I am NOT his girlfriend!

I have a male co-worker that spends countless unwelcomed hours in my office every week complaining and commenting on everything under the sun – his son’s baseball team, his middle son getting into the school they wanted, and work crap. For anonymity, let us call him “annoying guy”. For the most part, annoying guy is in and out quickly; I politely smile and nod at his stories and then he goes on his merry way. I consider this a win-win. Here lately, however, his stories are becoming more drawn out and frequent. I cannot tell you how many secret eye rolls I give this guy. In my head, I’m saying really, really bad things to him. I may or may not even be secretly flipping him off. When his presence becomes absolutely ridiculous, another co-worker with visual access to my office phones my husband with orders to save me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his number pop up on my caller ID. Yeah – I definitely owe that guy one. Or maybe ten.

I promise there is a point to this particular rambling. I will get to that now. At a party this weekend, I learned that I have become known as annoying guy’s girlfriend in our company. The example given to me was “So, does anyone know where annoying guy is?” “He’s probably in his girlfriend’s office again.” UGH!!  This makes my skin crawl! And this is what I get for being nice. My mission this week (and I definitely do choose to accept) is to make him feel completely unwelcomed so that he stays the heck out of my personal space. My strategy has been to not make eye contact, take bathroom breaks when he appears to be heading in my general direction (even if I have to go so often that people think I have the runs) and keep my radio turned up to a volume that is hard to talk over. Check, check, and check. So far today, I haven’t had to talk to him even once. Here’s hoping the rest of the week is just as successful so I can keep my secret flip offs to a minimum.

The Preschool Diva

I could save some serious cash on preschool this year. My four year old knows everything there is to know about, well, pretty much everything. To any statement you could possibly think up, her reply is "I know". She even borders on physic. For instance, we recently received a postcard in the mail from her new preschool teacher welcoming her and letting us know she was going to be in the dinosaur class. (Every classroom takes on a different animal theme and they learn about that animal throughout the year.) As I read it aloud with as much as enthusiasm as I could possibly muster - trust me, it was an impressive, rock solid performance - she nonchalantly replied, "I know". She also knows that shopping and/or ice cream always make you feel better, black goes with everything and boys are stinky. See? I told you. She knows EVERYTHING.

She's my strong willed child; the one I've named all my gray hairs after. She has been insisting on picking out her own clothes since before she was even potty trained and faces the world square on, holding absolutely nothing back. If your hair looks crazy or she doesn't like your outfit, you'll be the first to know. She is our constant reminder of my husband's late grandmother, the one who told me I had good birthing hips in our early dating years. (Oh yes... she did. She was also apparently right.) All of these qualities that sometime drive me crazy are also the reason I am totally in love with this little diva.

We have a few more weeks before she starts to school so I'm trying to mentally prepare. Hmmmmm... Perhaps I should warn her preschool teacher so she can do the same.

Time for a Change

:(



It used to be so easy to turn you on. I knew all the right buttons to push. These days, it seems to be nearly impossible. I’m not sure if you’ve changed or I’ve just forgotten how. When I am able to get you hot and bothered, you spit water at me. What’s that about?! You are ruining my clothes for Pete’s sake! I think it’s time to call it quits. We had a good time while it lasted but you have served your purpose. I’m ready to move on.

Can anyone recommend a good iron?

Product Review - Shampoo for the Golden Years

It all began at the drugstore when I was disappointed to realized my normal brand of shampoo was out of stock. (Yes, the drugstore. I'm cheap like that.) I was desperate and got lured by fancy jargon and promises of highlight activating ingredients. What can I say? It was a weak moment. The fluorescent lights fried my brain. Don't judge me - it happens. And so I picked up a matching set of John Freida Sheer Blonde shampoo and conditioner. Why not? I mean, I'm not technically even blonde but I do get blonde highlights in the summer. That counts, right?

My initial impression was that the shampoo didn't smell the best, but I continued on hoping it would grow on me. When I got to the conditioner, I snarled my nose. Dude... it stunk. Stunk! The smell reminded me of the aerosol can of perfume my grandmother used to buy at Big Lots. (Yes, aerosol. Was my grandmother the only one that wore that crap?) Totally not the way I want my hair to smell. And so, I neatly packed that junk away in the garbage can and promptly took my stinky haired self to the store to buy more shampoo. I give John Freida Sheer Blonde Shampoo and Conditioner two tumbs waaaaay down. This stuff should come with a warning label that you must be at least 65 to use it. I'm beginning to think I've developed a knack for finding stinky products.

Do I have to talk about this stuff?

On the way to the video store last night, my 12 year old son says to me, “Mom, I don’t understand what these are.” He’s pointing to a tampon stashed in the center console of my car. I think at this point I broke out in a cold sweat. “It’s a tampon that women use when they’re on their periods.” Saying this to him makes me cringe, but we’ve already had “the talk” and he’s been learning all of the facts on the matter at school. “I still don’t get it,” he says frowning. Ugh! Sometimes I’d prefer not to have THIS open of a relationship, but deep down I know it’s for the best so I muster up the courage to simply say, “When a woman is on her period, she bleeds.” OhMyGoodness did that just come out of my mouth?! I'm sweating more now. He frowns again; I can tell he’s thinking this one over very carefully. More frowning... more thinking; and then I see the light bulb go off as a look of total disgust comes across his face. “Ewwwwww! That’s disgusting!” he exclaims. You have no idea, son.

“Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No.”

Whew!

What happened to being nice?

Yesterday I came down with one of the worst bugs ever, thanks to my hubby. I know our marriage vows said in sickness and in health, but I’m pretty sure that didn’t mean to share the actual sickness. Every bone in my body ached, I was running a fever, sneezing, coughing… the works. Already behind at work, I drug myself out of bed (shedding a few tears in the process) threw on some clothes, pulled my hair in a pony tail and even managed to apply a little mascara. I looked in the mirror. What I saw wasn’t good, but it would just have to do. I just couldn’t bring myself to put forth any more effort than what I already had. What is the very first thing that was said to me as I walked through the door? “You look sick.” Well thank you, Captain Obvious. I heard a variation of that so many times that by yesterday afternoon I was ready to punch the next person with something smart to say about my appearance or well-being square in the face. But who was I kidding? I didn’t have the energy for that.

This morning, as I was getting ready, I vowed to make myself look at least well enough to nip the sick comments in the bud. I covered up what I could of the dark circles under my eyes and even curled my hair for Pete’s sake! Want to know the first comment I got? “You look tired.”

I freakin’ give up. If I’ve got to feel this bad and still come into work, the rest of you will just have to look at me. So there!

Security!!

Okay, I mean it this time. I’m going to blog again if it kills me. I’ve been MIA for a while. I don’t even know where to begin as to why. Our lives have unfortunately been full of hospitals, nursing homes, and funerals here lately. Not pertaining to anyone in our immediately little family of four, but close enough in relation that it’s hard to pick up and move on after the fact. But don’t worry, I’m not going to blog about that because it’s quite depressing and I’m through with sad stuff for a while. Today, I’m going to blog about the most wonderful hubby I’ve ever had. (Yes, I’ve only been married the one time, but I still think he’s pretty great.)

For Valentine’s Day this year, the plan was that there was no plan. We normally take a little weekend trip, but as I mentioned earlier, things have been a wee bit hectic and it just didn’t seem to be in the cards for us this time around. I came into work the Friday before Valentine’s Day expecting it to be just like any other day. As I turned the corner into my office, I saw a vase of roses, a box of chocolates, and a card. How romantic is that?! The card contained tickets to the symphony and reservations for a hotel room afterward. Woo Hoo! I was excited that I immediately started planning what to pack in my head.

The drive there was great! My husband drove and I read a book. (It’s the little things that make me happy. Can you tell?) It was freezing cold outside so a turtleneck sweater, pencil skirt and hooker boots was the closest thing to sexy that I cared to pull off for our evening’s date. Women were there dressed anywhere from evening gowns to jeans. Some were even down right scandalous in tube top mini dresses and bare legs. I had to wonder if those same women walked to the venue in the same frigid temps I did. I was feeling pretty comfortable since my attire fell somewhere in between the two extremes. As we were waiting to be seated, I noticed the lady in front of us. Perhaps I should say there was no way to miss the lady in front of us. She wore a one-shouldered black mini dress. Her hair was bleached blonde and came down to her waist (extensions I’m assuming) and she had it curled and pulled into a low side pony tail. As she turned around, I noticed she was at least 20 years her date’s junior and I hate to sound petty, but I’m guessing he was rich because they just didn’t quite match, if you know what I mean. She was eyeballing my date but I can’t say that I blame her. He’s a pretty good piece of eye candy if I do say so myself.

The symphony was wonderful. The only downfall was that I was seated next to a young woman who insisted on running her fingernails down the length of a strand of her hair over and over. Hubby suggested I simply ignore it but it literally had the same effect on me as nails on a chalkboard. Despite the fact that I kept giving her the stink eye, she continued to push me to the brink of insanity until after intermission when I swapped seats with my good looking date to let him endure the madness for a while. He didn’t find it so easy to ignore her once he was in my shoes, or rather my seat. Ha!

When we got back to the hotel, we were both hungry but didn’t feel like fighting the young, partying crowd that lingered outside. Instead, we ordered pizza and hubby went down to the lobby to pick it up. As he watched out the door for the delivery, he opened the door for several guests returning to their rooms. (He really goes overboard with the southern hospitality sometimes.) One of the times he did so, three inebriated middle aged walked inside. Hubby said something like “welcome back” and their only reply was “thanks”. A few minutes later, the front desk received a call concerned because when the women arrived to their room to find the door ajar. They requested someone from security come check things out. An elderly man promptly answered the call and returned a few minutes later laughing. Apparently, the women thought my husband was security and made up the whole story so he could come upstairs. I have to give them an 'A' for effort on that one but I do have to wonder what they were going to do with him once he got there…

I’m thinking he may need full supervision from now on.