Only once today!
Despite my mother "helpfully" asking me twice exactly what words I was avoiding (I wonder if she knows she isn't getting a cut?), I didn't take the bait.
I did however drop the f-bomb while recounting something to her around 7:30. So close, yet so far!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Day 1
I'm getting ready for bed, so although there is still opportunity for foul language, I'm going to recap the day while it's still fresh. Here's how day one went:
9:30 - Put the finishing touches on my blog and hit publish post. Operation No Cursing is on!
10:00 - got an email from one of my colleagues overseas who refuses to directly email anyone who is in my organization directly, but rather prefers to have the emails go through me. Uttered the d-word. The uttered it again when I realized what I had done.
11:00 - called the help desk to get an issue resolved. Tech passed me around like a cheap bottle of vodka - I resisted the urge to put the call on mute so I could rant to myself.
11:35 - end call with the help desk and of course utter one of my signature f-bomb phrases. There goes another dollar. If you have ever had to deal with a help desk, I'm sure you feel my pain.
noon - lunch with the boss. On my best behavior, so no cursing there
1:00 - back from lunch. Check Facebook and see a posting for a concert by someone asking if anybody wanted to go with him. I have no idea who the entertainer is and I mutter to myself "Who the "h" is that". Side note: I looked up the entertainer - family friendly comedian. One comment specifically mentions he's obscenity free. No wonder I haven't heard of him.
2:00 - 9:45 - on my best behavior. This may have something to do with the fact that I was doing heads down work all afternoon and didn't interact with anybody. President Adams has decided to go back on a campaign promise and allow silent cursing. Baby steps. Plus I don't carry that much cash on me. The ride over to my part-time gig was swear free as well. Nobody cut me off, and miraculously, no songs with bad language came on my iPod. Yes, I sing out loud when I'm alone in the car. When I have passengers and I sing out loud, they try to throw themselves out of the car while it's moving. I'm that bad. On the bright side, in my humble opinion, I rap a mean 99 Problems.
9:46 - on my way home, came to the intersection of Main and Markley, the light's still green as I hit the approach and then - DENIED. The bar goes across the intersection - SEPTA Regional Rail pulls in making me sit through a red light. I smack my steering wheel and yell the d-word again - out loud. Philosophic question - if I curse alone and nobody hears it, did I make a sound? For the purposes of this experiment, yes.
So, Day 1 - what have I learned? Well, first of all, I talk to myself out loud way too much. No, really. It's not like I'm expecting an answer, but it's still a tad odd, no? Oh, and I can find other words to use rather than my normal profanity. Today's it's a novelty, but I want to keep this up for a while.
9:30 - Put the finishing touches on my blog and hit publish post. Operation No Cursing is on!
10:00 - got an email from one of my colleagues overseas who refuses to directly email anyone who is in my organization directly, but rather prefers to have the emails go through me. Uttered the d-word. The uttered it again when I realized what I had done.
11:00 - called the help desk to get an issue resolved. Tech passed me around like a cheap bottle of vodka - I resisted the urge to put the call on mute so I could rant to myself.
11:35 - end call with the help desk and of course utter one of my signature f-bomb phrases. There goes another dollar. If you have ever had to deal with a help desk, I'm sure you feel my pain.
noon - lunch with the boss. On my best behavior, so no cursing there
1:00 - back from lunch. Check Facebook and see a posting for a concert by someone asking if anybody wanted to go with him. I have no idea who the entertainer is and I mutter to myself "Who the "h" is that". Side note: I looked up the entertainer - family friendly comedian. One comment specifically mentions he's obscenity free. No wonder I haven't heard of him.
2:00 - 9:45 - on my best behavior. This may have something to do with the fact that I was doing heads down work all afternoon and didn't interact with anybody. President Adams has decided to go back on a campaign promise and allow silent cursing. Baby steps. Plus I don't carry that much cash on me. The ride over to my part-time gig was swear free as well. Nobody cut me off, and miraculously, no songs with bad language came on my iPod. Yes, I sing out loud when I'm alone in the car. When I have passengers and I sing out loud, they try to throw themselves out of the car while it's moving. I'm that bad. On the bright side, in my humble opinion, I rap a mean 99 Problems.
9:46 - on my way home, came to the intersection of Main and Markley, the light's still green as I hit the approach and then - DENIED. The bar goes across the intersection - SEPTA Regional Rail pulls in making me sit through a red light. I smack my steering wheel and yell the d-word again - out loud. Philosophic question - if I curse alone and nobody hears it, did I make a sound? For the purposes of this experiment, yes.
So, Day 1 - what have I learned? Well, first of all, I talk to myself out loud way too much. No, really. It's not like I'm expecting an answer, but it's still a tad odd, no? Oh, and I can find other words to use rather than my normal profanity. Today's it's a novelty, but I want to keep this up for a while.
Experiment
I've been wanting to do something more with this blog. Updating it more would be a good place to start, but in order to do that I need material. My life in and of itself doesn't inspire much creative writing unless you enjoy both The Bell Jar and Confessions of a Shopaholic alternately. There are days I think I should rename it Rantings of an Undiagnosed Bi-Polar.
I've always been intrigued by the "I'm gonna do something rediculous for x amount of time and write about it" a la The Year of Living Biblically by AJ Jacobs, Super Size Me by Morgan Spurlock (a documentary rather than a book or blog, but you the idea) or The Julie/Julia Project by Julie Powell.
I could of course just bite on these ideas do do my own version, but I suspect living the Bible literally for a year would get me either fired or cause me to lose my friends. Eating McDonald's or any other fast food for that matter for a set period of time has its own challenges. First of all, I already eat so much of the junk I have a feeling my liver is practically pate at this point, and given that Weight Watchers has started screaming at me to come back, living off of french fries and bacon cheeseburgers might not be the best idea. And as for working my way through a Julia Child cookbook, seeing as the list of foods I don't/won't eat could fill a book of its own, I suspect it would be a futile endeavor.
I do have an idea, and one that presents some unique challenges for me. I am going to give up cursing. Lame? Maybe, but I suspect that if the late George Carlin spent a week with me, his infamous 7 Dirty Words would be more like the 100 Dirty Words. I love to curse - check out the link Moi at the top of this blog. I once said I was going to get the phrase "Swears Like a Secretary" into the vernacular.
So, ground rules. No cursing out loud at all - not my beloved f-word, not the euphamism for feces, no d-word, h-e-double hockey sticks, not even the words that can be used to describe a donkey or a female dog (unless of course I am talking about a donkey or a female dog).
Driving will be interesting. So will working at my part-time job. No cursing inside my head - and I curse a lot to myself. If I do, money is going in a jar. I'll fill you in on day one tomorrow, because swear-free Beth starts now.
I've always been intrigued by the "I'm gonna do something rediculous for x amount of time and write about it" a la The Year of Living Biblically by AJ Jacobs, Super Size Me by Morgan Spurlock (a documentary rather than a book or blog, but you the idea) or The Julie/Julia Project by Julie Powell.
I could of course just bite on these ideas do do my own version, but I suspect living the Bible literally for a year would get me either fired or cause me to lose my friends. Eating McDonald's or any other fast food for that matter for a set period of time has its own challenges. First of all, I already eat so much of the junk I have a feeling my liver is practically pate at this point, and given that Weight Watchers has started screaming at me to come back, living off of french fries and bacon cheeseburgers might not be the best idea. And as for working my way through a Julia Child cookbook, seeing as the list of foods I don't/won't eat could fill a book of its own, I suspect it would be a futile endeavor.
I do have an idea, and one that presents some unique challenges for me. I am going to give up cursing. Lame? Maybe, but I suspect that if the late George Carlin spent a week with me, his infamous 7 Dirty Words would be more like the 100 Dirty Words. I love to curse - check out the link Moi at the top of this blog. I once said I was going to get the phrase "Swears Like a Secretary" into the vernacular.
So, ground rules. No cursing out loud at all - not my beloved f-word, not the euphamism for feces, no d-word, h-e-double hockey sticks, not even the words that can be used to describe a donkey or a female dog (unless of course I am talking about a donkey or a female dog).
Driving will be interesting. So will working at my part-time job. No cursing inside my head - and I curse a lot to myself. If I do, money is going in a jar. I'll fill you in on day one tomorrow, because swear-free Beth starts now.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Hot for Teacher - 18 Years Later
My junior year of High School, I went through that enduring rite of passage for a lot of teenage girls. I had my very own flaming crush on one of my teachers. He taught English, and it was pretty much love at first site for me. I was roughly as subtle as a Mac truck – I asked for help I didn’t need, hauled my mother to unnecessary parent/teacher conferences and pretty much was around him every chance I got. I look back and am a little chagrined – especially since I didn’t let the fact that he was newly engaged get in my way. Well, that and the fact that any relationship probably would have been a felony.
He was always very kind to me – to say I was a hot mess back then is an understatement. Ok, to be fair to say I'm a hot mess right now wouldn't be an understatement, but I digress. Having uncontrolled depression in the midst of teenage angst bullshit is no picnic for anyone. But, of course me being me, I mistook that kindness for interest. If I had a free period, I did a slow walk by his classroom. If I had to stay late at school, I walked by the department to see if he was still around. I was bummed the days he wasn’t in school and we had a sub.
He moved on to another school after my junior year and being the tone deaf teenager I was, I attempted to keep up communications. Cringe.
Being the tenacious dork that I am, I did some digging a few years ago and found his email address. Under the guise of the reunion I was organizing, I emailed him, just to say hi. I think the 17 year old that still lurks inside me was secretly (way secretly hoping) that he’d tell me the marriage didn’t work out, that I was (of course) the love his life and that we’d run away together to England (why England? Well why not. It’s my fantasy damn it) together. To my surprise, I didn’t get a restraining order in the mail – seriously, I was that subtle back in the day – I’m sure I scared the shit out of him. I got a reply back, saying he remembered me and the class he taught. That was it – I didn’t email him back, I didn’t google his home address and do a slow drive by his house or anything else even remotely stalker-ish. For reals.
About a week ago I googled him again, and found that he is a principal at a school in Pennsylvania, and said school has a photo gallery. Curious, I looked and found a picture of him. He was never a stud in the traditional sense when I was actively lusting, but he was the geeky type that even now I pursue. But now? Damn…he’s a 40-something dad. And I’m not talking about Brad Pitt.
I’d like to say I’ve moved on. And yes, I have. I’ve transferred my affections to more attainable ones – I’m sure that Brad is going to leave Angelina for me any day now. Ok, seriously, I’ve realized I won’t be the next Mrs. X. But I’ll always remember him fondly and for being kind to a lovesick teenage girl.
Mr. X – you can lift the restraining order now. Really. It’s cool.
He was always very kind to me – to say I was a hot mess back then is an understatement. Ok, to be fair to say I'm a hot mess right now wouldn't be an understatement, but I digress. Having uncontrolled depression in the midst of teenage angst bullshit is no picnic for anyone. But, of course me being me, I mistook that kindness for interest. If I had a free period, I did a slow walk by his classroom. If I had to stay late at school, I walked by the department to see if he was still around. I was bummed the days he wasn’t in school and we had a sub.
He moved on to another school after my junior year and being the tone deaf teenager I was, I attempted to keep up communications. Cringe.
Being the tenacious dork that I am, I did some digging a few years ago and found his email address. Under the guise of the reunion I was organizing, I emailed him, just to say hi. I think the 17 year old that still lurks inside me was secretly (way secretly hoping) that he’d tell me the marriage didn’t work out, that I was (of course) the love his life and that we’d run away together to England (why England? Well why not. It’s my fantasy damn it) together. To my surprise, I didn’t get a restraining order in the mail – seriously, I was that subtle back in the day – I’m sure I scared the shit out of him. I got a reply back, saying he remembered me and the class he taught. That was it – I didn’t email him back, I didn’t google his home address and do a slow drive by his house or anything else even remotely stalker-ish. For reals.
About a week ago I googled him again, and found that he is a principal at a school in Pennsylvania, and said school has a photo gallery. Curious, I looked and found a picture of him. He was never a stud in the traditional sense when I was actively lusting, but he was the geeky type that even now I pursue. But now? Damn…he’s a 40-something dad. And I’m not talking about Brad Pitt.
I’d like to say I’ve moved on. And yes, I have. I’ve transferred my affections to more attainable ones – I’m sure that Brad is going to leave Angelina for me any day now. Ok, seriously, I’ve realized I won’t be the next Mrs. X. But I’ll always remember him fondly and for being kind to a lovesick teenage girl.
Mr. X – you can lift the restraining order now. Really. It’s cool.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Grandparents
I'm really trying to keep up with this blog, but at times I feel like Debbie Downer so I don't want to spread my malcontent, but in the interest of writing more often, "enjoy".
Sunday pretty much sucked. I had plans - get my nails done, wash my hair (yes, that is something I plan), go to Wegman's, iron some clothes to wear to work this week (preferably without getting my hand stuck in the ironing board again) and then do nothing. They weren't exciting plans, but you do what you can.
The day started off well - got up, had breakfast and headed over to try out an (old) new nail place to get a new set. Right before I started to get polished, my mother calls telling me that my grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, has some swelling near her ear and that she and my sister were taking her to the hospital. I decided to head over once my nails were dry to see what was going on. That was at 11:30 in the morning.
I got to the hospital, and things seemed OK. Grandmom was in good spirits despite being in pain and I was optimistic that we'd be out of there and on our way home by 2 or 3. HA!
It seemed to me that the day went down hill. Grandmom would go in and out - she'd be cool, in a good mood and aware of what was going on, then she'd get disoriented and agitated, then she'd be cool again. OK, I thought, this is what a sick person with Alzheimer's is like. The doctor came in, gave us the diagnosis, or at least what he thought it was, and said they'd be keeping her in the hospital for a few days, which she seemed cool with, even happy about it.
Sidebar here, I'm a drama queen, and there is a part of me that actually enjoys being an in-patient in the hospital. First of all, it's all about me. Honestly, when isn't it? But, when you're in the hospital, you aren't allowed to do a darn thing, so I get to do what I do best and just chill, watch TV, and if I'm lucky get a kick-ass painkiller. I am not a good well person in a hospital. I don't like seeing people I love in pain.
Anyhow, we had to wait what seemed like an eternity for a room for my grandmother, and as we waited she got progressively more out of it. Asking the same question over and over again (I likened it to one of my friends as being with a drunk 2 year old, not that I've ever been with one, but I imagine that's what it's like). Layer in the general chaos of an ER and my head just about exploded. By 8:00 (for those of you keeping score that's roughly 8 hours after I got there) we got her into a room. My 8:30 or so she was settled and we were kicked out.
The good part of all of this, if there is any, is that hopefully my grandfather will get the help he needs and that we've been trying to get him. He's been doing a great job, but there is only so much one person can do, especially an 89 year old with a bum knee and congestive heart failure. We've been trying to get him to accept help, but he refuses. I'm hopeful the social worker won't give him a choice.
I'm going to be honest that I'm pretty depressed. My mother is mourning and I can't help. The grandmother I remember is for all intents and purposes gone. I can't do as much as I'd like because of work and frankly my fear that I'm ineffective. I feel like I've lost part of my family. Please keep us in your prayers as we muddle through this sucky new world.
Sunday pretty much sucked. I had plans - get my nails done, wash my hair (yes, that is something I plan), go to Wegman's, iron some clothes to wear to work this week (preferably without getting my hand stuck in the ironing board again) and then do nothing. They weren't exciting plans, but you do what you can.
The day started off well - got up, had breakfast and headed over to try out an (old) new nail place to get a new set. Right before I started to get polished, my mother calls telling me that my grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, has some swelling near her ear and that she and my sister were taking her to the hospital. I decided to head over once my nails were dry to see what was going on. That was at 11:30 in the morning.
I got to the hospital, and things seemed OK. Grandmom was in good spirits despite being in pain and I was optimistic that we'd be out of there and on our way home by 2 or 3. HA!
It seemed to me that the day went down hill. Grandmom would go in and out - she'd be cool, in a good mood and aware of what was going on, then she'd get disoriented and agitated, then she'd be cool again. OK, I thought, this is what a sick person with Alzheimer's is like. The doctor came in, gave us the diagnosis, or at least what he thought it was, and said they'd be keeping her in the hospital for a few days, which she seemed cool with, even happy about it.
Sidebar here, I'm a drama queen, and there is a part of me that actually enjoys being an in-patient in the hospital. First of all, it's all about me. Honestly, when isn't it? But, when you're in the hospital, you aren't allowed to do a darn thing, so I get to do what I do best and just chill, watch TV, and if I'm lucky get a kick-ass painkiller. I am not a good well person in a hospital. I don't like seeing people I love in pain.
Anyhow, we had to wait what seemed like an eternity for a room for my grandmother, and as we waited she got progressively more out of it. Asking the same question over and over again (I likened it to one of my friends as being with a drunk 2 year old, not that I've ever been with one, but I imagine that's what it's like). Layer in the general chaos of an ER and my head just about exploded. By 8:00 (for those of you keeping score that's roughly 8 hours after I got there) we got her into a room. My 8:30 or so she was settled and we were kicked out.
The good part of all of this, if there is any, is that hopefully my grandfather will get the help he needs and that we've been trying to get him. He's been doing a great job, but there is only so much one person can do, especially an 89 year old with a bum knee and congestive heart failure. We've been trying to get him to accept help, but he refuses. I'm hopeful the social worker won't give him a choice.
I'm going to be honest that I'm pretty depressed. My mother is mourning and I can't help. The grandmother I remember is for all intents and purposes gone. I can't do as much as I'd like because of work and frankly my fear that I'm ineffective. I feel like I've lost part of my family. Please keep us in your prayers as we muddle through this sucky new world.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Is it me?
I'm dreading going into work tonight. It's not the work, it's your basic retail stuff. I'm just gonna say it, it's the people that drive me crazy.
I don't know about you, but when I'm out shopping, if I drop something on the floor, I pick it up. If I break something, I offer to help clean it up, or if nobody is around, I find somebody, own up to it, and let them know there is a disaster in Aisle 6. And if I have a cup of coffee or a soda with me and I finish drinking it, I carry it around until I find a trash can. Also, if I feel the need to have a snack while shopping (retail therapy is hard work after all), I shove the wrapper in my purse or pocket until I can toss it.
Not the customers at the store I work at.
Over the past week (and we're talking about three 3 1/2 hour shifts here), I've found the following:
1. 5 drink cups (some empty, most not)
2. Roughly 20 pistachio shells on a table that is for sale, and some more in the cushions of a chair that is also for sale
3. Crushed up pretzels and goldfish
4. A baggie left behind in a cart which I believe was the origin of the pretzels and goldfish.
5. 20 to 30 pairs of shoes all on the floor, some with the mates far, far away from each other. Some kicked under the fixture. All were paired, sized and originated on a shelf at the start of the day.
6. Area rugs covering the floor (again, all originating on the shelf).
I haven't even mentioned the amount of clothing that is on the floor at any given time, and the full carts that are just abandoned as if their owner was abducted by aliens. And I'm not even going to go into the night a few weeks back when somebody urinated in a fitting room (you read that right) and left the puddle on the floor for another customer to drop her coat in. I'm still not sure who drops their coat on a floor without looking first, but that's just me.
I spend a lot of nights cursing under my breath (and sometimes out loud) - the level of disrespect blows my mind. I realize I'm going off on a rant here, but seriously people? Between the dirty looks I get from customers who think we just don't clean the store, and seeing the customers who drop stuff (because the floor is obviously where things go) or let their darling children treat the store like it's their personal toy box, there are many nights I think I'm the strange one.
Yeah, I'm burned out, and I need to find something else. Or I just need to drink more, but I'm not sure my liver and kidneys could take it.But until I figure out the answer, I'll leave you with this picture just so you don't think I'm making it all up (there is floor in this picture - can you find it?).
I don't know about you, but when I'm out shopping, if I drop something on the floor, I pick it up. If I break something, I offer to help clean it up, or if nobody is around, I find somebody, own up to it, and let them know there is a disaster in Aisle 6. And if I have a cup of coffee or a soda with me and I finish drinking it, I carry it around until I find a trash can. Also, if I feel the need to have a snack while shopping (retail therapy is hard work after all), I shove the wrapper in my purse or pocket until I can toss it.
Not the customers at the store I work at.
Over the past week (and we're talking about three 3 1/2 hour shifts here), I've found the following:
1. 5 drink cups (some empty, most not)
2. Roughly 20 pistachio shells on a table that is for sale, and some more in the cushions of a chair that is also for sale
3. Crushed up pretzels and goldfish
4. A baggie left behind in a cart which I believe was the origin of the pretzels and goldfish.
5. 20 to 30 pairs of shoes all on the floor, some with the mates far, far away from each other. Some kicked under the fixture. All were paired, sized and originated on a shelf at the start of the day.
6. Area rugs covering the floor (again, all originating on the shelf).
I haven't even mentioned the amount of clothing that is on the floor at any given time, and the full carts that are just abandoned as if their owner was abducted by aliens. And I'm not even going to go into the night a few weeks back when somebody urinated in a fitting room (you read that right) and left the puddle on the floor for another customer to drop her coat in. I'm still not sure who drops their coat on a floor without looking first, but that's just me.
I spend a lot of nights cursing under my breath (and sometimes out loud) - the level of disrespect blows my mind. I realize I'm going off on a rant here, but seriously people? Between the dirty looks I get from customers who think we just don't clean the store, and seeing the customers who drop stuff (because the floor is obviously where things go) or let their darling children treat the store like it's their personal toy box, there are many nights I think I'm the strange one.
Yeah, I'm burned out, and I need to find something else. Or I just need to drink more, but I'm not sure my liver and kidneys could take it.But until I figure out the answer, I'll leave you with this picture just so you don't think I'm making it all up (there is floor in this picture - can you find it?).
Monday, April 12, 2010
Ego-A-Go-Go
If you have insomnia, I've added a new page to my blog which may help you out. Check out the tab called "Moi" for some mind-numbing info about yours truly.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Where's Waldo?
I've resigned myself to sporadic updates on here, so I guess the rest of ya'll should too. Between working two jobs (one of which makes me feel like the will to live has been sucked out of me - and no it's not the full time job), having a grandparent with a chronic illness, coping with my own battle with depression and generally trying to have a life, the blog unfortunately takes a back seat.
So, what's new in the Mild World of Beth? I think I've raised a few eyebrows lately with some body modifications. As I've written before, I have quite the collection of tattoos (at least for me) and coupled with a nostril piercing, I'm sure I'm not many mother's idea of the girl next door. Well, I've decided to add to the collection with some "non-traditional" piercings. Don't worry, nothing below the waist, and if I ever experience a Janet Jackson like wardrobe malfunction, you'll just see good old traditional nipple. I've added helix, tragus and industrial piercings (sleeping position has become an issue)and have decided it was good idea to get a microdermal anchor to my right wrist. If you read this blog you probably know me in real life and have see them, or have been on my Facebook page, so feel free to peruse the pictures if this is all Greek.
In other news, I think I'm the only person in the world not pregnant or imminently expecting a child who isn't menopausal or sterilized. I admit I have some weird emotions around this. I'm thrilled for my friends, but feeling a little left behind. I'm not exactly ready to have a child, nor am I in a place where getting pregnant is even a possibility (as I've told many a medical technician, if I have a positive pregnancy test, call the Vatican), but I can hear the good old biological clock ticking like Big Ben, and it makes me more than a little sad some days. I'm coming to terms with it, but some days are better than others. I do love being an aunt, both biological and honorary, so I'm looking forward to a new generation of children to corrupt.
My part time gig seems to be an endless source for amusement some days, frustration others. I'm desperately trying to see the humorous side to my adventures in retail, and have some hope that there may be a book in it someday. If all else fails, it's one more dimension for my pitch to Bravo for The Real Housewives of Norristown.
Time is flying by - my little baby niece is turning 9 in May. I guess I should stop referring to her as "Baby T" or "Sweet Precious Baby T" but I have a feeling I'll be calling her that on her 40th Birthday. While shoving a chicken nugget in her mouth when she isn't paying attention. If I had that child's metabolism and willpower, I'd be a size 0.
Well, I guess that's it for now. Hopefully will write again when the muse strikes. Perhaps I need to find a new muse...
Until then, stay classy Pinot readers.
So, what's new in the Mild World of Beth? I think I've raised a few eyebrows lately with some body modifications. As I've written before, I have quite the collection of tattoos (at least for me) and coupled with a nostril piercing, I'm sure I'm not many mother's idea of the girl next door. Well, I've decided to add to the collection with some "non-traditional" piercings. Don't worry, nothing below the waist, and if I ever experience a Janet Jackson like wardrobe malfunction, you'll just see good old traditional nipple. I've added helix, tragus and industrial piercings (sleeping position has become an issue)and have decided it was good idea to get a microdermal anchor to my right wrist. If you read this blog you probably know me in real life and have see them, or have been on my Facebook page, so feel free to peruse the pictures if this is all Greek.
In other news, I think I'm the only person in the world not pregnant or imminently expecting a child who isn't menopausal or sterilized. I admit I have some weird emotions around this. I'm thrilled for my friends, but feeling a little left behind. I'm not exactly ready to have a child, nor am I in a place where getting pregnant is even a possibility (as I've told many a medical technician, if I have a positive pregnancy test, call the Vatican), but I can hear the good old biological clock ticking like Big Ben, and it makes me more than a little sad some days. I'm coming to terms with it, but some days are better than others. I do love being an aunt, both biological and honorary, so I'm looking forward to a new generation of children to corrupt.
My part time gig seems to be an endless source for amusement some days, frustration others. I'm desperately trying to see the humorous side to my adventures in retail, and have some hope that there may be a book in it someday. If all else fails, it's one more dimension for my pitch to Bravo for The Real Housewives of Norristown.
Time is flying by - my little baby niece is turning 9 in May. I guess I should stop referring to her as "Baby T" or "Sweet Precious Baby T" but I have a feeling I'll be calling her that on her 40th Birthday. While shoving a chicken nugget in her mouth when she isn't paying attention. If I had that child's metabolism and willpower, I'd be a size 0.
Well, I guess that's it for now. Hopefully will write again when the muse strikes. Perhaps I need to find a new muse...
Until then, stay classy Pinot readers.
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