Monday, August 31, 2009

Big Brother Is Watching

No, I have not been on some luxurious vacation sipping mijitos and being fanned by a young Puerto Rican man in a speedo. It's not even necessarily writer's block that has kept me from my weekly blogging ritual. In fact, it's the dreaded day I knew eventually would come. The day my office, got smart and blocked the Internet. Oh the horror! How the heck am I suppose to get on with my daily routines and work procedures without being able to google the weird rash that has just popped up on my foot or knowing what Perez Hilton thinks about Britney Spears before I start processing people's payroll (joking).

All joking aside, yes my office has now blocked any and all decently fun Internet sites. Truly, I was not really an abuser of the Internet before this occurred. I would check my facebook once or twice daily as well as a few other things periodically throughout the day, but I actually have work to do during the day that required me to not devote my day to checking every one's facebook status to see who was eating what for lunch and why they hate their job, fifteen thousand bible verses, a few quotes from a book I probably said I read in high school and someone telling me about how much they love their husband. As riveting as every one's life and status is, I actually had work to do. Never the less, it was always nice around 2:30 in the afternoon to take a quick little 15 minute breather for mindless Internet searches. I would personally like to thank the guy who watched the entire Tiger Wood's golf tournament via his computer at work and was stupid enough to do it on the shared network which allowed all of IT and their mommas to see it. Now, dang it, people are actually having to earn the payroll I process.

I would catch you up on my life lately but it seems awfully narcissistic. As if, you really care how my casserole turned out tonight that I prepared for the kids and how sweet they were as they held their nose while they ate the side of green beans I have yet to master even though the directions are basically 1.) open the can 2.) put it in a pot 3.) heat and serve. I think I'm missing something because tonight it tasted like green rubber. Nor do you care that I had my very first cold sore in my life and I went and got a prescription filled for it and noticed the male pharmacist looking at my uncomfortably when I picked up my prescription. Unbeknown st to me at the time, (I learned this only after I googled the name of the prescription) the medicine was mainly used for Genital Herpes. Nice. My local pharmacist now thinks I'm infected with a STD--which I'm NOT people, let me just clarify that. Needless to say, the medicine did work and my cold sore went away allowing my vanity to once again sail full force.

other than that life is good. I will try to find the time to do a little more blogging and get back in the groove of playing my violins for my small audience behind the computer screen. Until next time...

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Flossing, yet another thing I prentend to do.

Flossing sounds so sophisticated. Only performed by those few in the select club of hygiene so outstanding, mere mortals could walk up to these elect and use their slimy tissues as an anti-bacterial wipe. You probably know at least one person that falls into this category. Someone who smells like wildflowers after working out rather than an old gym sock that was deep fried then left in a toilet for a few days. Well, I'm definitely the latter in the above scenario. As a matter of fact, my hygiene isn't really all that great, period. My feet stink so bad sometimes, I notice my dog starts sniffing his own butt to take away from my lingering stench. Being guilty at least once a week of forgetting to brush my teeth at night is just the beginning. My college girlfriends, as a term of endearment of course, like to refer to my smell after a nice work-out as "man b.o.".

My mother recently came up to visit and began to tell me of my brother who had disclosed horrific news to her; he had not been to the dentist in over 6 years. Well, I'm not too far from that nightmare of my mother's as well. When our life-long family dentist decided to retire, Jake and I decided to retire our twice a year cleaning ritual as well. Although, I have gone to the dentist once in the six years, this habit of hygiene my mother attempted to instill in her children has failed.

"Mom, I think I may even have a cavity", I said after I told her I hadn't been to the dentist in two years (reality is four).

"Oh, No!", a look of horror rushes over her face, "What makes you think that?".

"Well, a big piece of my tooth fell out", I reply, "Do you think that is a sign?".

Ever have those dreams where your teeth become really loose and begin to fall out? Well, my reality isn't too far from that dream. A piece of my tooth actually fell out. That's gotta be a bad sign.

You've gotta wonder how a dog does it. You know, keeps that nasty mouth of theirs so clean. Maybe Mark should throw me a raw-hide bone every night for me to lie on the floor and chew while watching the nightly news. Or maybe their is healing powers in licking your own bum. Either way, all I know it that Huck's breath smells like a garbage truck yet, his teeth are probably healthier than mine.

Don't hound me, I'll suck it up and spend the money to go to the dentist. (After I pay for my trip to Vegas, which of course trumps my oral health). I'm scared to death that they are going to have to put a filling in every one of my bank account certainly hopes not.

Friday, August 7, 2009

I wonder...

....if the douche bag executive with his bimbo secretary outside of my office's mirrored first floor window knows that I can see him fondling her tight rear with his gold banded left hand?

Thursday, August 6, 2009

My Mother

She arrived last night after a 5 hour drive from Houston. I was proud of her success in treking through downtown Dallas in rush hour during a severe thunderstorm warning. She smiled politely and held her tongue as she weaved around the boxes in my apartment that held the half of my possessions I decided I didn't feel like unpacking. Opening my refridgerator to see a grapefruit, strawberry yogurt, diet coke and a piece of cheese still didn't phase her positive outlook on my food, or lack there of. As she crawled into bed last night, she quickly swept off the tiny crumbs of dirty on the sheets from my dog's toenails and settled in comfortably.

Once upon a time, this would not have been my mother. The boxes would have been unloaded, sheets changed, dog washed and grocery shopping accomplished before we would have headed to bed. You see, my mom and I are quite different. She is a perfectionist; tidy is her middle name and she can do about a million things at one time. I, on the other hand, am...hmmm...what do you call it?? A MESS. I am a big fat mess that is blind to the cotton ball that missed the trash can or the diet coke can that has been sitting on my dresser for a week.

The dynamics in our relationship have slowly changed. She has evolved from care-taker to friend. Instead of fixing the mess I call my life, we enjoyed looking at our facebook pages and chatting about nothing. I love my mother and am excited for her visit and the fun we will have just spending some much needed and over due time together. All you have to do is give her a glass or two of wine and she's ready to party. Or as she says it, "Wooo, that glass of wine sure made me feel relaxed!"