I am not a model citizen.
So there, it's out. I know you're surprised. Because really, I seem like I do everything right all the time. Follow all the rules.
Okay, so I'm a bad liar. Whatever.
I was thinking this morning, on my way to work- AM I IN MY LANE? AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DRIVING THIS DIRECTION??? And that minor freak-out reminded me that even when I'm okay, when I'm doing stuff right, I doubt myself.
But I doubt myself even more when I'm doing stuff wrong. Like when... I don't want to get into what I'm doing that isn't above-board. I want to keep a shiny, bright image going here for the most part.
Let's just say that sometimes, I fuck up. Often I do. Continuously. And I do give a shit that maybe it's negatively impacting my life.
But then, I do a lot of stuff right. Like I meet my deadlines at work and it's high quality stuff I'm producing. I get really excellent grades in school for an MBA program and I help my teammates with their work. I volunteer for an organization that I believe in. I call my grandmas at least every few weeks, just to say hi and let them know that they are loved.
At some point, I like to think that the good and bad- the right and wrong cancel each other out and I get to be just... neutral. Just regular. But then, I think- that can't be right. I need to be "good" and "pure" and... ?
But I don't think it's possible. I'm too set in my ways, too tempted by the notsogood side of things. Of myself. I think I'm screwed.
If only therapy could fix "screwed", I'd be all over it.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I am not a model citizen.
Monday, April 27, 2009
I've always been a picky eater. It drove my mom BANANAS when she had to cook for me and I'd refuse to eat whatever it was.
I was a natural vegetarian- never cared for any kind of meat that I could identify as having been an animal. Hot dogs and pepperoni were fine, chicken and steak was not. It was a total mental sickfest in my head when I tried to eat meat. Gross.
Mom was always having to feed my sister and I simple foods- my sister refused to eat anything that tasted weird and I refused to eat meat, squash, brussels sprouts, mushrooms, and any kind of squash. I still do. And she still does too. Funny how some things never change.
So, mom went shopping one time when I was about 4 or 5 and accidentally picked up some creamed corn instead of the regular stuff that we loved. She felt bad that she had gotten the wrong thing, but figured she'd still try to get us to eat it. She was a single mom, trying to raise 2 kids on a tiny income and it's all she could do to keep food on the table, much less go get another can of corn because we weren't interested in the one she already bought.
My sister and I saw the messy mush of corn on our plates and pitched a fit. My sister gave in and ate hers, but I couldn't do it. It was mushy. And looked gross. And the goddamned trusty cat was not waiting for my food droppings under the table this night (he was soooo fat from hanging out with me at the table!).
I sat. And stared at the hallway. And didn't eat my corn. Mom lost it a little and went off about how unappreciative I am and yeah. I was. And I wasn't eating her fucking creamed corn.
She got up and tried to feed it to me, in one of those frantic "WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS BRATTY ASSHOLE CHILD" moments. It wasn't happening- I was a bratty asshole child and would not open my mouth to eat the stupid creamed corn. So mom did what any frazzled and crazy mother would do- she shoved an entire spoonful up my nose.
Creamed corn. In my nostril.
I have no idea what happened after that- she probably felt like a jerk and washed me up and sent me to bed. And now, looking back, I can laugh about it. I can only imagine how pissed off she had to be to actually shove creamed corn up my nose. I hope I am not cursed with a child as assholey as I was.
Friday, April 24, 2009
I won GOLD in the darts tournament last night!
A gold medal!
My team of four really freaking competed hard. It was intense.
We had to play a game to get onto the score board, win it, then play the winning teams of other matches 4 times. Or 5 times. I don't count good.
The more Coors Lights I consumed, the more bullseyes I hit. Once, I even got 2 in one turn. That's 2 out of 3 darts hitting my target!
Ahhhh, I love winning.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tomorrow night, I'm competing for the 3rd year in a row in a corporate darts tournament.
My arm hurts like MURDER from practicing, hitting the bulls eye again and again. I've been getting better at it and have been using the Silver Bullet (coors light beer) as inspiration. It helps me to aim. And to talk mad shit to the competition.
I hope I don't totally fuck up and let my darts fly off in all directions during the competition. I've never won during this particular sporting event and don't necessarily expect to tomorrow. I mainly want to be sure not to embarrass the company that I work for.
Then, on Saturday, I'm competing in a grilled cheese competition. My roommate and I won 3rd place for a sammich last year and we expect to do even better this year.
I have butterflies in my stomach from the anticipation of this competition. I can't believe the butterflies found their way in through all the cheesey fatty goodness from all the taste test-testing and grill practicing I've been doing all week.
Eeeek! I need another trophy. Must. Win. Big. This. Week.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I called my friend Wendy yesterday to wish her a happy 4/20. I do this every year and have since the year we met. Even when we lived together, I called and left a message on the answering machine, wishing her a happy holiday.
Yesterday when she answered the phone, she didn't say hello. She said "DO NOT TELL ME you're calling to wish me a happy 4/20! You're still doing that? I can't believe you're still doing that!"
Yes, Wendy. I am.
And on the day following, for years, I'd wish her little sister-my other best friend-a happy 4/21. Wendy's sister Jenny has always been late for everything. She'd always want to smoke a bowl (of reefer) at exactly 4:20 in the afternoon, but she would consistently miss it by a minute. Just one minute!
So I started a tradition of wishing her a happy 4/21. We laughed so much about her trying and failing over and over to hit 4:20 on the dot. I'm not sure she ever did. She had a great time, making fun of herself for missing it by one minute, so I didn't feel the least bit guilty calling her year after year, the day after I called Wendy.
I wish I could call her today. I really liked that tradition. And I miss her laugh- I can almost hear it now.
Friday, April 17, 2009
I used to work for a completely insane, drugged up, brilliantly talented dog groomer named Dave.
My friend Billy worked for him first. Then, Billy went to jail for drugs and Dave was without an assistant. Billy knew I had just gotten canned from my job (I was late every day for a year and a half. Oops.) and told Dave that he should ask me if I wanted to replace him.
So there I am, sitting in my living room, smoking the reefer and wondering how I'm going to afford next month's rent when Dave walks in. Just waltzed right into my house and introduced himself.
I knew who he was through Billy, but we had never met.
It was kind of funny to me that he didn't knock or think to at least stop in the doorway for a quick "yoohoo" before strolling in, but it wasn't uncommon. My home was a welcoming place at the time. The door was never locked and I often found friends hanging out at my place when I returned from wherever I was. It's not like I had anything to steal when I was that young, in my first apartment.
Back to Dave- he told me that he needed me to come work for him. He'd train me and I could schedule grooming appointments around MY schedule- he was flexible. Wow, what a great deal! No job search. No filling out applications. No driving to work even- he was a few blocks away.
I ended up working for Dave at the Velvet bow for about 9 months. Over that time, he got more and more strange, but he still paid me and I learned a lot about dogs and grooming, so I didn't mind much. The benefits were great too- he'd leave a pipe full of reefer in the bathroom for me, with instructions to turn the fan on in there to smoke so customers wouldn't smell it. AND he'd always leave a 6-pack of beer in the fridge and encourage me to have some throughout the day.
Things started to fall apart between Dave and his very straight & narrow wife and he started to have trouble with the law- something about the sherrifs getting pissed at Dave for shooting his rifle on his acreage late at night. He liked to do target practice in the dark.
He stopped showing up to work when I had appointments booked for him and I certainly wasn't about to try the super fancy cuts that he did on the dogs I booked for him, so we lost a lot of customers and I wasn't making as much money, and I left. On good terms though, no hard feelings.
I guess he and his wife broke up and he continued to get weirder- he showed up at the bar where my sister worked about a year after I left. He was wearing a bathrobe and was rolling on the floor. They asked him to leave and he did, but not before inquiring about how I was doing. That was an awkward call from my sister for sure.
I drove by the Velvet Bow shop last time I was in town and saw that it's now a massage studio. I was kind of sad to see the old place go.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I'm pretty bummed today.
I have this thing- this medical thing that's not letting me do whatever I want all the time. See because my bones break- for no apparent reason. One day, I'm fine. The next- I'm limping and wondering what the hell went wrong.
I get MRIs, X-Rays, Nuclear bone scans, bone density scans, and all kinds of lab tests. Same thing every time- I currently have a fractured toe (that I deserved- I jumped over a wall), a fractured hip, and just found out yesterday that my ankle is fractured too.
It was definitely sore, but I didn't realize it was broke. Dang, so just when I thought that I was getting all healed up from the hip fracture, this one hits me. I miss skipping and jumping on my trampoline (with panties, thanks.) and most of all, DANCING.
See- the rest I could live without. I wouldn't even particularly be upset about not being able to skip around if I could still dance. But no- my ankle/hip/toe will have none of that.
I keep thinking I'd be much better off if I could be bubble wrapped and rolled around... but that wouldn't help with the dancing.
Anyhow, since I'm feeling all down and mopey today, I've decided to drink a corona (and by "a", I mean "6") with a lemon and chill this evening, make some kick-ass, soon to be award-winning grilled cheese, and forget about my self-pity for a few hours.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I used to have a completely insane co-worker.
She is a total slut and a stoner and prays before every meal, wears a cross around her neck, and goes to church on Sundays and Wednesday nights. Seriously- she's not just a little bit of a slut either- she used to bang co-workers in little empty offices at work. Just before she walked out to her car to smoke a bowl on her lunch break.
Now, I'm not saying that being a slut or a stoner is a bad thing. Not at all. It's just an odd thing for such a religious person. Aren't Christians supposed to be more pure than the rest of us?
She went to lunch with my friend and I one day. She had just returned from an extended medical leave- turns out she broke her leg while on a trampoline.
She tells us her story over enchiladas and iced tea:
I had just come home from church on a Sunday and I had a friend over, so we wanted to go and jump on the trampoline in the back yard. I was wearing a skirt for church, so I tossed on some daisy dukes and went out there. I wasn't wearing panties with the skirt and didn't even think to put them on with the shorts.
**I interject- No, I'd never wear panties to church!** She doesn't really notice the sarcasm and continues...
So I'm showing off my old cheerleading moves for my friend and I jump like 5 feet in the air and do the splits and I landed before I was ready for it. And my leg just snapped.
My friend called the paramedics and all these firemen show up - and it turns out I "Know" one of them, you "know"? So they want to straighten my leg out and they're trying to mess with it and I remembered that I hadn't shaved recently!
So I've got all this bush hanging out of my daisy dukes and all I could do was cover it up with my hands and ask for a blanket before they could go on with their work.
I guess the moral of this story is that you should always be prepared. If you're going to be wearing short shorts and no panties, do some grooming beforehand. And if you're going to be breaking your legs on trampolines, get to know your local emergency responders in advance. They'll probably treat you extra special.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just being "moody" or if people really are a bunch of fucking asshole cunt mother fuckers.
I think I'm moody for sure.
Today, I was really happy to be working from home. That way, I could yell out "WHY ME???" occasionally. This, in between trying to translate something like Klingon (IT people speak it) into 5th-grade English and stubbing my broke-ass toe on the stairs, coming up after a bathroom break.
Work is really difficult for me right now. More so than usual since I'm working with a bunch of new people and I'm doing it remotely for several weeks.
On the bright side, ... ?
Oh wait. On the bright side, I'm having a little dinner thing at my house on Thursday evening to introduce 2 of my friends- to each other. So that maybe they can leave my place and fall in love and live happily ever after. Or, at least get laid a few times.
Either way, I'm stuffing some chickens with bacon and giving their love connection a chance to grow. Is that gross? That sounds kind of awkward. I don't expect their love to grow IN the chickens...
Monday, April 06, 2009
This is Tabbie's brain on drugs.
Actually, I use mind-altering substances, but not right now. I am currently sober as a whistle. Clean- as a mop that hasn't been used yet.
Here's what's on my sober little mind right now:
I am addicted to horror movies and scary stories. I love freaking out while holding seances and playing Ouija. I have nightmares for weeks afterward and do it all over again. On my way to see a horror movie in a few minutes- it's no "Teen Wolf", but it should do.
Electronic cigarettes are pretty much the lamest thing ever. Besides nicotine gum.
I need better bras. I buy a lot of bras and am hardly ever happy with the look and feel of them. I have big, lovely boobs and they require more support than the cutesy bras at most stores can give them. I want cute, HUGE bras!
My dog is adorable. Very bad, but irresistably cute.
I wonder when I'm going to have to stop going to night clubs because I've become the creepy old broad getting her groove on. Maybe by the time that happens, there will be a night club near me that a bunch of other oldies go to as well. But will they know how to dance and get wickedly down on the dance floor?
Why would anyone want to date Bret Michaels? He wears more make-up than my trashiest cousin and he kisses chicks like he's sucking down spaghetti. The wide array of complete hookers he's been with is disgusting and he looks like a doofus with his do-rag and extensions.
I really like going camping in the summertime- to places with lots of shade, hot, private showers, and a fire pit. I want to go this year with someone who will put my tent up for me. And I want to have some peace and quiet and stare at the stars and drink far too much gin & tonic.
I have to go see that scary movie now. Eeek!
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Tonight after work, I went to my student's (I tutor a 7 year old) t-ball game. I've never been to a t-ball game before. It's kind of odd, how they play.
Anyhow, that's not the primary subject here. Let's talk cameltoe and awkward moments, k?
I'm sitting on the bench, rooting for the kiddos, and look up to view the most incredible cameltoe I've ever seen. The lady is wearing tight purple jeans, walking past the bleachers toward the bathroom.
I immediately update my Facebook status to reflect what I've just witnessed and I begin to plan my photo-snap to capture the amazing sight. I mean- EPIC cameltoe. Can't pass up the chance to share this, I think.
She exits the bathroom, on the way back to her chair on the other side of the t-ball field, and I position my iPhone just-so... it looks like I'm either texting or snapping pics of the field.
Just as she passes in front of me, I click. AND SHE STOPS DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF ME. SHE'S TALKING TO ME.
I think- ohfuckIjustgotcaughttakingpicsofhercameltoe.
But no- she asks: Do you work at (company I work at)?
Oh. Phew. I'm wearing a jacket with the company logo.
Yes, I say.
Oh! I work there too, she says. In (department that I know people in).
I say, so you work with (guy who runs her department)?
Yeah, she says. I'm his secretary.
Oh, I used to work with him...
Well, it's nice to meet you, I say.
She agrees and departs.
I release my breath and re-update my facebook status.
Mr. Grant Miller calls me a tease for not sharing the picture and Catherinette says she "likes this" status. My cousin laughs...
I looked at the picture with my student's mom and we realize the cameltoe was not captured, but you can see in the photo that she is coming directly AT me.
So here, I'm no tease and I totally planned on sharing this with y'all anyway. After all, you don't know her... Right?
*I can only imagine the kind of traffic that I'll get from keyword searches with a title like that.