Pee-rivacy

"The only time the world beats a path to your door is if you're in the bathroom." ~ Anonymous

Some days you wake up and you think the day is going to be awesome. Other days you wake up, step in cat vomit, and just know that it's only going downhill from there.

I was supposed to meet J for lunch at noon. When 12:20 rolled around and I was STILL stuck in my meeting, I texted him under the desk and told him to go ahead and order. Fifteen minutes later I drove like a banshee to the sandwich shop, only to find him still in line.

I motioned to him that I was going to make a pit stop and made my way through the crowded tables to the restroom. Now, instead of having a separate hall leading to the bathrooms, this place had a single men's door and a single women's door, right off the dining area. I knocked, entered and locked the door.

Sitting peacefully and wondering why I drank three sodas and a bottle of water this morning, the heavy door flew open. An older blonde lady -- apparently even more surprised than I was -- screamed bloody murder, causing everyone in the sub shop to look in our direction. Like a deer in headlights, I froze. After what seemed like an eternity, the door slammed shut.

Mortified, I finished my business, washed my hands and silently hoped a window would appear so that I could crawl my way out. No such luck. I opened the door to find the lady there. "Sweetie! I'm sorry but you should have locked the door!". I warned her that is was broken, as every eye in the place was stuck in our direction.

Even though it was colder than hell, I made J sit outside. Of course, he couldn't stop laughing. "It could have been worse", he joked, "at least you weren't taking a dump."

Way to see the positive, J.

Feeding Time

"Mother knows breast." ~ Author Unknown

I'm giving up on the template for this darn thing ... for now, anyway. I'm sad to say that I'm soo glad it's Monday -- this weekend was a complete doozy. J and I were at each other's throats for most of it, and nothing we had planned worked out quite as we'd hoped. Ohwell, we'll survive.

Because neither of us wanted to cook last night and it was already too late to eat anywhere decent, we found ourselves at Taco Cabana for dinner. Now, I'm a big fan of Taco C, but the people there never cease to amaze / entertain / scare the living crap out of / surprise me. Depends on the day. And last night was no exception.

Inside was freezing so we decided to sit on the small patio. J went inside to wait on the food, while I absentmindly began wiping dried guacamole off the table. Two young ladies -- maybe in their mid twenties -- were sitting at the next table. One had a boy about seven, the other had a baby in a carrier. I tried to drown out the boy's shouting by staring at the passing cars.

I heard one lady say something about feeding the baby. A few moments later I happened to look over, and noticed she was holding the baby against her with one arm and eating queso with the other. It took me a minute to realize that she wasn't holding a bottle for baby. She was breastfeeding. With no blanket. On the patio. While people were eating at tables all around them.

I must have had a sour look on my face when J came outside with the food. Thankfully, he blocked my view. I just couldn't believe it -- breastfeeding in a restaurant?? Sure, we were at a fast-food joint, but still. Have a little respect for those dining around you. Use a bottle, feed in the car, at least don't sit facing the door to the inside where everyone can see you.

Am I wrong to be disgusted?

Case of the Bulge

“A lady is one who never shows her underwear unintentionally.” ~ Lillian Day

I'm curled in my chair upstairs with a super warm Restoration Hardware blanket and my fuzzy slippers, trying to keep warm. One thing we've discovered about our new house is that it stays about as warm as a glacier in the Arctic Ocean, especially when it's 30 degrees outside like it is right now.

So J and I have been spending as much time upstairs as possible, following the whole "heat rises" theory. Mom even stocked us up on flannel sheets and fuzzy pjs for Christmas. Wonder if I can pawn those to help pay the gas bill?

I'm kind of dreading my Team run tomorrow night -- hopefully the wind and freezing rain will hold off for an hour. At least my Team run last Saturday was warm. And it had a slightly humorous start.

When the alarm went off at 5:45, I rolled out of bed, groggily made my way to the dryer to pull out some clean running pants, quickly dressed in the dark and hit the road. Hungry, I decided to stop at a gas station to get a Powerbar and some water.

As I was walking in the door I felt a bulge on my lower left leg. Irritated, I kept shaking my leg as I made my way to the Powerbars. I finally looked down to see a soft bulge sticking through my pant leg. What the hell? I grabbed a couple bottles of water and turned towards the front of the small store. Hands full of fake chocolate bars and bottled water, I gave my leg a final shake. And out flew a bright purple thong.

I guess it had gotten caught in my pant leg during the tumble in the dryer. I quickly sprang for the thong and -- not having any pockets or a purse -- relentlessly began shoving it back up my pant leg while trying to juggle my purchases. I caught the stare of the store clerk as I made my way to checkout. Judging by the size of her grin, I'm sure she was trying to decide whether I was a street hooker or just starting my walk of shame.

Blushing, I didn't bother to explain -- my mismatched outfit and raccoon eyes were sure to betray the truth. The plus side? At least I didn't have to dig for clean undies when I got home!

The Dress

"A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you." ~ Françoise Sagan

It only took Minxy two hours to find the wedding dress of her dreams, and it's absolutely beautiful. I asked if I could borrow it and retake my wedding photos ... I was only halfway joking ...

It took me nearly four pointless hours to find a darn cocktail dress for the party tonight, and I'm not nearly as happy with it. It should have been an easy task. After scouring Macy's, Nordstrom, White House / Black Market, and several other time-wasting stores, I settled for this little number (in black) from Express:

Luckily I already have shoes, otherwise I don't think I would have ever made it home last night. Lesson learned? Never wait until the last minute.

Hopefully J will like it ...

A Whiff of Unemployment

"A lot of fellows nowadays have a B.A., M.D., or Ph.D. Unfortunately, they don't have a J.O.B." ~ 'Fats' Domino

This morning I received a "corporate letter" e-mail from the President and CEO of the food & beverage company I work for, announcing a realignment and semi-massive layoff. In an attempt to "streamline our business," the company will potentially be sending nearly 300 packing at my office.

Our building will be closed Thursday and, instead of working, we're all supposed to meet one-on-one with designated managers to find out if we've been canned. We are to receive notices today with explicit instructions on what time our individual appointment is, where to park, and where to vomit as we exit the building. I really hope the mail guy is wearing a jock strap.

I can't believe it really. Sure, the economy majorly sucks right now. But I never thought a Fortune 500 company of this magnitude would ever layoff employees at the company's Headquarters. But who am I kidding? Of course we'd be the first to go. The factory workers and sales team bring in the real money. The "fluff" we do at Headquarters doesn't really count for much. I mean, who needs marketing? Eh, screw product innovation and consumer research. And HR? Or even capability & training -- the team I work for -- who needs that crap, right? (And yes, I'm being totally sarcastic here.)

*sigh* I need to get dressed, stop by the office and pick up my Notice. But, instead, I'm sitting here in my pjs with tear-stained cheeks, trying to delay the inevitable. I suppose I could always wait tables at TGI Fridays, wearing my 30 pieces of flair and striped shirt while singing "Happy Birthday" to gramps.

I wonder what the productivity level will be at the office today with the smell of unemployment lingering in the hallways?

Gas Pump Betrayal

“It's better to have beer in hand than gas in tank” ~ Anonymous

Lucky I awoke in a good mood today, otherwise this morning would have really sucked. I have a job where I normally work from home, but occasionally have to go into the office for meetings. Today was one of those days.

After struggling with my hair for what seemed like an eternity (and finally forcing it back into a stubby ponytail), I dressed and headed for the door, sidestepping kitty's fur ball in the hallway. I step outside and realize that my black tweed pants are actually brown. And I'm wearing a black button up shirt and black heels. Hmph.

I get in the car and the low fuel light glares at me. Damn. It takes 30 minutes to get to the office ... meeting starts at 10 o'clock ... and it's 9:20. I floor it to the gas station. I get out, scan my card, and reach for the gas pump to begin filling my car. Next thing I know gas is spraying everywhere. We're talking Old Faithful style. Not sure if it was a faulty pump, user error or just God's way of getting in a good laugh, but four letter words flew from my mouth as gas drenched my pants, splashed over the side of my car and began to form a pool under my back left tire.

I managed to control the pump enough to get five bucks actually in -- and not on -- my car before gas began to spew out of my tank. What the hell? I give up and return the pump to it's holder. I sadly watch as ten bucks drip off my car while paranoia sets in. Is my car going to catch fire when I start it? Am I going to die? A quick call to J assured me I wasn't going to burst into flames, but he said that I needed to tell the store employees.

I run into the gas station store and wait in line to tell Apu what happened. There's a young guy in front of me digging in his pockets for change. Upon closer inspection, I realize he's wearing pjs, an old bathrobe and slippers, and he's purchasing not one but two 24 oz cans of Natural Lite beer. At 9:30 in the morning.

He finally finds enough change, and I tell Apu about the sea of gas I created outside. I can't understand him and I wonder if he even understands me. He walks off and begins shouting. I can't tell if he's shouting because he's panicked, or shouting because he thinks if he talks louder, I'll understand him. Five minutes later he grunts and points to a man outside. I walk outside and tell Apu #2 what happened.

"Pump 15?" he asks.

"Yes, pump 15," I reply.

He begins to laugh and I'm not sure why. We walk over to the Sea of Gas and he shrugs his shoulders.

"Pump 15 is broken," he says.

"Broken? I didn't see a sign," I reply, frustrated.

"No sign, it's broken," he says. So now what? "Don't worry, I clean up with special powder."

"Fine, so I'm not going to burst into flames?" I seriously ask. He laughs again and shakes his head. What a waste. I get into my car and it's now 9:47. Damn. I floor it down the highway, getting high off the gasoline trapped in my clothes and shoes.

As I near the office, I glance to my left to see a black Oldsmobile barrelling down the wrong side of the road. Holy crap. There's a grassy median separating us, and I wonder if he realizes we're not in England and that he should be on my side of the road. I see him swerve around a couple of cars before losing sight of him at my turn.

By the time I circle the building and find a parking spot half a mile from the door, I'm twenty-eight minutes late for my meeting. Sweating, I sit down as quietly as possible. It wasn't long before someone asks, "Does anyone else smell gasoline?"

Perhaps the smell distracted from my mis-matched outfit. Perhaps I'll get a raise because I look (and smell) like a bum. Regardless, tomorrow I'm staying home in my pjs.