The Annual Black Friday Post

I don’t care what time of year it is, when I’m paying $7.50 for a cup of coffee, I want what I want, and I want it however I ask for it. Do not raise your eyebrows at me little Miss Barista, when I politely tell you that I would like a venti, non-fat, no foam, almond, gingerbread latte, with two extra shots. This is America and I’m perversely self-entitled. It’s my prerogative. Much like my un-American boycott of Black Friday.

Clarification: Said boycott actually has less to do with the long reaching, economic predictor holiday arm than it does with an early life discovery that the bars are open and the bartenders are bored. Holiday spending and gift-giving probably does induce pre- and post-seasonal depression. I say it’s kinder to keep that to yourself. It’s a different kind of holiday giving.

I think the whole Black Friday tradition of beating the hell out of people for 24 to 72 hours in an effort to procure bargains completely defies logic. What sane individual willingly leaves their home in a state of post-Thanksgiving lethargy, to get into a moving vehicle, negotiate traffic, circle endlessly in search of up front parking (because we don’t want to burn off any excess calories by parking any distance from the destination), elbow other mannerless shoppers out of the way, and wait on endless lines all for the possibility of saving a few dollars, only to return home exhausted and further financially burdened?

NEWSFLASH PEOPLE: These same deals are available online and I haven’t paid for shipping in years. There’s a code for that…

I learned a long time ago that the whole of holiday shopping is something best done in the seclusion of my home office with a strong toddy. It’s been and will remain a perfect arrangement and my own personal holiday tradition.

If it’s the “spirit of the season” that forces you out of the house, I have an idea. Remember that bartender? Take your fancy phone with its fancy applications and park yourself on a stool in front of him… or her. Now you not only have the comfort of a chair and a cocktail, you also have a shopping mate. Believe me when I say, some of my best and most unusual gift ideas have come from bartenders. Not only do they know stuff, they know people. They’re a wealth of information, from who hates what newest electronic gadget and why; to all the reasons you might reconsider purchasing that diamond solitaire based on last weekend’s shenanigans.

Disclaimer: If you have reason to believe that I know you were planning that diamond purchase and are now wondering what I know that you don’t – it's purely coincidental. I don’t know anything about anyone. Move along, People. There’s no show here.

OK. That’s all I have on this. Drink and shop responsibly.

Random Thoughts IV

I haven’t done one of these in awhile so the timing seems right since I can’t think of anything else.

Here’s how it works… I sit here and stare at the blinking cursor for a bit.
I panic.
I pace.
I refill my coffee.
I change my shoes.
I change the music.
I repeat.

Eventually, a club soda bubble pops, the vodka escapes, and I’m off on a tangent of completely unrelated thoughts.

So. Let the cursor staring commence…
*cue elevator music*

Regarding My Day Job
I have to swipe my security badge five times to get to my desk. Five. Is that really necessary? We’re not curing cancer up in this piece.
That’s all I have on that…

Regarding My Night Job
*blink*
*reconsiders original thought*
And that’s all I have on that!

On Hot, Yet Stupid Men
So pretty… but really, what’s the point? While I’m on about that, shall we pause for a moment over “men” trying to be “boys?” It’s embarrassing.

Where AM I?
I was taking a fill-up at what is arguably the slowest gas pump in the Universe in what is without question one of the worst neighborhoods ever, when I looked up and saw a road sign across the street. Baltimore Left Lane; Philadelphia Right Lane. It struck me then; I really am in the middle of nowhere. Please send lipstick.

Here’s your dictionary…
Facebook is killing me.
You are judged by how you speak and how you write. I didn’t make this rule up. That’s just how it is. So if you feel compelled to be snarky, at least have the wherewithal to be grammatically correct about it. Then, and only then, is it funny and not just embarrassing for you. Along that same line, if you’re going to use foreign language words or colloquialisms, how about you Google what they mean first. That way when you respond to a comment – purely for example – using the word touché, you don’t confirm stupidity by using it so incredibly wrong, wrong, wrong. On the upside, the rest of us do appreciate the laugh, so there’s that.

Holidays and Exercise
Yes we should. No, we don’t. Please stop telling everyone you are when you so obviously are not.

Annual Evaluations
I’m hard at “work” on this ridiculous annual self-evaluation that campaigns as a “significant part of the determination regarding your bonus,” but in truth, is just pages and pages of bullshit someone wants to put in our “permanent file” since bonuses were determined months ago. Knowing this, and at the prompting of a manger-who-is-not-mine, my first attempt consisted of writing “I AM AWESOME” in every field. It was rejected. Clearly my manager didn’t see how well-rounded that submission was. So now I’m forced to shamelessly spell it out. *eyeroll* Self-promotion is not my thing… clearly.

Apparently there’s some weird expectation that am willing to use my powers for good today, so that’s all the randomness, kids. Hope you enjoyed the show. Go ride the rides.

All Saint's Eve

I only just realized that the entire month went by without a word from me.

I'd like to say it was because I'm knee deep in the book... and I suppose I could since that doesn't necessarily mean I'm working on it. But that's not the reason. I actually have no reason other than I've been boring myself senseless and I see no point in sharing the misery.

A couple of random thoughts...

I spent three hours yesterday cleaning my office after which I looked around and could see no appreciable difference. So I stopped and chalked it up to another misguided, childish endeavor.

I drank a large bottle of rosé wine on Sunday. Yes. I'm ashamed. Not because I enjoyed the whole thing. There's no shame in that. But because in my heart-of-hearts I know that the people who drink rosés, are the same people who drink zinfandels. But the bottle was beautiful.

Just because they make skinny jeans in your size, does not mean you will look presentable in them. Even I don't wear them, and I'm a small girl. Let's all give Old Navy a big round of applause for ensuring that those who shouldn't, do.

Is it just me, or does it seem like there are a lot of young women in their 20s getting pregnant without the benefit of a husband? This isn't new, and I'm not judging - not even a little bit. It's just an observation. The number has clearly grown over the past couple of years. I 'd be interested in the "why" of this. It's obvious that the rise in teenage pregnancy is directly influenced by the romanticism imparted by television. But what's up with these beginning-of-your-professional-career pregnancies? Maybe I'll go check some stats on this...

I think the point right-to-lifers are missing is that a woman's Right to Choose extends well beyond termination. What's next? Will we all be forced to wear our hair in a bob because it's too dangerous to perform our household duties otherwise? After all, we could be killed by the garbage disposal, so in passing that piece of legislation, they'd be saving a life! I wish the men on that side would think a bit harder about what they're supporting. It's not unreasonable to think some obviously right-winged Catholic group could declare that masturbation is abortion. That a million possible children were just expelled into a Kleenex tissue? I know, I know... there's no fetus and blah, blah, blah. It's the point, People! How about DUIs? Do we take away the liquor (again!) or do we take away the vehicles? See where we're headed...?

*pops off soapbox*

And lastly... a pre-holiday season reminder.

Ann Landers agrees it is incredibly déclassé to send out a family "Year in Review" letter with your holiday cards. It's self-congratulatory and ego-driven. So what if little Suzie had a solo in her oboe recital, Timmy got a blue ribbon at the science fair, or Mommy ran her first half-marathon and clinched her age group. I don't care. Really. I don't. Oh, you need to share stories around your charitable works, and expound on your volunteerism? Hey, I think it's great that you have all of that free time. But let's keep it in perspective. At the end of the day, you write these letters so other people will admire you. That's embarrassing...

That Bitch Called Karma

She's late.
According to my time estimate - she's very late. And we all know how I feel about tardiness.

*glare*

There are few things in the world more aggravating than taking the high road thinking, "it'll pay off this time," only to discover that "time" may force you back down to the road more frequently travelled by those whose company is no longer worthy of your time.

We've all done it; checked our moral compass and grabbed control of our inner-child, but still gotten pissed when the offensive he/she/it didn't get his/her/its comeuppance as quickly as we felt reasonable. I recently found myself laying in the bed thinking about this. Would it be worth it to bring the ridiculous jealousy and pettiness of others back into my life, solely to satisfy my need to be publicly acknowledged for being right - thus wrecking my serene new life surrounded by truth, love, laughter, and wine without the whine?

*cue soft lighting and piano instrumental*

Yeah. No sooner did I decide, then undecide, then redecide my next imaginary course of action, I found myself in an "other-person-instigated" conversation whereby I learned a very important lesson about Karma.

She's here.

She just happens to move a bit like a snake on the stalk. Slowly, methodically, quietly, imperceptibly. How excited am I to settle in with my Orville Reddenbacher's Ultimate Butter popcorn and watch the house of cards collapse!?! That was rhetorical, people...

Think what you may about how brattish and immature it is. Just keep your mitts out of my bowl.

Wednesday... Yep. That's the Title.

A couple of things occurred to me on my drive into work this morning.

First, I did not comb my crazy hair. This is only of interest (though to whom, I've no idea) because I feel like it's becoming a weird work day habit. Clearly, the only thing to do was to root around in my glove box while waiting for an errant school bus to pick-up one screaming child, then shove the rat's nest into what I believe to be a very fashionable "messy pony." I suppose a woman of a certain age should probably start giving more thought to how she looks when spending nine hours surrounded by technology geeks just proud to make it in wearing matching shoes... *snicker* It's problematic.

Profile: not my best angle.

I give passive-aggressive people the silent treatment... because it never stops being funny! 
*chortle*
*snort*
*spins in twirly chair*

Coffee should not have the same color density - or lack thereof - as tea. Good gawd, people! It's undrinkable and frankly, I don't know why you even bother. Save the prep time and go comb your hair.

"I cannot hear what you're saying, when who you are is screaming so loudly in my ear." I read that this morning and started to place it in a pointedly prominent online space. Then I didn't because the person who needs to hear it cannot possibly register anything except his own voice. And no, that snarky remark was not aimed at Mr. Man, for a change!

Lastly, I do entirely too many things I don't want to do because other people ask me to. I've never mastered the art of No Without Guilt. I suspect this is because my sibling's mother had no trouble whatsoever saying no. Might should consider maybe talking to my shrink about that... *shrug* Perhaps once he stops getting so rattled every time I say "fuck."

The One About School Starting

School started today. I know this because some jackass father in his Toyota Tundra literally tried to run me into oncoming traffic so he could “beat me” to the entrance of one of the many private schools I pass every day.

Asshole.
So I laid on the horn for about 300 yards, flipped him off as I passed, and hollered “see you tomorrow !”

I hate the “in school” year. For the next month every parent who is too afraid to allow their child to stand at the end of their own driveway – because there’s no such thing as a school bus stop anymore (shocking that kids are so fat) – will have forgotten what time they left the house five days a week for ten months during the last term, and make those of us with the sense not to have kids utterly miserable.

My summer drive is delightful, and clearly I’m bitter and resentful of its loss.

So, Dear Parents~

I’m so very sorry that your snotty-nosed, self-entitled, coddled brats are creating such havoc in your morning schedule that you’re forced to take your frustration out on everyone else on the road and will one day find yourself in a situation far worse than discovering that you’ve set your child up for failure by bestowing on him/her/it the idea that everyone deserves a ribbon, or trophy, or certificate and when they fail – and they will fail brilliantly – that YOU did this so you might as well settle in to the idea that you’re nothing more than a chauffeur and a wallet.

*takes breath*


Sincerely,

Peace.

I Yam...

I’ve spent quite a lot of time lately thinking about “stuff.” My father would have said “contemplating my navel” because there’s almost as much use in it. But still, I’m thinking… and thinking… and thinking…

Here’s something that keeps resurfacing:

*in best Popeye voice*
“I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam.”

There have been a lot people traipsing through my life over the past several months. Some new, some returning, a couple I borrowed just to see if it could be done… and I’m wondering, where is the common thread? These things don’t just “happen.” Why are they here? What do they want? And am I attracting them or is The Universe sending them to me? And if The Universe is sending them, why? Should I be getting something from them, or are they here to take something away for themselves? I hope it’s the former and not the latter because it’s been a deluge of people, People!

Of all the "traipsters" who meandered through, one in particular made quite the quiet impression. Not for any untoward wink-and-a-smile smarminess, or random stalking. No, it’s because he’s oddly “present” all the time – a feat this ADHD kid has never mastered and finds freakishly unsettling.

This cat is like a character from a movie, so clearly I’m fascinated! And skeptical...

*squints*

He is disarmingly open. Ask him any question – and the more personal it is the more interesting his response, I’ve found. He thinks, then looks at you in a way that makes you know you’re being seen, before delivering a simple, honest, “oh-my-gawd-I-would-never-say-that-out-loud” response. It’s cool. And weird.

Recently, a group of us were out for a drinks session. After what I would consider an appropriate number of cocktails, I made some comment about heading off to “my real life.” With a face quizzically scrunched up and arms spread wide he said, “this, all of this, is your real life.” Okay, I know it sounds stupid but that seriously tossed me so far off balance, I sloshed my martini.

Have I so compartmentalized things to maintain order that I cannot reconcile all of the parts?
Can I see only the shoes boxes, not the closet?

So there I was, driving home… and thinking, thinking, thinking. Is this whirling dervish life what I want? Or is it just what I’ve created and understand? Could I learn to be present? Between you and me, I lie about being present during yoga practice. And frankly, I also lie about it during meditation. It’s really not my fault. Focus is just not my strong suit (what does that even mean? Anyone?).

Do I want to be one of those people who lives in every moment? Because that seems like a lot of work.
Maybe.
In the right company.
With vodka.
And figs…