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My bags are packed (more than 20 minutes before I'm scheduled to leave, can you believe it?), I've finally purchased some presents, I've acquired three bottles of wine, I've secured a case of Winter Lager and I've found my fat pants. Yep, I'm ready. Bring on the festivities.
Let me share with you a few wonderful holiday thoughts from the world of Who in the Hell is Eddie.
"There better be some of that beer left for Christmas morning!""Feliz Naviblah. ... In American that means Christmas in Mexican."Even though you won't get the pleasure of sharing it with Elvis like myself, I hope you all have fabulous festivities and may all your holiday wishes come true! :-)
December 19th and all through the house not a present was bought. Nothing. Nada. Nil. All the creatures of the house were stirring; stirring with a "holy shit, I only have four days to do this!" fear. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, but not even a lump of coal for St. Nick to find when he was there. There were no children snug in their beds (mostly because I have none), no visions of sugar plums dancing in my head and certainly no settling down for a long winter's nap. For I have not purchased one damn present. Did you hear me? It's December 19th and I have not purchased one damn present! Who Does That?
Picture it; Springfield, Saturday night, Buffalo Wild Wings, friends are hanging out, watching basketball, playing video poker, the beer is flowing, the shots are making their rounds, the mood is light, the laugh factor is high, times are good.
Suddenly the conversation amongst the three women turns to sex. It is discovered that one of these women does not currently own, nor has she ever owned, a much needed piece of property in every single gal’s life; the vibrator. Much to the dismay of the other two women she goes on to explain that while she enjoys sex, she has always been too embarrassed and shy to make the purchase. Well, this revelation does not sit well with the non shy women. They know of the vibrator and its wonderment. They insist this simply must not go on and demand to take their friend shopping the next morning for her very first little friend.
The next morning comes and shy woman is overly excited. She texts messages her friend at 10:00 and says “Are you up and ready yet? I am”. Now her friend wants to make sure she discovers the pleasure, but she also loves her hangover sleep. Nevertheless, she rolls out of bed and meets her friend to eat some lunch then hit the vibrator store.
Good thing she agreed to go along, too. Not only was the vibrator virgin scared and embarrassed, but she was also bad with decisions. She was picking up stuff that was too small, not waterproof, had scary animals on it, too hard, etc. However, after a good forty-five minutes she finally made a decent purchase; a nice, tame, starter, not too much, waterproof number. The store even included batteries. How nice of them.
Now, I cannot name names but after all that fretting I hear that she now demands more power. Sounds like she should have been introduced a long time ago.Moral of the story: Never deny yourself the pleasure of the vibrator.
*Gets up from desk, walks to office white board, uncaps red Dry Erase marker, groans at co-worker making deliberately loud noises while laughing, writes on board.*
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
*Replaces cap on marker, returns to desk, groans at co-worker again, pops two more Extra Strength Tylenol, lays head on desk while co-worker points and laughs, gives co-worker the finger.*
I'm only as strong as the cocktails I drink, the hairspray I use, and the girlfriends I have.
Tonight begins the three day bon voyage extravaganza for a very dear friend. We've been through everything together. We've survived junior high, high school, broken engagements, hosting parties, close friends being sent off to the military, Bob Ross type activities, snakes getting loose from their cages during Bob Ross type activities and me freaking the hell out about it, cheating boyfriends, being forced to do shots of cheap tequila from measuring cups because we didn't have shot glasses, college, the tragic death of a dear sweet friend, falling off coolers while attempting to dance on them, the horrors of a first skinny dipping experience and even an unplanned pregnancy that turned out to be the greatest thing ever to happen to my friend.
She is moving away to be with her future husband. I'm so happy for her, but I will miss her deeply. We'll still talk and see each other quite often, as she must bring her daughter down to see her daddy, but it won't be the same.
So, here's to you Ms. Best Times of Dana's Lifer. See you tonight at ladies night. ;)
"If you love someone you say it, you say it right then, out loud. Otherwise the moment just...passes you by." ~ Dermot Mulroney as Michael O'Neal in My Best Friend's Wedding
Why is it that saying those three little, but all important, words is such a scary prospect? I'm told it's the fear of not hearing them in return. No, I'm not told that; I know that to be true. But, for some reason, that's exactly what I did to someone who means the world to me last night. I feel awful. Not because I don't have the same feelings, but because I do have the same feelings and just freaked out. I was completely taken aback that someone so wonderful would desire to say that to me. I smiled, I told him how unbelievably happy he makes me everyday, I told him how I can't get through the day without hearing his voice, I even cried a few tears of happiness and I smiled some more. But I never said it back!
What is wrong with you, Hera? He's not the past. He's not the two men who hurt you beyond belief. He's not the reason you have built a giant brick wall around your heart; he's the person who has brought that wall crashing down. He's the reason you can't stop smiling every minute of every day. He's the person who makes you feel like you're all that matters; you're his world. He's the person who lets you talk about random nothingness, and finds humor in it. He's the person who leaves you short, and completely sweet, messages just to let you know he's thinking about you. He's the person who puts your happiness before his own. He's the person who gives you reason to get out of bed every morning. What is wrong with you, Dana? You love him too, so why didn't you say it back?
To the light of my days....
You mean everything to me. You bring me more happiness than I ever thought possible. Everyday I find myself asking if I dreamed you up, but much to my delight, you are indeed real. My days don't start until you say good morning and they can't end until you say goodnight. I love you, too. And I can't wait until I can say that in person.
Oh my avid readers (I think you exist), I apologize for the weeklong absence of blog entries. It has been a crazy week; everything from insane amounts of work to the flu to the sudden and unexpected passing of a dear friend of the family.
I heard from the potential job and the news was not what I had hoped. For those of you not in the know, it was not so much of a job but more of an internship with a AAA baseball team. In the end, I am actually somewhat flattered by the "too much experience, it's a bit beneath you" reason. I half expected that, but you never know until you try right? What's meant to be will be and I am now shifting my thoughts to other possibilities. The only thing I know for sure is that I am unhappy with the opportunities here and am in dire need of a change in scenery. Where? I'm not sure. I'm not even sure it matters. There's this awesome wall map in the room next to my office; I'm beginning to like the idea of just tossing a dart at the map and moving wherever it lands.
Thank you all again for your well wishes and I'm sure I'll be asking you again when the next interview comes along. And I promise the next blog entry will not be over a week away.
I don't get serious around here very often (if ever), but today is one of those times I feel it is necessary. So please bear with me.
Today, December 1, is World AIDS Day.
Sadly, my family and I know the misery of HIV/AIDS all too well. One of my favorite uncles was afflicted with the disease. He made it almost 17 years after his diagnosis. It was beyond great to have him around for that much longer, but at the same time it was very painful. The last six years of his life were in the AIDS stage, and they were spent not living, but surviving. It was hands down the worst thing I have ever witnessed. I hope that none of you ever have to watch someone you love and care for slowly wilt away, knowing there is absolutely nothing you, or anyone else, can do.
One of the most disheartening things I have noticed is the complacency our society seems to have developed to such a horrific epidemic. With that, I challenge you (almost beg of you) to educate yourself. If you are educated, then pass the information and challenge along to someone who might not be educated. If you're so inclined, please donate some time or money to an organization or two. Wear a red ribbon, get tested, simply talk about it, do something, do anything; it might make more difference than you could ever imagine.
Note: Sorry for going a little old school on you this time, but I recounted this story over the weekend and decided it would make a perfect Who Does That entry.A few years ago, a very intriguing man asked if he could take me out on a date. Now I usually have a severe aversion to the pretty boy, but he made me laugh every time we hung out so I thought why not. I said to myself "Dana, why not give this arm candy thing a try? You know he makes you laugh and at the very least it's just dinner and a movie. Put aside his abnormal need to have every hair perfectly gelled and go. Besides a girl's got to eat and what better way than being treated to dinner by someone so easy on the eyes". Gawd was I ever wrong. The night of the big date rolled around and, like any good woman, I spent at least an hour getting all dolled up. I put on my best sexy jeans, tight little sweater cut just low enough to be sexy but still leaving a little to the imagination (my momma taught me well) and some damn fine heels. Despite the expected first date jitters, at least I was looking good. This is every woman's first date duty, right? Just as it's the man's first date duty to have some chivalry, right? 7:30 rolls around; it's go time. Surprisingly I'm ready to go. (Shock, I know). Now one detail you should know is that this happened to be over Christmas break when I was home from college. That meant I was staying at my parents house. He knew I was staying at my parent’s house. He knew my parents were there. Yet, for some reason, when he got there he just honked! Oh no, I'm not lying. Not only did he not bother to open the door for me, but he never even got out of the truck. He fucking honked! Here's what worse, despite my dad yelling "Who does that little fucker think he is pulling up here to take my daughter out and just honking?", I actually walked out the door and went on this date. A big Who Does That to me, huh? I was still in my very early 20s, not so much of an independent woman days though. If some man tried that today I would still walk out that door, but just long enough to walk past his truck, stop and remind him what he could have had if only he’d have had a little couth about him. Then I would continue on to a night on the town with my girls. But I digress. After I got in the truck, that so rudely honked for me to come out and play, we went out to dinner. Now dinner was alright; even with his constant checking out his hair in the reflection on the picture frame above the table. (UGH, pretty boys. I didn't even do that). There was good conversation and he made me laugh, so I thought I could put the honking incident behind me. That was until the check came. No, he didn't make me pay. Actually, I could have dealt with that better. He pulled out a buy one get one half off coupon. What kind of cheap ass thing to do is that? If you don't want to pay for my dinner, just tell me. I can afford my own chicken strips at TGI Friday's thank you very much. (Choice of restaurants should have been another tell, I know). I know you're thinking it can't get worse, but it does. First of all, because I allowed the date to continue. Secondly, because his idea of an interim dinner and movie activity was to stop at a dealership and look at trucks. Thirdly, because after I stuck it out through the random truck shopping he wouldn't let me pick the movie. Lastly, because he paid for the movie with a gift certificate. Now don't get me wrong, I am by no means saying that a man should have to pay for everything all the time. But he was the one who asked if "he could take me out". Even if he doesn't understand the whoever asks pays concept, all he would have had to do was say let's go dutch, and it would have been perfectly fine. Paying with coupons and gift certificates is certainly not a way to make a girl feel special. If he was broke, but still didn't want me to have to pay, he could have been way more discreet about the coupons. Just flaunting them out there, felt a little like he was saying, "Listen woman, I want to get in your pants but am not willing to make any effort to do that". I sure as hell didn't spend over an hour having my Barbie makeover just to be treated like one of his buddies. His lack of effort certainly got him nothing. Not even a second date. Who does that?
As far as I can tell, the interview went well. I'm not sure you can really call it an interview though. It was more of a meet and greet than an interview. They said they had already asked me everything they wanted to on the phone, and just wanted the opportunity to meet me. That was weird; I'm so not used to that. Basically, the whole thing lasted about 30 minutes; they just talked for about 10 minutes about some of the details of one department (although, more time was devoted to Thanksgiving than the job details) then they took me on a 20 minute tour of the facilities. A few times they said things like "this is where you'd be doing this if you were here" and it felt more like they were selling it instead of me selling myself. So I left feeling pretty good about it, but then I had a long ass drive home by myself to second guess everything. You know how too much thinking time goes. They said I'll know by the end of the week. So here's to hoping.Thank you again to everyone for your well wishes. It's meant a lot.
T minus 6 days, 14 hours and 13 minutes.
That is the official countdown to the big in person interview that follows my successful phone interview. I want this so bad! I am so nervous! Although, there have been a couple positive signs over the last few days. They called last Thursday and said (paraphrased, as I've slept and drank since then), "We've bascially narrowed it down and are now just looking to see where everyone would fit the best". I saw another sign today when I noticed the posting is no longer on their website. (They didn't just take the front page link down, the whole thing is gone). So with my interview still set for Monday at 9:30, I'll take that as a very positive, finalist type sign.
Having said all of that, I'm still not getting my hopes up. I want the rejection blow to be as soft as possible, so I'll continue to think there's absolutely no chance. So with that, can you all shift the good vibes back into high gear? (Don't worry Brew, I've got the chicken in the pot and am ready to do the running man, too).
Now I will take my fear and go find myself a nice little suit and some fabulous shoes for the big day. Yeah, that will make me feel better. To quote a line from a show I still cannot believe I watch (Laguna Beach); "When in doubt, shoe it out." (Deb, I think you should have that monogrammed).
Okay, thanks for the good vibes!
T minus 6 days, 14 hours and 7 minutes.
Ahh, Monday morning. A time when the working world reluctantly rises from their cozy bed to meet the rising sun and start a brand new, glorious week punching the clock. Or so I'm told that is what Monday mornings are for. I, on the other hand, pound the snooze button a good three or four times, lie in bed watching Sportscenter thinking "Why God? Why? Why do I have to get up and go again? Please don't make me, this bed is so warm and comfy". At some point though I finally feel the urge and rush off to start my glorious new week. (puke)Arriving at work, I am greeted by cheerful morning people. You know the people I'm talking about. The people who when you open the door to the office practically yell "Good morning. How was your weekend? Want some coffee? Let me tell you this hugely exaggerated story about my weekend." Let's see, the response in my head says "Hell no I don't want any damn coffee. That shit is nasty. In fact I don't want you to speak to me yet. Come back in about two hours and I'll let you know then. Okay? And, oh yeah, bite me stupid morning person freak". Now I don't really say those things, but damn I wish I could. I just mumble a quick "hello, it was fine" and mosey on to my desk. At this point I turn on my computer and check my few must visit morning websites. Imagine my extremely irritated state to find one of those sites has a new design. Talk about pissing off a non-morning person. How in the hell am I supposed to find the crap I usually read? I knew right where to click, I could do it in my sleep, and now you're sending me on some wild goose cyber chase. Yeah, well, you can bite me too, stupid website. Morning people and redesigned websites....say it with me now:Who does that?
The phone interview seemed to go well. They're asking for an in person interview, so I'll definitely take that as a good sign. This, of course, means the appendage crossing, crazy dancing and black magic must continue. However, the interview won't be for around twelve days, so you can ease up just a tad. I'll let you know when to crank it back into high gear. Many thank yous again for the well wishes. I promise to give you all a full scale blog entry today or tomorrow. How about a Who Does That? Yeah, that sounds good. I'm sure there's something/someone I can rag on. ;)
T minus 36 hours and 34 minutes.
That is the official countdown to my phone interview Friday morning. Guys and gals, this one is big! I really, really, really want this to work out. It is quite literally the one stepping stone to my dream job. Considering there are many factors to the decision process (on both sides), it's almost like the stars have to perfectly align for this to become reality. Which explains my extreme nervousness.
I'll post more details for you all later, but for now could you please just send me some positive/lucky energy?
Thanks!
T minus 36 hours and 30 minutes.
Why does there always have to be drama? And how the hell do I always get dragged into the drama?
Today I had a very important meeting (at least in the eyes of those who matter) with my vice-president, director, two co-workers and about ten students who we are using as a focus group for a new registration product. So I'm sitting in this meeting, listening to the students rehash their initial thoughts, opinions and suggestions on their experience with the software. I'm busily taking notes, and brainstorming on our next step in the implementation, when my phone vibrates. I, ever so slyly, managed to pull my phone out of my laptop case and read the text message.
It was from my best friend, we'll call her Marcia, with a message that said; "Have you heard from (Doug) Simpson today? He won't answer my calls or text msgs. What the fuck?"
I sent a quick reply via the web, you know so I was still typing and taking notes. It said; "Yes. Sent a text msg about a football trade. He said okay. Can't talk now. Important meeting."
Three minutes later my phone vibrates again. This time it says; "We had a long fight/talk last night but left alright. I don't get it. He's fucking ignoring me."
This time my quick web reply said; "Sucks, but very important meeting. I'll call when it's over."
Marcia got the hint that time and left me alone to finish my meeting, at which point I performed my womanly, sisterhood duty and called her to rehash the problem. After being introduced through a mutual friend (me), Marcia and Doug have been seeing each other for a few months. Bottom line is they are not committed and have discussed that fact time and time again. They're free to see other people, just be honest. Surprisingly, this situation has worked quite well. That is, until the last few weeks.
Both Marcia and Doug are very good friends of mine and they both apparently feel the need to turn to me for advice. This relationship is imploding and I am continuing to be dragged in the middle. "Why won't he answer my calls? Who is this Cindy chick?" "I care for her, but I don't want a committment. I sort of like Cindy, but Marcia is great too." Yada, yada, yada. As it turns out, Doug took Cindy out on a date last night. Marcia found out and inquired with too many questions, which in turn made Doug uncomfortable and pissed off. Doug's brilliant mind decided that Marcia needs time to decide if she can really handle a non-committed relationship, only he didn't make her aware of that fact! He just decided not to answer her calls, emails or text messages. (I will never, ever understand the male mind. Who in the hell does that?) Now I've got a teary Marcia calling and wanting me to tell her what to do. I told them that I love them both, they're both my friends and I'm not their junior high mediator. So please leave me out of it, grow up, start acting like the mid 20s adults they are, decide if they have a relationship or if they're just getting some booty and to schedule their drama around my meetings. ;)
I'm not what some would call obsessed with it, but admittedly I have too much knowledge in the celebrity gossip world. It's sad, I know. Oh well, it entertains me. With that in mind, I pass along Pink is the new Blog. If you have any interest in the subject, then you must check it out. Hurry! Click! Go now! His commentary is ruthless, but I love it!As a teaser, I give you a Halloween costume submitted by a reader of the blog.
Greatest costume ever!
Did you know things really are better in 3D? This past week, I was reminded of that fact in grand fashion. VH1 fabulously celebrated, yet again, a decade of greatness; the 80s. A time when we learned that saying “I don’t know” would get green slime dumped on your head. A time when Bob Ross showed us the joy of happy little trees. A time when a microwave, the size of my parents current 30 inch television, first entered our home. A time when my dad brought the wonders of beta into our living room with a VCR very close to the size of their current 30 inch television. (Although, I think my mom would be better served if VCRs still had the big tape deck that popped up with the two giant red and blue buttons).
Those of us in the know remember the 80s for the outrageously fun times the decade brought us. Were the children of the 90s allowed to keep White Rain in business with the mousse and hair spray necessary for a ‘do four inches tall? Was it okay for them to wear three layers of socks, all in different colors? Do they know anything about the Geri Curl, activator and carrying a pick with a pump built into the handle? Were they mallrats? Do they know about hanging out in the arcade? Would they have any clue what the first Gameboy was like? I think not. And to that I say “gag me with a spoon”.
We also know that Saturday mornings are not meant for soccer games; they’re supposed to be spent in front of the television fighting your brother for the right to watch Jem over G.I. Joe. Thanks to Jim McMahon and Refrigerator Perry, we know how to do the Super Bowl Shuffle. Rodney Dangerfield taught us how to do the Triple Lindy. Rocky took down communism one Drago at a time. Ned Nederlander, Dusty Bottoms and Lucky Day saved the village of Santa Poco from El Guapo. Hair bands single handedly killed the ozone layer, but showed us how to rock! Most importantly, we learned to always, always, always steer clear of the whammy.
So in honor of the decade that spawned Madonna and Mr. Wizard, flip open your Trapper Keeper, whip out your erasable ink pen, doodle your love for Menudo, stand up and yell your “WOLVERINES” pride, phone home, put on your headband, plan a trip to Walley World, beat the Alpha Betas in the homecoming carnival, make Long Duck Dong your wing man and “snap out of it!”
Picture this:It's late on a Thursday evening. Being that you've decided to stay in tonight, you've just finished watching The Donald fire not one, but four interviewees on The Apprentice, and are settling in with Eeeeerrrrrr (pronounced ER by some people) when all of a sudden your phone rings. It's your best friend and she wants to know if you would be interested in going to "Ladies Night". You, being a thrifty little devil, are required to say; "Psh. Free drinks, hell yeah I'm in!" Forget that you have to be at work at 8:00 AM, there are free drinks to be consumed. So you go with your friends to the bar, enjoy the free drinks, dance the night away and adjourn to your bed sometime around 3:30 AM. My aching head just has to ask ...Who does that?
Note to my non-baseball obsessed readers ~ I know you exist. Try to deny it all you want, but you're reading. Now I know I promised you a break in the baseball reading until February, but I also reserved the right to post a necessary off-season blog here and there. Well, I'm sorry to say it's already one of those necessary times. So please forgive me and I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow with the much anticipated "Who Does That -- Part V".
As I watch the end of Game 4 in this year's World Series I can't help but feel a little retribution. It appears as though the Astros will be swept by the White Sox. While it is overly sad to see the National League swept two year's in a row, at the same time it is somewhat sweet music to my ears. You must be asking, "But Dana, how can that be?" Well allow me to explain that to you.
Where have all the Cardinals fans who are persistent Izzy bashers gone? I hear constant bitching regarding what a terrible closer he is and how the Cardinals should give up something as big as Ozzie Smith's spot in The Hall of Fame for a shot at Brad Lidge. Hmm. How good does Mr. I Gave Up Two Walk Off Homers in the Same Postseason look now? And oh yeah, he gave up the current leading run tonight, as well. Point being, Izzy is a top tier closer, just as Lidge is. They all have a bad day now and then; including Lidge. So stop it with the Izzy bashing, accept that he gets the job done and be happy he gets the job done for the Cards.
Another quick point is that the White Sox have so far scored 20 runs in four games against that same dominant Houston pitching the Cardinals barely touched. The Cardinals have an incredible offense, but for some reason they looked completely lost and scared out of their minds at the plate in the LCS. Ozzie Guillen sure as heck is not wound too tight and you can guarantee he is not putting too much pressure on his players. You can see it on their faces. The White Sox are walking to the plate with stars in their eyes, ready to happily swing away. That's they way it should be. It's baseball, not rocket science!Last thought regarding the World Series; at least that incessant buzzing will finally stop! In the name of all things not incredibly annoying, I say thank you!Okay, just had to say all of that. Whew! I feel better now.
"I've learned there are three things you don't discuss with people: religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin." ~ Linus Van Pelt
If I believe in the Great Pumpkin, do you think he will bring me that elusive new job? These wonderful jobs keep showing up; I keep getting calls, but no luck yet. Too much experience, not enough experience, compensation not high enough, shady company, you get the picture.
By the way, what the hell is too much experience? Are you telling me your company does not desire an employee who has the knowledge and competency to complete the necessary duties? Would it kill your company to employ someone who has more than the minimum skills required? Is it not possible that the potential employee, who supposedly has an over-abundance of knowledge (is that even possible?), could use their abilities to instill changes that would improve the day-to-day operations?
And continuing the what the hell theme, if one is not experienced enough, how does one get experience if there are not any companies willing to give them a chance? There is absolutely no way that all the jobs in the world require ten years of experience, at the upper-management level, over-seeing 15 blind monkeys with only one hand each, and a proven track record of success in the automated banana peeling industry. Okay, okay. I have absolutely no idea what in the ridiculously made up jobs I just described, but it paints an accurate picture, doesn't it? Anyone who knows anything about me will tell you that patience is not my best virtue; by any means. So I turn to you oh Great Pumpkin. If I visit the pumpkin patch for your annual arrival, will you please bring me a job? ......... Oh good grief. I said if. I mean when I attend your yearly pumpkin patch show. ;)
