An Emotional Cocktail

I’m having a scatter-brained, over-caffeinated, roller-coaster type of day.

First off, HOORAY for Brian’s divorce which was declared at approximately 9:00 a.m. this morning! Man, What. A. Relief. After going through my own divorce woes, I know first-hand how awful it can be going in to the court house thinking you’re getting a divorce and leaving the court house farther from your divorce than when you started. Thank god everything went smoothly, and CONGRATS, BABE! IT’S OVER!!!

But BOO the fact that we’re no longer engaging in a (technically) adulterous relationship. Not gonna lie – it was kind of fun. But I guess all good things must come to an end. Too bad, though. I was enjoying being the “other woman,” if only as far as the state of NJ was concerned…

In other news, HOORAY that Brian’s thumb isn’t broken! He was messing around with the dog last night, and he tripped and jammed his thumb into the wall. Ouch! He could barely move it, and I was seriously worried that it was fractured. But after a quick trip to the ER today, everything looks okay [and BTW, getting a text that says “I’m divorced…and heading to the ER” brings about mixed emotions, to say the least]. But still, BOO that it’s badly sprained and he’s going to be out of work for a week or two. Poor guy…

And BOO to me for stupidly posting our full names on the invitations on Friday while not realizing that the town I live in is listed in my information section. Holy god, that was dumb. Now I’m freaking out, not so much because I think we’re going to adopt a stalker (there are far more interesting people out there than us), but because there are certain people out there who SHOULD NOT KNOW where I live. So now my stomach is in a knot and it’ll probably come to nothing, but I have that sinking feeling that you get when you’ve messed up big time, and I’m hoping that this information didn’t get into the wrong hands.
I’m a retard – Lesson Learned.

But HOORAY for Sunday, because we made some major headway in the yard. You see, we have this yard – this beautiful 1.3-acre piece of property - that is absolutely, positively overgrown. Lacking the expertise to tame it, I’ve spent the past year kind of looking at it and shaking my head, not knowing where to start. But my wonderful mother and her fiancé have been dedicating their weekends to helping us get it in order, and I’ll be damned if we aren’t starting to see some serious results. THANK YOU MOM AND KENT!!!! We couldn’t do it without you!!

So I guess that sums it up. I’m all excited/grateful/puking my guts out thinking about who might have our address now.
So I guess that makes me about two-thirds happy and one-third vomitous.

In other words, I’m drunk.

HAH!

Wedding Wedding Thursday

Well, I guess I’m having a wedding!
(Yes, it’s a wedding post. Get over it.)

Yesterday turned out to be Wedding Wedding Thursday for the following reasons:
1. I ordered the wedding cake
2. My invitations came in the mail
3. My dress came in the mail too

Wow. That’s a big day, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to check things off on the GINORMOUS to-do list.

The Cake
You already know what it looks like (pic here), but I’m happy to announce that Red Carpet Cakes was able to cut the price practically in half. I’m also happy to announce that the tastes (and smells) coming from that bakery were enough to make me want to cry with joy, and my wedding cake is guaranteed to be THE BEST TASTING CAKE you’ve ever eaten in your life.
That’s a bold statement – I know. But if there’s one thing I know, its cake. And Red Carpet Cakes does cake like Monet does an impressionist painting.
Thanks, Carrie, for referring me to them! (BTW, they say your mom is in there, like, all the time, so either you guys are having parties that I’m not being invited to, or your mom has a serious cake addiction, and maybe she needs some help)

The Invitations
Love them.
Kind of want to marry Lauren Lowe at LaurenLoweDesign for making them for me.



[took pic out. Yeah, probably shouldn't have posted full names. I'm an idiot.]

Lauren Lowe did a stellar job creating these gorgeous invitations at a price that was more than reasonable. The invitations are wonderfully earthy yet refined and, dare I say, sophisticated? Elegant? And did I mention they’re printed on recycled paper? What’s not to love?!? And as far as customer service goes, Lauren Lowe is a pro. She was polite and efficient and 100% dedicated to making the invitations exactly how I wanted them. She even alerted me ASAP when Fed-Ex said that my address – the one printed on the invitations and RSVP cards – didn’t exist (which, btw, it does. Clearly I don’t live in some hollowed-out tree in the middle of the woods. But her alarm was evidence enough that she truly cares about her customers, which is always a good thing in my book).

So, mad props to Lauren Lowe. If you need invitations, go check her out. You won’t be disappointed (and you'll be doing the environment a solid).

The Dress
No, I’m not going to show a picture of the dress. Brian is having this raging battle going on inside him where he wants to see the dress now, but at the same time, he wants to wait until I’m walking down the aisle.


Cute, if not slightly schizophrenic.

So, just in case his curiosity gets the better of him and he starts snooping on my blog, I can’t in good conscience post pics of the dress.

But how about pics of me opening the box that CONTAINS the dress? Ooooohhhh!


I know – it’s not really the same. But check out that face I’m making in the first pic. If that isn’t just creepy, then I don’t know what is.

In summary, I have a cake, a dress, and invitations.
Huh, I guess we’re really doing this thing.
:-)

To Blog, Perchance To Dream

Another one of those blog titles that has nothing to do with the post, but for some reason my fingers typed it out anyway.

They kind of run the show, so there’s not a lot I can do about it.

Thoughts:

1. Why does Google Blogger suddenly decide to ignore my spacing?

I hit *enter, Yo! Why you gotta mess up my game?!?!?!

The spacing of this post is fucked up, but it doesn't seem like there's anything I can do about it. My apologies.

2. Sometimes I wonder how much food, in crumb form, is trapped beneath the keys on my keyboard. I know for a fact that somewhere down there is the better portion of a cupcake, copious amounts of granola, and about half a tablespoon of feta cheese from a botched attempt to stir my Wawa chicken cherry walnut salad earlier this week. I’ve also noticed that my office chair is smudged with various food stuffs that have been dropped from my desk, onto my lap, and eventually onto the chair, where I’ve sat on them and essentially decoupaged them into the pleather.

And I wonder why the cleaning people hate me…
[Editor’s note: I just spilled yogurt on my pants. I’m a hot mess]

3. Curly hair and summer humidity DO NOT MIX. I know everybody already knows this, but it begs to be reiterated, considering the current state of my hair.

4. I seriously need to start working out again. I was doing SO GOOD and then *BAM* we decide to get married and I’m all “gotta plan the wedding” and before you know it, two weeks have gone by and I’ve barely broken a sweat. Isn’t that the exact opposite of what brides are supposed to do? At this rate, I’m destined to be a fatty-fat-fat bride. What I need is a Ghost of Weddings Yet To Come to swoop in and show me a wedding where I can’t zip up my dress because I’ve gained 15 lbs and to say “if you continue at your present course, this is what will happen to you.” And then I wake up screaming into my pillow, fall out of bed, ask the 19th century street urchin outside my window what day it is, rejoice that there is time to undo this horrible future, and run to the gym post-haste. Yeah, that’s exactly what I need.

5. Why is “caramel color” in the ingredients of my nonfat vanilla yogurt?

6. Milo ate my favorite bra last night. The women who read this blog can surely sympathize with me – it’s like losing your best friend in a horribly unexpected way, like a hit-and-run or a brain aneurysm. Tragic. I’m considering using duct tape to put it back together, but Brian has assured me that this could potentially take a little magic out of the bedroom. I’m weighing the pros and cons of this predicament as we speak.

7. People I’d like to shank:
Michael Vick
Rachael Ray
Sarah Jessica Parker
Various coworkers
Brian’s ex
The people who are pushing “skinny jeans” (I’m just not ready yet).

8. Sometimes I feel like man, by his very nature as a self-aware being, was destined to fail. And if that’s the case, then are we really set on some path that was predetermined the minute this universe was formed? And if that’s the case, is the future really predictable? And what role does "free will" play in this whole equation? I'd totally pay, like, $500 to know the answer right now.

9. I have a complicated relationship with tacos. For some reason, I associate ground beef and cheese with heartburn. I think when I was just a little kid, I ate tacos and then got a raging case of gastric reflux. Now, every time I see a taco, the rational part of me is like “you LIKE tacos, stupid” and the emotional part of me is going through some sort of post-traumatic stress-type event. Needless to say, I have mixed feelings about them, which is a shame, because I'm sure we could have had a beautiful relationship.

10. I’m pretty sure that we have a number of yet-to-be-discovered species of insects in our yard. As far as I can tell, the Amazon basin has NOTHING on our little 1.3 acre jungle. We don’t just have bugs. We have BUGZ. Holy god, you should see some of the things that come flying/scuttling/inching/crawling/slithering by. Spend 5 minutes in our yard, and you’ll have seen at least three bugs that make you doubt the existence of god. Truly horrifying. Oh, and that giant spider from Lord of the Rings? Yeah. She lives in the drainage pipe under our driveway. You’ve been warned.

One hour ‘till lunchtime.
Sweet.

Cake and Anger (but not related)

Day 3 of copy *click* paste [repeat] and I’m ready to blow my fucking brains out.

This morning, I had to file an official complaint with HR about the condescending emails that get sent out (marked as “high priority,” of course) on a daily goddamn basis, complete with pom-poms and “rah rah rahs” and I know you have a B.A. and are a relatively intelligent individual, but here…let me help you manage your time and give you a fun tidbit about today’s search results.

Infuriating.

Am I overreacting? Perhaps. But seeing as I have nothing better to do with my time, I might as well open an HR complaint and see if maybe, just maybe, the emails will stop and there can be one less thing in my life that is making me want to walk out of this building and never come back.

Moving on…

I’d once again, like to talk to you about cake.
Specifically, wedding cake.
MY wedding cake.

Because I may not have invitations mailed, a dress purchased, or a catering menu set, but LORD KNOWS I’ve already picked out a wedding cake.

It’s all about priorities.

Last night Brian, Crystal and I headed over to Classic Cake Co. to eat free cake…er…sample the cakes and decided on a design.

We decided on something like this:



Which, in my humble opinion, is pretty kick-ass and is GUARENTEED to taste 100% smack-yo-mamma good. I won’t say what’s inside, but I will say that if you like fudge, raspberry moose, and/or mocha buttercream you’ll be a happy camper come October 10th (if you’re invited, that is. And if your not? Don’t be upset - the guest list is paired down, to say the least).

What’s not so good though? The price that they quoted me at, which was exactly 100 dead babies
I kid, but that’s kind of what it felt like

Actually, it worked out to be $9 per person (plus delivery).
And I’m thinking that unless this cake is dipped in gold and covered in precious stones (or at least bedazzled), it’s not worth the price.

Call me crazy, but if my cake costs more than my caterer, official, and photographer combined, then something is wrong with this picture. Granted, thanks to wonderful friends, my caterer, official, and photographer are going to cost nearly nothing, but still – the proportions are way off.

I mean, I love me some cake, but I don’t love me some $9-per-slice cake.
Not even at my own wedding.

So we’re off to a second bakery on Thursday to see if we can’t just find a price that is a bit more reasonable.
...And maybe eat some free cake in the process…

The Middle Path

When it comes for food, I am a strict Buddhist. Turns out that the “Middle Path,” the Buddhist practice of non-extremism, is highly applicable to my daily dietary consumption (and life, in general, but that’s a whole ‘nother topic).

I find that balance is not only desirable when trying to incorporate the basic food groups (btw, there are 7 now – when I was a kid there were only 4), but also when consuming my “discretionary calories.” And yes, “discretionary calories” now appear on the food pyramid. My how times have changed…

I don’t diet. Never have, never will. It’s just not my style (hey, if I was into guilt and self-denial, I’d become a Catholic). But at the same time, I rarely eat whatever I want, whenever I want, with the exception of vacations and occasional bout of PMS, natch. For me, it’s easiest to eat “mostly” healthy “most” of the time. Granted, if there’s a cupcake in the office kitchen, I’m on it like stink on a monkey (or like a shark on a seal?). BUT, after eating the cupcake, I’ll make an extra effort to have a sensible dinner that’s low on the sugar and empty carbs and high on the protein and other nutrient-like substances.

And exercise? Always essential, not only to maintain my weight, but my emotional sanity as well.

For me, it just works. And I’m happy to say that while I am about 5 lbs heavier than I was a few years ago, overall, I’m pretty fit and trim (don’t hate on the ba-donk-a-donk).

BUT…
Like desire is to a Buddhist monk, process foods are to a Buddhist eater. The pure, unadulterated shit that they hide in processed foods is beyond unbelievable; it’s despicable. The amount of fat, sodium, and processed sugars that are hidden in supposedly “nutritious” foods is enough to make me want to scream (and I’m not even talking about the foods that are blatantly un-nutritious; those that are laden with so much crap that they’re practically poisonous).

Ever read the back of a Lean Cuisine? I did once, and I was so disgusted with the 9 grams of fat, 650 milligrams of sodium, and 18 grams of sugar (I’m not making this up) that I pointed it out to the woman next to me in a vain attempt to orchestrate an impromptu rebellion agains the man. (Sad to say, she was unaffected and bought the product anyway, dumb beeyatch).

Sometimes I ask myself, “How can these companies get away with marketing such blatantly un-nutritious food?”

And as far as I can tell, the answer is that most people just don’t know any better. Stating that a meal contains 650 milligrams of sodium is useless information to somebody who doesn’t understand that this represents about a third of your daily recommended intake.

What we need here is an "Eating for Dummies," and I am SO gonna write that bitch (as soon as I finish my novel, of which I have a whopping 7 pages written).

I came across this article today, and I was thrilled about the writer’s attempt to put the average person's sugar consumption in perspective:
“With about 8 teaspoons of added sugar, a regular 12-ounce soft drink will put most women over the recommended daily limit.”

I also like how they incorporate exercise into the equation:
“A man in his early 20s who walks more than three miles a day could consume about 288 calories, or about 18 teaspoons, of added sugar.”

The article is eye-opening (in my humble opinion), and I think it’s high time that the media make more of an effort to educate the average American on exactly what they’re putting into their own system.

Of course, being a dietary Buddhist, I don’t expect myself or anyone else to cut out sugar, salt, or fat entirely. After all, is life really worth living if we can’t enjoy baked goods? But I think that knowing exactly what we’re putting into our bodies and – hopefully – modifying future actions to compensate for these decisions, is a big step towards a healthier lifestyle.

As for me? You can still find me walking down the middle path, trying desperately to ignore the chocolate cake on the side of the road.

Going Postal in 3...2...1...

Oh, I KNOW I am not spending the next 5 work days coping and pasting medical information into an Excel Spreadsheet…
Because there is NO FREAKING WAY that I spent my hard-earned dollars on a college degree only to perform a task that any trained monkey (with a rudimentary grasp on the English language) could perform.

This?
Is me seething with rage and pent-up frustration.

Okay, I totally admit it:
I’m a snob.
I’m a writer-snob with an English degree and a disdain for menial tasks.
But isn’t that why I went to college in the first place? To ensure that I wouldn’t be stuck doing menial tasks for the rest of my life?

So somebody PLEASE explain to me why I’m going to be spending the next 36.25 work hours researching doctors on Google!

Not even half-a-day in to this project, and I’m seriously torn between falling asleep and wanting to punch myself in the face.

It’s like this:
Copy *click* paste (resist urge to punch self in face)
Copy *click* paste
Copy *click* paste
Copy *click* paste (catch self dozing off)
Copy *click* paste
Copy *click* paste (resist urge to punch self in face)

Etc….

And I know what you’re going to say.
You’re going to say that instead of complaining (once again), I should just be grateful that I even have a job, considering the current economic crisis.

But you know what?
I’m thinking that you need to shut your whore mouth.

Because if THIS is what my job is going to entail, I’d rather get laid off, collect some unemployment, and spend my days doing productive and/or relaxing than waste the better part of my waking life doing this shit-work.

The worst part is, I know I shouldn’t be writing about this, because if I know anything, it’s that information spreads, and possibly the worst thing you can do is air your work grievances online.
But you know what? I’m sick and fucking tired of not being challenged, not having enough work to do, and not utilizing my hard-earned skill sets.

This data entry?
Is just the icing on the cake that depression baked.

mmmm…cake.
(did I also mention that brainless busy work makes me hungry like a gutter child?)

And I won’t even mention, CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU about the obnoxious emails that get sent on a daily basis, summarizing everybody’s efforts with the most insulting, offensive tone imaginable.

Or maybe I can.

Observe:

*******************************************************

Impressive job today!!!!

2965 records completed (70% of total database) – an increase of 234 records completed from yesterday’s count; of those, 958 have e-mail addresses (23% of total database).

Please keep in mind that we have Business Communications training Tuesday and Wednesday of next week. We still need to hit our 5% each day, so this means that those of us who are not in class will have to work a little harder to get our 214 records those days.

The group effort has been terrific. Thanks, and keep it up.

PS – Have you been finding that you are learning “very interesting” facts about the docs you are researching? Kitty Kelley, the “author” of celebrity biographies, married one of the docs I was researching … Who says this research task isn’t fun????

***********************************************************

Where do I start with this email?
Do I start with the insinuation that everybody isn’t working hard already? Do I discuss the brown-nosing, cheerleader-esque tone that is taken ONLY because the company owner and VP are copied on each and every email (I can only hope they are filled with as much distain as I am upon reading these monstrosities)? Do I cite the horrendous “fun fact” that is enclosed at the bottom of each email? Do I even touch on the fact that our company is currently participating in Business Communications Training?!?!?!?

AARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So there you have it.
Rule # 1 of blogging: don’t talk about your job.
BROKEN.

Do I care?
Not really.

At this point, they should just be glad that I don’t own a semi-automatic.

A Conspirancy

The cleaning people are fucking with me.
I’m convinced.

It started when I tried to pick up my glass jar ‘o paper-clips sometime earlier this year.
It didn’t move.

I pulled harder.
No dice.

I huffed and puffed tried to pry that sucker off with all my might, until I feared that I’d break the glass and cut my hand (although I did consider the bright side of having to leave work early).

It was beyond stuck to my desk.

It stayed that way for the better part of 3 months. It became a novelty; a funny story spread around the office about how the cleaning people must have super-glued it to my desk.

And then, one day, after showing my novelty paper-clip holder to someone from the IT department and daring her to try to move it…

….she did.

And I was all, “well, I must have loosened it for you”
It was a good time, but it had come to an end.

And then the bag.
The same free shoulder bag, obtained at a medical conference, that has happily lived under my desk since March of 2008:

Two weeks ago?
The cleaning people tried to kill me with it.

The strap from the bag – the same strap that has been in the same position since March of 2008, was suddenly relocated in such a way as to grab the toe of my shoe as I tried to get up one day.

Guys, I seriously almost died
(thank god for my ninja-like reflexes).

The strap, that sumbitch, was violently replaced in a less dangerous location while I muttered “Jesus fucking Christ” and angrily kicked the bag.

But they weren’t finished with me.

Later that week, they threw out my cup.
Granted, it was a red solo cup, but I used it each and every day to take my lunchtime doxycycline.
So I replaced it, cursing the cleaning people under my breath because really, is that necessary?!?!
Yeah…they threw that cup out too.

At my wits end, I got a third cup, and taped a note to it:

PLEASE do not throw out
(and a smiley face for diplomacy)

The cup was there in the morning; I was victorious. But then…I think the cleaning people declared an all-out war.
I came to work last week and things on my desk were out of place.
Seriously out of place.
My screen and keyboard were pushed back, my papers were reshuffled, and my little chotchkeys – tiny representatives of the personality I once had before becoming a corporate zombie – were awry.

You see, a corporate environment is like a zoo, and our little cubicles, our enclosures, must be maintained in their current state, or we balk like gazelles at the first whiff of a predator. We encounter the smallest hint of rearrangement or disorder, and we lose our shit.

So I lost my shit.

An email to the proper individual ensured that this snaffoo would never happen again, but I was…for lack of a better term…all out of wack for the rest of the day.

And somewhere, a cleaning person is getting chewed out by his/her boss about an email sent from my company.

I dread to see what they have in store for me next.