a super-long, drawn-out, & boring introduction to my new project: What’s Up NEO?  I’ll be telling you all about the coolest stuff happening in and around NE Ohio, from concerts to ghost hunts to polka festivals & everything in-between.

If you’ve been following this blahg, you’ll be happy to note that I post there WAY more often than I do here!  I’ll still be here… but also there! So I’ll be doing double duty from here on out and enjoying life so much more!

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

January 13, 2017 Posted by | People, Work | Leave a comment

Bonesy Claus

If you’re on my Christmas list this year, let’s be honest… You are one lucky bitch!  First of all, because the list of people I gift is notoriously small.  But also?  You’re kinda gonna love what I got you.

See, as a woman of few skills, I can easily spot when I do have one.

I haven’t figured out a way to make a living doing it yet, but I’m a gifted gift giver.  AND, I can totally figure out a way to not break the bank while finding you that perfect gift!

Although, if you ask anyone at my bank, my account is pretty broke already.

As a mom of 4 kids, with a broken bank account … It’s a skill borne of necessity.  Playing Santa for a litter is pretty tough, especially for someone who loathes shopping as much as I do.   I mean, while I can appreciate a good mullet, neck tattoo,  or 6 inches of ass crack proudly displayed by a hairy 350 lb woman… Fighting mouth-breathers for a bunch of shitty Made-In-China presents in a WalMart?  Not my thing.

So I have taken internet shopping & made it my bitch.

This year, all of my gifts were either bought online, at locally owned & operated businesses, or online at locally owned & operated businesses in OTHER areas.   While I’d like to flip the ratio of online-to-local purchases, I’m content with where it’s at for now.  There really aren’t all that many locally owned shops in my area &, quite frankly, I like to sit around in my underwear.

(Kidding, kids… Please don’t run to disinfect the desk chair.)

Also?  When I give you a gift, it’s a pretty safe bet that you will have NO idea what the fuck is inside.  I will box your shit up in some random packaging that has nothing to do with it.

Generic saltine box?

Been there.

Instant oatmeal?

Done that.

Think I got you an iPhone?  Um, open that fucker up.  It’s NOT what you think!

I really liked when my kids FINALLY stopped believing in Santa.  I may have had something to do with Kid4 not believing after around age 6.  I’m not saying I outright told her he’s not real, but I certainly didn’t try to convince her of it when she started to suspect.

By “started to suspect,” I mean “let the older kids tell her.”

Hey, don’t judge.  She’s nearly an adult now & she turned out just fine.  Mostly.

Plus, after they no longer believed, we started a new tradition.  Gift tags no longer say they’re from “Santa” or “Mom & Dad.”

Now, they get gifts from The Grinch, Heat Miser, Yukon Jack, & Abominable Snowman.

Plus an occasional inappropriate or irreverent present from Baby Jesus.

It’s just how I roll.

 

Next year, maybe I’ll do a Bonesy’s Gifted Gift Guide.

December 9, 2016 Posted by | Family, Friends, Holidays, Kids, People | 2 Comments

Unpinking My Wardrobe & My Wallet

I own exactly one pink shirt.  I bought it at the breast cancer walk a few years ago.

Mostly because I was the only person out of THOUSANDS that wasn’t wearing pink.  So there may have been a tad bit of peer pressure there.

But also because it says “Fight Like  A Girl.”

As a tomboy who grew up kicking the asses of neighborhood boys to defend my mouthy, ball-less little brothers, I kinda love that slogan.  By “kinda,” I totally mean I’d make out with it…if it weren’t a slogan & I weren’t married.

I love words, but I’m not a whore!

Tomorrow I will be dropping that shirt off at Goodwill in protest of the Susan G. Komen decision to withdraw grants to Planned Parenthood.

I will no longer be donating to their cause, nor raising money & racing for the cure… in protest of their asinine, politically charged farce of a decision.

For an organization that claims to be a proponent of women’s health to withdraw funding from another women’s health organization in favor of a right wing campaign to limit access to health care is beyond ridiculous.

And their changing stories about the why’s & how’s of it only serve as proof of the political bullying behind it.

Regardless of your stance on contraception or abortion, Planned Parenthood provides health care to women across the nation who can’t afford it otherwise.  And 97%  of the care they provide is screening and reproductive health.  But the far right like to keep that all swept neatly under the rug, while they picket & rant about abortion.

The Komen donations were earmarked to specifically provide screening for breast cancer.

So the message here is the Susan G. Komen foundation is all about breast health…just not for poor people?

I’m not an activist, nor am I pro-abortion.

But I have been a poor, uninsured woman in need of medical care…in a country that increasingly only offers care to those who can afford it.  And the screening and care I received at a clinic back then saved my life.

So this year, I will be donating a nice fat check to Planned Parenthood on the day of my local Race for the Cure.

And then I’ll turn my attention to other, less sexy cancer awareness & prevention charities.

Maybe I’ll even start a new trend!  Like a prostate cancer awareness day!!  We’ll all wear brown & carry giant buttholes on a stick.

I’ll be free on Race for the Cure day.

October 2, 2016 Posted by | Family, People, Rant | , , | 4 Comments

My Big Fat Gypsy Dreaming

Is there a gypsy dress code?

Specifically, if I become a gypsy, would I have to start wearing lots of jangly jewelry & creamy bright blue eye shadow?

Can you make trade-offs?  I mean, I might be okay with the fake gold & Mimi make-up…as long as I don’t have to learn to play the finger castanets, wear colorful skirts, or come up with elaborate ways to con people out of their money.

I’m really not all that imaginative, plus I get super paranoid when I’m running a con & act all coked-up.  (Minus the coke, of course.)

Here’s the thing…

I’m a little frustrated.  I’m a hair over 40, stuck in a high-stress, dead end job, up to my eyeballs in debt, and my youngest kid just left for college.

Is this my mid-life crisis?

Maybe.  Realistically, not many people live beyond 80, so I am technically at mid-life.

It all started last spring.  I was on the way home from an outing with friends when I got a flat tire.  I pulled into the nearest gas station & called Kid4 to come pick me up.  I got out of the car & stood under a dim, flickering street light, pondering the life choices that led me to this place. (Mostly why I needed to be the drunkest person in the room, yet didn’t go rub the head of the midget playing bongos.)

While I was working on my issues, I saw it:

A big ol’ ugly Winnebago for sale in the lot across the street.

Big. Ugly. Winnebago.

But it got me to thinking…

In that semi-drunk, wild-eyed moment, that run-down, rickety Winnebago  looked like freedom.

Giant, boxy, bald-tired, shag carpeted, olive green trimmed freedom.

And since then, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of chucking all of my crap and becoming a vagabond.

I want to surround myself with beauty, not things.

I want to seek out new adventures & kitschy roadside attractions, stumbling across them as I roll.

I want to meet new people, characters, and personalities.

I want to wake up one morning & be all “Eh… I’d like to see Montana.”

I want to be put out to pasture, but have the entire continent be my pasture.

(Yes, I am aware that pastures are filled with animals, crap, & allergens.)

Obviously, this is not something that can happen overnight.  There are logistics to figure out, like how to get my husband to go along with my craziness & how we would support ourselves.  (He didn’t like my suggestion of him standing in a Walmart parking lot with a sign all day while I write. Killjoy.)

So I didn’t buy the Winnebago. But I am still trying to find something that will fit into our budget and our driveway.

And, I’ve committed myself to doing one thing per day to achieve this dream.  It could be something as small as perusing Craigslist, or packing a box to donate, or shopping for my new gypsy jewels.  The point is to do SOMETHING to bring my dreams closer to reality.  One small thing is all it takes.

One thing…and a Winnebago.

September 29, 2016 Posted by | Confession, Family, Friends, Kids, People, Travel, Work | Leave a comment

Howdy, Neighbor!

I’m sure I’ve mentioned once or twice that I hail  from nomads. My family moved about once a year while I was growing up.   Besides the fact that I was always the socially awkward new kid, it was kind of a cool upbringing.  See,  a childhood of rentals = a constant parade of human oddities.  Almost like a never-ending county fair freak show or Ripley’s Believe It Or Not!

We just had a LOT of downright strange neighbors!

There was Marsha, the female Elephant Man.  Okay, truth be told, she was actually just a really big woman covered in moles.  But she had a super-cool live-in boyfriend who liked to invite me into the basement when she wasn’t home!

Wait, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing.

But he did let me play with his…

Vial of mercury.

What were you thinking? 

Come to think of it, mercury poisoning kind of explains a lot about that guy.

My favorite move brought us right next door to Grace & Bob.  They seemed like a harmless old couple…at first.  Turns out, they were a horrifying train wreck of a couple that you couldn’t help but to watch all wide-eyed, but from a safe distance.

Or, as safe a distance as you could find from next door while still watching.

Bob was kind of slow & mostly suicidal, and would occasionally lock himself in the shed & catch it on fire.

But Grace?  Hoo boy!  She was full on crazycakes.   Like use-the-cuff-of-your-jeans-for-an-ashtray CRAZYCAKES!

So, we totally used that to our advantage.

Once, when my sister & I found a dead mouse, we had Grace come over to “take care” of it for us.  (Don’t judge.  We don’t like critters!)  Grace came in, picked the little bastard up by the tail, sniffed it a few times… Then said “Mmm.. Lunch!” as she walked out the front door.

We didn’t have the balls heart to ask if she really did make lunch.

But, my friend Kelly & I did make her breakfast once!  We put some eggs in her mailbox one Saturday night on the hottest week of that summer.  We sat at my bedroom window, waiting for her to check the mail on Monday, but I don’t remember actually seeing it.  I do know she blamed the girls who lived a couple of streets away, though.   She couldn’t get the stench out, so wanted them to buy her a new mailbox.

Can I get arrested for a federal offense 25 years after the fact?  What is the statute of limitations on tampering with someone’s mailbox, anyway?

Then, when I was about 15, we moved into a ramshackle rental in a bad section of town.  Not long after we pulled up in the U-Haul, a few of our new neighbors came over and offered to help.  They were two good-looking couples, clean-cut & uber-friendly.

Also, they were cult members.

Even after my mom found out they were cult members, she still sent me to run errands with them.   You know, totally normal errands, like going door-to-door handing out tracts.  Scouring the real estate section for recent closings so we could “help” new neighbors in OTHER neighborhoods.  Inviting people to “meetings” where they could experience something called “new birth.”

I was good with it for a while.  I mean, what do I care if people get brainwashed?  They were nice to me, paid me in Pepsi, & bought me a few new outfits for our cross-town missions.

I drew the line when they invited me to go out of town with them for “training.”   I mean, brainwashing is fine for OTHER people, but for me?  I think I’ll pass.

I thought I had left all of that behind when I got married.

Then all hell broke loose.

No, really.  I’m pretty sure that hell actually broke open & unleashed the devil’s spawn to my neighborhood, in the form of a little boy named Johnny.

To be fair, Johnny clearly wasn’t “right.”  I don’t judge for that.  What I DO judge him for are the actions that took place over the several years we lived there.  Peeping.  Theft.  Flat tires. Dented cars.  Exposure. Urinating on my house.  Threats of physical violence.  Did I mention he was armed?  Grandpa thought he was old enough for a pocket knife when he turned 12.  Yeah, all of that happened BEFORE HE TURNED 12!

What’s a NORMAL family to do when the psychotic neighbor boy now carries a blade?

Move.

And now?  Now we live in a nice, quiet neighborhood, right next to a man who drives the Scooby Mobile.  A 50-year-old man in a PT Cruiser, with “Scooby” decal-ed across the back window… and a giant stuffed Scooby Doo in the passenger seat.

Or we DID live next to him.  He was taken to jail a couple of weeks ago, after drunkenly crashing his car twice in one day, shooting up the tree in his front yard,  then holding the still-loaded gun to his wife’s head.

*Sigh*

Maybe it’s time to move on.

August 14, 2016 Posted by | Family, Friends, Kids, People | 2 Comments

How to WIN Friday the 13th in 769 words.

Sh! Everybody simmer down for a minute. I have something important to say!

Okay, not really.

But I am trying to quiet all the voices around me so that I can concentrate on the voices in my head.  Apparently, 3 days of missed meds & the resulting lack of sleep makes me a little schizophrenic.

It also makes me look a little like THIS:

I’m not saying this IS me, but I was a little sad earlier this week & wearing a purplish/blue shirt today. And I need to color my hair.

I think my trigger was the dirty apple I had for breakfast.  Okay, not a dirty apple.  I washed it.  But he did have a wicked case of blue balls & an apparent need to drop some seed.

Seriously, full frontal apples are the key to my genius!  Or just a happy coincidence for a dirty, sleep deprived mind.

But then I had to go to work…which is where the frivolity should have ended, if I had a lick of sense.

Which I do not.

And that’s how I was caught on the security cameras standing in the middle of the street shouting “HAPPY FREAKING FRIDAY!”

You can probably add that to the list of reasons they’ll eventually fire my ass.

But you know what?  IT FELT SO DAMN GOOD I DID IT A SECOND TIME!  Doubt me?  Try it.  Just don’t say I didn’t warn you they’ll eventually fire your ass for it.  Nothing like a little video proof of dumbassery.

From there, they paid me to eat breakfast.  Then make tea.  Then spill tea.  Then make more tea.  Then add extra tea bags to the new tea because I needed the caffeine & it was only 8:30.

Considering what they paid me to do all those things that I would should have done for free, I made some serious coin on a per-hour basis.  Probably.  I’m bad at math.

But it was all okay, because I found my old-ass ipod, which had a ton of music that I totally forgot I had!  So while I was fumbling away my morning in a gigantic puddle of eyecrossingly strong tea & paranoia, at least I got to jam to some great indie tunes & stuff that I’ll never admit to having on an ipod that may never see the light of day again.  And my new obsession song, which I added this morning before I ever saw the apple sac, but played over & over again like a fingerbanged teenager with a huge crush & a bad case of acne.

(“Taste” by Josh Abbott Band, in case you were wondering.)

I then let Kid4 know that Kid1 ruined my hoo-ha.  She thought that was TMI, but really, caring is sharing.  Plus, he did have a gigantic head.  There may be reconstruction surgery in my future.

Somehow, that became a text about back alley liposuction & vajazzling with an uber-conservative friend who doesn’t mind my over-sharing.

Then, 2 out of 4 children were demoted.  Temporarily, anyway.

I don’t think it had anything to do with giant heads or vajazzling or back alley lipo, but I’m not making any promises.

But I did encourage let them get into a bidding war for the title of MOM’S MOST FAVORITE CHILD after that, so I think I made good.  For the record, Kid2 won the sprint with her offer to let me come to campus & hang out in the Buckeyes football locker room!  Kid3 is looking more toward the marathon by planning out my pneumatic retirement trailer park.  He’s good, that one.  Kid1 just wants to be Kid2’s favorite sibling.  I’m not clear why he wants to hang out in the OSU locker room, though.  Curious.  Kid4 is working, so I’m still waiting on her offer.

But Kid2 & I did manage to solve every fucking world problem in existence via text message this afternoon!  I’d share with you, but we’re planning to sell our ideas to the highest bidder to help pay for my future trailer park.  Let’s just say I’m really fucking glad that placenta eating is a thing now.  And that Mt Dew plus Mentos equals ass-plosion.  But woe is the man who has to spend eternity huffing Larry the Cable Guy’s farts.

I’m not sure how we got to that either.

But then?  Then we designed Kid1’s new tramp stamp, which is sure to impress his future-mother-in-law …. or at least be easier to explain to her than his abnormal, but clearly AWESOME upbringing.

On crumpled notebook paper, for extra classiness.

May 13, 2016 Posted by | Confession, Family, Friends, Kids, People, Sleep, Work | 1 Comment

The one where I describe what it’s like to be me.

I got a new boss today. I have a sneaking suspicion that she tastes like bananas.  I didn’t lick her.  There are laws.

BUT, I felt like I could smell bananas all day! It’s a curious thing, seeing as how I actually can’t smell.

Instead, I can taste the air around things.  Sometimes.  Today was one of those times & I’ll be damned if that air didn’t taste like an overripe banana!

Not that my new boss is overripe.  I’m pretty sure she just graduated.  It’s a toss-up as to whether it was college or high school.  Either way, I’m pretty sure I’m old enough to have changed her diapers.

When she was a baby.  Not now.  That’s just weird.

ANYWAY…you know how, when people lose one sense, their other senses are heightened?

It’s a myth.

At least for me.

I can’t speak for blind people.

I can speak for mutes, however.  They usually like it, as long as they don’t know what I’m talking about.

Typically, not being able to smell isn’t a bad thing.  I mean, if you have to give up one of your senses, smell is the best choice.

I’m not clear under which scenario you would be forced to give up a sense.  But, if you ever have to choose, take my advice & go with “smell.”

Apparently, in addition to the loss of smell, I’ve also lost my ability to focus.

My point to all of this is that, while I can’t actually smell, I can taste.  (That’s usually the first thing people want to know when they find out my oddity.)

This is both good & bad.

Bananas?  Good.

Dirty diapers?  Not so much.

Because of this, my kids were all potty trained ridiculously early.  My advice to new moms on potty training?  Taste it.  There is no greater motivator than the taste of a shitty diaper.

I’m hoping my new boss continues to taste like bananas.

**I’m blaming this post on the huffing that I may have accidentally done yesterday while doing arts & crafts.  In an enclosed space.  With both spray paint and high performance spray adhesive.**

December 12, 2015 Posted by | Advice, Family, Kids, People, Work | 6 Comments

Who knew one little notebook could cause such a stir? In someone’s pants.

I managed to do the unthinkable.

Somehow, in my hurry to escape the precinct I work on election day, I left my notebook behind.   A water-stained, raggedy repository for chicken scratched random thoughts, blog post starts, F words, & sexual references, it’s like my brain… on paper.    Which means it could be pretty dangerous in the hands of the wrong people.

Like the senior citizens I left it with.

See, my precinct…is also the activity center/dance hall for a senior citizen’s apartment complex.

After the shock wore off, I had a quick moment where I thought it was kind of cool.  Basically, I had left my innermost thoughts in the hands of America’s greatest generation… who probably hadn’t seen any action since 1972.  If I couldn’t get it back, I hoped they had passed it around, letting it spread through their colony like a herpes virus.

Which, according to my friend Izabella, is kind of how it works.  Apparently, they’re considered the greatest generation for a reason.  They do get action, & plenty of it!  Senior centers are one of the top contributors to the spread of various STDs.

Ummm…

So I kind of just started a new epidemic?

We’re going to call it The Dor.  It’s kind of like the clap, minus the oozing genitals & painful urination.

Side Note: DO NOT Google “the clap symptoms” from your cubicle at work.  You never know who’s going to walk up behind you & conclusions cannot be un-jumped.

You’re welcome.

Obviously, I worked my ass off Tuesday.  It was a busy election, especially considering it had a couple of hot-button issues on it. (Most importantly, a motion to repeal Ohio Senate Bill 5, which limited collective bargaining rights for public employees.)

But that’s not my point.

Between voters, I had been working on a new post.  Laptops and cell phones are not allowed in the polling locations, so I was working on it old-school, scribbling things in my notebook every chance I got.

Because do you know what’s funnier than old people?  Old people who have no idea they’re funny!

One of my judges is a talker.  I mean, she NEVER STOPS!  While that normally makes me a little crazy, I was loving it!  She just kept saying things that cracked me up, but she had no idea why I was laughing.

– Do you have a Johnson?

– Which one do you have?  8″?

– And then you can get behind her.

– Just stick it in.

– They packed me real good one time.

– They checked this girl & she was writhing in the bed!

– She was crawling on the floor & couldn’t get in the bed.

– You get down on your knees?

– I had a guy tell me once I should never get on my knees.

– Who did you?

– He had to put both hands behind my knees & flip me over!

– A doctor told me once that it’s in my personality to get really attached really fast.

(THEN SHE PULLED OUT A KNIFE!  So, my laughter was more of a nervous wide-eyed “heh heh heh.”)

Anyway, by the time I realized the notebook was gone, the senior center was closed.  So, I called before work the next morning.  It wasn’t in the lost & found, but I knew it had to be there… or in the backseat of my Judge 2’s minivan… OR turned into the Board of Elections with the ballots.

While none of the three would be easy to face up to, I was really hoping I hadn’t turned it in.  Something tells me the county would frown upon my multi-tasking.

I decided to stop by the senior center on my way to work.  After checking the lost & found again, I convinced the office manager to let me look around in the ballroom.

Nothing.

….Until we checked a closet in the back.

Apparently, the guy who locked up that night decided to spend a little “alone time” with my notebook.

He must have been interrupted, though.  It was lying open to a particularly explicit page… on an organ.

You can fill in your own joke about an organ in the closet.

I’ll be busy disinfecting my notebook.

For the record, I didn't notice any suspicious new stains.

November 15, 2015 Posted by | Confession, People, Work | Leave a comment

Corruption…One Generation At A Time

Several months ago, I wrote a post about election day. It was mostly about how I lost my NC-17 notebook in the senior center that houses our precinct…and some creeper janitor found it & had a little “alone time” at my expense.

Technically, the book was a trade show give-away, so there was no expense. But also? I may have been directly responsible for corrupting our greatest generation!

Last week, I may have done worse.

I don’t know how elections are held in your neck of the woods. But in mine, the Board of Elections gathers up all the old people in town & makes them feel useful again. They’re given minimum wage jobs with exciting titles like “Judge” & they get to lord over the masses from uncomfortable chairs at folding tables.

It’s a win/win.

Until they can’t find enough coherent old people to fill the positions.

That’s when they bring in the reinforcements… Dumb ass middle-age people who feel a sense of civic responsibility & teenagers who want a day off school & are bad at math.

I’m a mix. I’m a dumb-ass middle aged woman with the mentality of a teenager AND bad at math. So they gave me the uber-cool title of PRESIDING JUDGE!

Obviously.

I’m like the Queen of Judges, but without the ring kissing and curtsies.

At least so far. I’m working on it.

Note to self: Buy a ring.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure after the notebook debacle, the BOE decided they didn’t want me to corrupt any more senior citizens.

So they moved us to a community center.  I’m not sure a place why they thought I’d be more kid-friendly than elderly-friendly, but that’s not my call.

Also, they also added “assholes” & “crazycakes” to the mix of poll workers….and then gifted them to me.  It’s kind of like a Gift of Protocol that they give to foreign dignitaries, but I don’t have to report it to anyone.  Probably.  

Do you know what happens when they mix the Queen of Judges with assholes & crazycakes…and THEN they throw a teenager into the mix?

Texts & comments that could probably get me arrested.

OR make me a superhero in certain southern states! One of those things.

But…I got paid to do it. So… WORTHSIES!

Unless the authorities come knocking.

In that case, I may need you to start a Bonesy’s Bail Fund.

If you don’t hear from me for a while, have a bake sale or something. Thanks.

It all started when Crazycakes Judge 3 put her book on the table next to Judge 4’s book (the decidedly NON crazycakes teenager, who also happens to be good at math & really funny):

Crazycakes was reading an Amish teenage love story. Judge 4? Not so much.

Unless they do it politically in Amish country. Who’s to say? I try not to take pictures when I’m  peeping in their windows driving through, seeing as how I’ll steal their soul.

I have enough souls for now, thanks.

Also, I don’t care which way you do it… or who you do it with.

But if you read Amish teenage love stories? I’m pretty sure you haven’t done it with a real person in a VERY, VERY long time. Try putting down the book & getting out more.

Just a suggestion. I mean, knowing you’re not getting any makes comments like these especially creepy:

– He’s the one that delivered both my kids. He was drunk all the time.

– There were like 6 of us in a hotel room in Columbus.

– I could feel some going down my right thigh.

– She likes to lick lick lick.

– Well they are daisy chained together.

– I got soo hot!

– If I eat a Mexican….

– Well I usually like women better.

– I like to be on top.

– My crack was THIS wide!

– My mommy has hair on her privates.

– What did I stick in my bra that one time?…..

– What happens to the mother’s nipples?

– If you’re under her belly, you’ll feel her nipples.

So, despite the fact that she had NO idea why… she cracked us up!

Which just left her completely baffled.

I think I’ll keep her.

Judge 2, on the other hand…

The day started off pretty well. He was like an eager little beaver, all about helping set up the machines & feeling important.

I thought I got lucky!

And then I administered the oath, which is apparently also a magic spell that causes assholic behavior.

He played it off as joking… but he managed to offend even me.

EVEN ME!

He had a rude-ass comment or stereotypical accent for just about every single demographic.

Democrats.

Everyone who is not a Republican.

Blacks.

Black albinos.

Immigrants.

Illegal immigrants.

Indians.

Indians who own party stores.

Germans.

People who eat sauerkraut, but not the super-sour kind.

Mexicans.

Anyone who goes to a Mexican restaurant, but can’t pronounce the dishes correctly.

Anyone who speaks Spanish.

Anyone who speaks Spanish in the dirty Mexican dialect.

Vietnamese.

Chinese.

Yella-eyed men.

Anyone who can’t pronounce their R’s.

Atheists.

Agnostics.

Anyone else who doesn’t follow his religion, which he was suspiciously ambiguous about.

Gays. (Though I admit I goaded him into it, just because it was so damn easy & I knew I could get him on a roll.)

Bisexuals.

Cross Dressers.

Men who aren’t cross-dressers, but can appreciate a good pair of shoes.

Women who don’t dress like men, but wear sensible shoes.

Dog owners.

Anyone who doesn’t have a cat.

I’m pretty sure the only people who didn’t get insulted were midgets & pretty people.

It was like an idiot party & I got to be the party planner!

What’s more fun than that?!

Lots of things, in all honesty.

But once the “cat” subject was broached, the crazy train rolled right the fuck over me.

Crazycakes baits her cat into showering with her. 

Which means we’ll never be able to look at a shower again without picturing a sad, tortured pussy crying out for help.

Have fun at college next year, Judge 4!  It won’t be the same without you.

March 13, 2012 Posted by | Confession, Friends, Kids, People, Work | | 2 Comments

Dreaming…of more than jelly & peanuts.

Over the weekend, I sent out a kick-ass resume & cover letter to what could possibly be my dream job.

By “dream job,” I really just mean one with a fresh set of surroundings that lets me out of the office once in a while.  And pays a little more than what I currently make, while at least matching the bennies & vacation time.

What?  I told you it was a dream job.

Actually, I’ve sent out several resumes over the past couple of weeks.  But this time?  I actually want the job, not just to escape from my current one.

I won’t tell you what the wanted job is just yet, but that letter would have been received today.

In my head, I totally pictured them opening it up, awed by my expensive stationery & wordsmithing…and immediately calling me up, demanding I come in right away for an interview.

Of course, they’d then offer me the job.

I’d play coy & not jump at it, negotiating my way to a higher salary or better perks.

In the end, I’d accept & we’d all live happily ever after… with me finally in a position that offers a little more creativity and a little less “chained to my desk, looking at the same faces every goddamn day.”

In reality, though?  The job market sucks & people way more talented, qualified, educated, & desperate than I are also looking for work.

As I pore over the listings, I’ve found a disturbing trend.   Because there is nothing like a job search to open your eyes to what the economy is really like!

The jobs that I’m more than qualified for… are now requiring college degrees.   And pay hourly rates in the SINGLE DIGITS!

A couple weeks ago, I found a post looking for people to work in the complaint department at a jelly factory.  You could possibly work your way up to customer service, but had to have a Bachelor’s Degree to start.

(First of all, who the fuck complains about jelly?!)

A job I saw today required an Associates Degree, but started at $9/hr.  Oh, but they’ll give you $11/hr if you have that degree and at least 2 years’ experience in the field!

I don’t care where you live, $9/hr is NOT a living wage!  But there are so many really desperate people out there that that company will find someone to take it…despite the degree that they invested so much money and time into.  So they’re willing to work for peanuts just to keep food on the table & their names off the welfare rolls.

In a lot of ways, I’m glad I didn’t go to college.

– Not going introduced me to my husband, leading to 4 great kids (who are all going or have gone to college & will hopefully never have to listen to old ladies bitch about  jelly!).

– I don’t have student loans to repay (while trying to find work at jobs that start at $9 AN HOUR!)

But honestly, I really just have never figured out what I wanted to be when I grow up.   I assumed I would eventually stumble upon something that I loved.  That hasn’t happened, and I envy the people who can honestly say they love what they do.

So, I’ll keep looking to find the love.  But I’m still waiting for that phone call, dream job!

January 31, 2012 Posted by | Family, Friends, Kids, People, Rant, Work | | 2 Comments

%d bloggers like this: