Creepy Poopers

You know the type.  You’ve gone into the restroom to see a man about a horse, and it appears empty.  THANK GOD.  [The only thing more nerve-racking than trying to use public facilities is trying to use them when someone is sitting right next door, breathing, grunting, maybe talking on the phone.  I HAVE THINGS TO DO WHICH REQUIRE PRIVACY.  I like, if at all possible, for this to be “alone time”.  This is my preference for any time I use the restroom, onsies or twosies, but it’s a requirement for twosies.*  Don’t get me started on those who go to the bathroom with the door open, or in front of their significant others.  ARE YOU HIGH?!]  Anyway, you’ve happily settled down to begin your task at hand- maybe you’re even halfway through – when you hear a faint noise.  It’s the slight movement, the subtle rustling of the creepy pooper.  This person has been silent the whole time, pretending not to be there- a ghost.  But they’ve shown their hand with their quiet exhalation, their slight repositioning of their foot.  You are not alone.  You initially were lulled into a false sense of confidence of your solitude, but nay!  They have pooped on your parade. 

Now, the battle ensues – who will be the victor?  You, or CP?  The risk of exiting simultaneously and having an awkward encounter with your nemesis while you both silently wash your hands is too great.  You’ll both know, of the other: it was you.  No way- not on my watch, motherfucker.  You have a gamble – hurry up and finish (if you even can now, for God’s sake) before CP exits the stall to wash their hands, or wait it out.  Only one can win this game.  How long will it be?  There is only one answer: too long.  CP needs to vaminos- they’ve already been in there long enough for you to not notice their presence when you performed your facility pre-inspection.  They are already on borrowed time.  GTFO, McPooper!  I don’t have time for these shenanigans- we are at work.  I have work to do.  I didn’t sign on for this little game.  Your allotted time in this restroom has expired.  If you want to nap, go to your car or crawl under your desk.  YOU ARE MAKING ME INSANE.

I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if this tomfoolery persists.



*You’re probably thinking, ”Why not hold it?  I haven’t gone twosies in a public restroom since 1992.”  Well, congratufuckinglations on your asshole being tighter than a Chinese finger-trap.  I’m a little jealous that you can plan things so well, because unfortunately, when I have to go, I have to go.  I prefer the sanctuary of my own abode, of course, but when nature calls, I pick up the gawddamn phone.

So long and farewell.

It was the longest committed relationship I’ve ever been in – 8 years, 5 months.  And it was over in a flash.  We had good times; we had rough times.  But in the worst of times, I never stopped loving you.  I loved you from the moment I saw you, and we fit, perfectly.  Were you perfect? No. Was I? Of course not.  But together? Together, baby, we were magic. 

The night you left, I almost cried.  I thought I saw you around town a few days later, and I got really excited, but it turned out to be a false sighting; it made me a sad panda.  I have your new number, know your new place, but I promised myself I wouldn’t call.  I couldn’t be…that girl.  I can’t live in the past!  Everything has its season, its time.  I know it’s better that we parted ways now, before things turned, before they got…unpleasant.  We parted ways with love, and I know that’s good.

So here’s to the memories, toots.  We put on a hell of a show.  I hope your new girl loves you as much as I did- you deserve it.  I pray that I’ll find another, somehow, someday, that makes me as happy as you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DEAD SEXY. You wish you cleaned up this nicely.

 

I have a ferocious hood scoop, AND sometimes I float.
These are some of my many talents.

The Firmest Bottom and the Occasional-Nemesis

I'm but a few short weeks in to my new job, and I already have an occasional-nemesis in the office.  This was a difficult revelation to accept, as those that know me will vouch, I am a team player and get along with just about everyone and dislike very few.  Enter Occasional-Nemesis (O.N.), stage left.  Sometimes she is nice and helpful, other times she's aggressive and condescending.  Sometimes she seems to get defensive about truly strange things.  The other day, for instance, we had a "working lunch"* and she brought the food to me.  The food was late and our meeting was over and I was told I was going to have to eat in the car**.  There were no napkins in the bag, and no paper towels in the "kitchen".  

AF: "Hi, Occasional Nemesis!  Did the restaurant happen to give you any napkins?"

ON: "Yes, they're in the bag.  I saw them." (said in a defensive, I-did-my-job-right-this-isn't-my-problem way)

AF: "Oh, okay.  I didn't see any in there."
ON: "Well, then maybe they didn't give us any." (said in a You-are-wasting-my-time voice)
AF: "Okay."

Now, either of her responses would have been acceptable and fine, except for the fact that she used both and they are totally contradictory.  You can't have seen something that was never there, correct?  And why am I being treated like an asshole for asking about napkins?  If you had a pesto chicken sandwich you were going to eat in the car, you'd probably want a napkin, too.  The whole wipe-your-hands-on-your-pants thing wasn't even an option, as I was going to be representing the company somewhere, and had to return to work, as well.  Believe me, I thought about it. 

Another example, you say?  Yesterday, I ordered my own lunch from the downstairs restaurant, and at a separate, later time, ON ordered and picked up food for the Big Boss.  I ate my food, at my desk, at least an hour before the Big Boss (BB) was done with his meeting.  It turns out that his order was not correct.  So, a logical assumption would be that the restaurant had accidentally handed her the wrong order, or wrote down his order incorrectly, in the first place.  Occasional-Nemesis proceeds to ask me if I ate the wrong food.  Because most people will eat whatever is in the bag, I guess.  "It's a gamble, what ends up in the bag,  ya hear?  Ya eats what ya gets in this part o' town!"- Cowboy style.  Or maybe it's an intimidation thing.  "Your order is wrong?  You don't even wanna mess with the Beverly Hills Cafe, yo.  Betta pack yo nine, beeyotch!"- Gangsta style.  In order to get the wrong order, I would have had to A) Tell a wrong name when I picked up my phone-order, B) Get my food and wait until later on when ON got BB's food, and then switched bags...real stealth-like, or C) Just been in such reverie that I had food that I did not notice I was eating something entirely different than what I ordered.  I'm concerned she either thinks I'm stupid or crazy or THE most laid back person in the world, totally content to take anything that comes my way, with no complaints.  None of these descriptions are entirely accurate.

I know these are petty examples, but this type of thing happens quite regularly.  It's like we don't understand one another, at all.  It's not all bad, though.  Today, to my delight, she used the expression, "That's like farting with your pants on." Which is pretty much exactly what it's like.  Whatever "it" is.

*Lunch is a truly sacred time for me.  This is the time where I get the hell away from everyone I work with and relax, and forget that I'm cooped up in a building for at least eight hours a day.  If I don't leave, I feel like a ticking time-bomb, living on a prayer that I don't explode and start running around the office, shoving everything off of peoples' desks all while screaming, "None of this is real!! What are we doooooooiiinnngggg??", out-running co-workers towards the Xerox machine, where I'll photocopy my bare ass and pin the masterpiece to the wall, and only respond to questions with "Fart you very much." 

**I wasn't actually told to eat in the car, but the options were either that or not eat lunch that day at all. (insert incredulous, you-must-be-joking scoff here)  I don't skip meals.  This is America. 

I won't bother your pussy, if you don't bother mine.

Yesterday was rough.

My cousin's Pit Bull, whom I am baby-sitting, accidentally bit me yesterday.  I don't feel it was personal, but it pissed me off a little bit, to be honest.  I took her for a walk, our first walk together, and we conveniently timed our walk to be when every child in the neighborhood was playing basketball, people were riding bikes, cats were sun-bathing in the driveways, men were walking their Chihuahuas and other men were walking their multiple Pit Bulls.  She went ape-shit, barking and lunging, and I got a little too close and she bark-bit me.  No blood, but torn skin.  My cat has injured me worse, but still.  An ape-shit Pit Bull is a scary thing.  I know I'm being a little bit of a baby, but watching a loving, sweet dog turn in an instant into something that acts insane is eye-opening.  I was so anxious the whole walk, praying we'd see nothing else and hoping I could control her.  It wasn't fun.  I get to walk her, at least twice a day, for the next few days.  Awesome.

Skip to: after a lovely dinner in Venice with my handsome boyfriend and good friend Kit-Cat, we began walking towards the car.  My phone started making noise, so I stopped walking to get my phone out of my purse.  While rifling through my purse I noticed an adorable cat standing a few feet away, behind a fence, and because I am a girl and a cat-lover, I squealed slightly and started talking to the cat and telling it how cute it was.  My friend jokingly asked, "Are you going to take it home with you?" and all hell broke loose.  An elderly woman I had not previously noticed sitting nearby, who may or may not have been homeless or living out of a nearby car, snarled at me: "Well you can't have it, you dumb bitch!" Whoa!  She then proceeded to rant and tell us that we need to find our own cat, we think we can just take whatever we want, it doesn't matter who it belongs to, and everything is fine, but we can't, and we can't take away her pride or dignity either, and that's something she has and we wouldn't know anything about, "motherfuckers".  She also yelled at length about me being born with a silver spoon in my pussy.  Whoa!  Maybe somebody did her wrong at some point, but all I did was compliment a cat, for fuck's sake! 

The real issue, I think, here, is that her speculating or making audacious claims about my pussy is without a doubt, totally out of line.  The condition of said pussy is a private matter and quite frankly, not open for discussion.*  I don't even know her.  And now I'm not sure I want to, with that kind of attitude.  She wouldn't even listen when I told her we meant no offense, and wished her a good day.  She was utterly unreasonable. 




*Just FYI, I wasn't born with a silver spoon anywhere.  Or a silver spork.

Mama, I'm coming home!

So, it's been a while...I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting...But I'm here now.

It's Britney, bitch.

<So, that was a reference only about three people are going to get.  But I'm one of those three, so I'm happy about it.  The point, though, of this rambling post, is to say WE'RE GETTING THE BAND BACK TOGETHER, Y'ALL!!  And by "we" I mean "I" and by "band" I mean "blog" and by "y'all" I mean the four people that read this blog.  I am one of those four, so I'm happy about it.

I had a not-so-brief hiatus, and I do hope you'll kindly forgive the absense.  What I did during this off-time is a tale of intrigue, woven with heartache and triumph.  My life was touched in some way, during this time, by unemployment, multiple moves, sickness and recovery, rehab, jail, births, deaths, weddings, and travel.  Some things happened to me personally, some things happened to loved ones, and all affected me in some way. 

I am now in a place where I feel creative (enough) to post again.  And I'm happy about that!

So here's to the ride, ladies and gentlefucks!  Start your engines!