Wednesday, December 28, 2011

In-Laws Incoming!!!

Well, hello there, dear whiny, bitchy friends! Long time no rant!

I hope you've all managed to enjoy a drama-free Christmas filled with goodies. I could whine about my Christmas experience (and the complete lack of gifts for me to unwrap) but I won't. Oh no. Today I have even worse issues of whininess to share with you all. Come join me in my nightmare!

This is a pretty accurate depiction of my current state

I have spent today completely and utterly indulging my need to stay glued to Twitter and the Interwebz. I have avoided the household chores that really need to be done, with the exception of shoving the few net curtains we have into the washing machine and hanging them back up again.

Why my current state of apathy, you ask?

Well, let me tell you, it is well-deserved. You see, tomorrow I'll be picking my mother up from the train station and bringing her to stay in my house. In. My. House....... In. My. Neglected. House. And she will judge. Fear not: she will judge.

She kinda looks nice in this. The reality will be far less so...

No matter that I work all the hours God sends, have a house-full of males, and really can't be arsed to be domesticated in my spare time (my spare time is devoted to the Interwebz - just like everyone else's is, right?). I will be judged on my general lack of domestic input.

But that's not all. Oh no, dear whiny friends. That is definitely not all.

On Saturday - the last day of this busy, busy year - my parents-in-law will also be coming to stay. In. My. House. For TWO WHOLE NIGHTS.

My mother-in-law can talk the hind leg off a donkey. (If you don't understand this phrase, just click the link....). And my father-in-law, bless him, has a tendency to fall asleep within minutes of arrival. Plus, he has been wearing the same woolly jumper for years. YEARS, I tell you. I despair...

So basically, my house is going to be overtaken by the next generation along. And I'll be expected to be the 'hostess with the mostest', the doting daughter / daughter-in-law, all sparkly-eyed and fresh and pleasant.

All I really want to do is lock myself in my room with my laptop and read fanfic / ogle Tumblr posts / tweet / blog / Hell! Maybe even write a little! Is that so wrong?


This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Don't Date Like a Douche, either (version 1)

Hey peeps - I've titled this post "version 1" because I am POSITIVE there will be additional posts, perhaps even by others of you (TwiKiwi50, I'm pretty sure you probably have some things to contribute) on this topic.

Many (if not most) of you are aware I have jumped feet-first back into dating in recent weeks. I signed up on  I signed up on eharmony, too, and cancelled that shit ASAP because that place is weird.  More on that some other time.  So, I was "winked at" and e-mailed by a few guys on match, and I have now been out three times: two first dates, one second date.  I'm here now to do my civic duty and help others to not make the douchey mistakes these guys made (LwE, I bet at least one of them banks like a douche on a regular basis, too).

#1 - If you're over 30 and your Mom made your Halloween costume, don't tell your date that.

#2 - Especially if it's a full-body snow leopard costume.  (Refer to #1)

#3 - if you're dressing up for Halloween in a full-body snow leopard costume your Mom made for you (and you're over 30) just to hand out Halloween candy at your parents' house, and your date tells you she doesn't have Halloween plans, the proper response is not, "Well, that's just sad."  In this situation, she is not the sad one.

#3 - Don't try to surprise your date on the second date.  That gimmicky sketch comedy show a coworker told you about is not the right place to take your date when she was a theater major and knows most of the theatrical/acting community in town (and has never heard of the show or the people in it - not good).  You might be forgiven because you didn't know that about her (it being only your second date), but that's exactly why you shouldn't try to surprise her: the second date is not the right time to try to guess what a person you don't know might like.  You're probably going to be wrong.

#4 - When your date orders a drink - no matter what it is - don't lean weirdly over the table and say, "Every woman I know loves that drink. Why?" in an accusatory tone. I am not here to speak on behalf of my gender, and I'm pretty sure the only thing we truly all have in common are our vaginas.  Sit back in your chair and say to yourself, "Don't be a chauvinist on the first date."  Say it silently.

#5 - When your date uses a "big word," try to restrain yourself from saying, "There's a 50 cent word," every time. Maybe don't even say it the one time.  Just stop it. 

#6 - Don't ask your date the same question three different ways over the course of an hour.  "Tell me about yourself," "How would you describe yourself?" and "What do I need to know about you?" are - first of all - real conversation-starters, so good job on that, but also - secondly - don't make it seem like you remember my profile (which I know you viewed today, thanks to match/BigBrother) or any of our 5-6 exchanged e-mails in which you found out a lot about me beforehand.  Also, it's just obnoxious.

I think that's good for a start. I am sure I'll have more... probably a lot more.  Any to add, ladies?  I know there are more bad-date stories out there than we have room to blog about on here, lay 'em on us in the comments (or feel free to write your own post)!

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

McFlurry Madness!

Ooh. I am SO angry right now.

As you may remember from a previous rant, I loves me a McFlurry.

I had a shitty day today. Work was... alright, until after lunch. I had some pretty intense chest tightness... long story short, afternoon at the doctor's surgery, ECG, blood tests... I'm fine, but boy am I tired tonight.

I just had to pop down to the supermarket for a couple of things, and I thought that I'd spoil myself on the way home with a McFlurry. Here's where the anger starts.

I roll up to the drive thru window and am handed this:

When really, it shoulda looked more like this:

Oh my god, I can't believe I'm ranting on the internet about ice cream. Anyway. Let me move on.


I asked them why they hadn't whizzed my McFlurry, and the girl said to me that they never had. She didn't appear to know what I was talking about. I put this down to WHAT THE HELL, I CALL BULLSHIT and asked for my $3.60 back, thanks very much.

On a crusade now, I zoomed down to the next McDonalds, 3 minutes down the road. Again, I ordered a McFlurry. This time I asked the dude if they whizzed them still, and HE SAID NO. Apparently, people complained about the whizzing!

Here's the thing. In my book, if it's whizzed, it's a McFlurry. If it's ice cream with whole M&M's on top, it's ice cream with whole M&M's on top. And that does not cut it with me.

Right. Rant over. No more McFlurries for me, and that makes me sad. Please tell me this is not the case world wide? Cos if it is, I haz a sad.

I'll just slink off to bed with my antacids now and pipe down. Boo hoo.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Don't Ex Like a Douche

Today would have been my third wedding anniversary. Instead, it's almost my three-week divorciversary (which word I just made up, you're welcome).  My ex being the douche that he is, I kept expecting to hear from him, and as I left work, I congratulated him in my head for finally getting a clue.  Last time I saw him, he mentioned that he had no other way of contacting me besides e-mail - my response was along the lines of: "That's correct."

Of course, when I got home, I noticed an e-mail had come through. He wanted me to know he's thinking of me and he hopes we can get together for dinner sometime.

Well, here's what I think.  He's not thinking of me.  He's thinking ABOUT me.  If he was truly thinking of me, he wouldn't call, write, or send smoke signals, because he would know that I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO HIM.  I have been pleasant and civil, but clear about this. Get your shit out of my house and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.  Shit? It's out of my house. So: we're done. That's it. Try not to fuck anyone else in your life over the way you did me. Mmkaythanksbainow.

Also, maybe he should have thought about me 8 months ago or before whenever it is that he began his affair.  That would have been a good fucking time to think about me, wouldn't you say?

So, no, I don't want to get together for dinner. I thought that was one of the benefits of getting divorced: so that we wouldn't have to have dinner together ever again.  But I can see how he might make this mistake - I've been polite to him.  I thought it might help if we compiled a how-to for exes: How to NOT Ex Like a Douche.

- If your ex has changed her phone number and blocked you on facebook, she probably doesn't want to hear from you. She definitely doesn't want to have a meal with you. Take a hint.

- If you're planning to tell people the reason you left was because you "needed some space," don't move back in with your parents.

- Clearing your crap out of your ex's house? Don't make yourself at home.

- Offered a glass of water by your ex while signing divorce papers? Don't say no and then get one yourself when she's out of the room. Again, this is making yourself at home. Don't. You don't live here anymore.

- Did you have an affair? Your ex doesn't want to hear about the fight you're now having with the other woman.  File that under G for Go Fuck Yourself.

- Living with your parents during separation? Your ex also doesn't want to hear about how overbearing they're being. Try to keep your story straight - didn't you leave to get "space?"

- Your ex is not going to feel sorry for you when you were the one who left her. She's going to realize how much more awesome her life is without your lying, cheating, lame ass, and she's going to move on. Deal with it.

That's all I can think of - but even if you haven't been divorced, I know you all have some tips. Let's hear them!
Also, who wants to get me one of these?

"I guess I just lost my husband
I don't know where he went
So I'm gonna drink my money
I'm not gonna pay his rent (Nope)


So, so what?
I'm still a rock star
I got my rock moves
And I don't need you
And guess what?
I'm havin' more fun
And now that we're done
I'm gonna show you

I'm alright
I'm just fine
And you're a tool, so
So what?
I am a rock star
I got my rock moves
And I don't want you tonight..."

~ P!nk "So What"

Monday, September 19, 2011

Just when I think I can't hate my employer more, they prove me wrong!

*waves* Hi there. Remember me?

I’m happy to see that my recent terrible blogger/blog follower status hasn’t gotten me removed from The Whine list!!! This whole ‘being responsible and not reading blogs at work’ thing sucks. 

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have noticed me griping about work. A lot. Well guess what? Imma treat you to more of the same right now!

I’ll try to keep the back story brief. Where to start….

I’ve worked for the same organization for 10 years now. I started as a temp working reception. My solid performance got me hired and promoted to an Administrator position in my current department.

At that point (this is back in 2002) the position was an admin support position. I typed letters, created databases, assembled briefing books, coordinated various administrative projects, provided back-up to others, etc. Pretty typical. I was the administrative workhorse. You need something done accurately and in a timely fashion? I was the girl everyone went to. I worked non-stop and didn't complain.

My boss at the time, we’ll call her The Devil, promised me that she would mentor me.  I was “in the same position she was at my age. ” She was gonna get me “all trained up” blah blah blah. Empty promises.

See, she was the queen of empty promises. I was promised a lot over the years. She usually provided enough perks that I couldn't really complain, but she never lived up to those promises. I'm not the only one to have learned that the hard way. I suppose I could've joined the suck up club, because they were her favourites. But I’m not a suck up.  

2 ½ years ago, an Analyst position opened up within my department. Now, had my boss mentored me like she had promised, I may have been a shoe-in. However, since she had taught me pretty much diddly-squat, I was on my own. Needless to say, I did not get that job (though The Devil did assure me that they gave me serious consideration. I guess that was probably a lie too!). Oddly enough, that isn’t even why I’m here whining to you all. Between myself and the other candidate, they definitely gave the right person the job. And I’ve been lucky to have her mentor me over the past few years. (WHY OH WHY did I not meet someone like this 10-15 years ago when it could have made all the difference in my career path?! Sorry, that’s a different rant…)

To placate me, I was given a new window office and travel to several conferences a year. I’m not complaining. My job description was evaluated, and it was determined that the administrative support portion of my job (which was probably 75+% of my tasks) would be removed and divided amongst the remaining admin staff. This allowed me to focus on analytical work within my department.

Oh yeah, and The Devil also promised me that I would be reclassified and given a new title.

Now all this was going on during an entire organizational restructure. Unfortunately it was based on my old job description. And that was entirely reflected in where I was placed. It was very obvious to myself, and others, that certain levels were written in such a way to put certain people in certain places. 

The Devil told me I’d just have to wait. Again.

Fast forward to this year. My job has evolved. The Analyst has taught me a lot. I’ve improved on my skill-set.

The Devil retired. Finally. Ding Dong the Witch is Dead literally played on repeat in my head. Unfortunately, her claws were dug deep and she made sure to leave the suck-ups with a legacy.

So now there are only 2 of us in the department: myself and the Analyst. She gets bumped up to Manager - there’s actually quite a bit more to that story, as my previous boss was a Director, but that’s not for me to whine about… it’s just another piece in the whole fucked up employer puzzle.

So my new boss (hereafter referred to as she) and I talked about my position and where we would like my position to grow. She completely agrees that I am currently classed incorrectly, but we decided not to push the reclassification issue because there was a lot of contention about it at the management level, and she didn’t want to appear to be making the request solely because The Devil had retired. I understood, and agreed to hold off.

That was, until I learned that the new Administration Manager reclassed most of her staff.

Now I know that I shouldn’t be comparing myself to others, and that it’s not really any of my business how much people make. Whatever. There is such thing as equity, and the internal equity at my office is out of fucking whack.

So, the suck-up (who, btw, does minimal shitty work and makes 50ish% more than I do) got promoted to supervisor (she was already a level higher and probably at the top of her pay scale. who knows where they put here with the promotion). 

Remember when they took those admin tasks from my job? They were given to the Admin Assistant. She was reclassed to the same level as I'm in.
The Receptionist (who can’t format a fucking letter and spends more than half her day talking on the phone) also was reclassed to the same level as I'm in because she is providing support to accounting (the Supervisor).

I do not believe two of them are deserving of where they are based on job performance. There is no way. The Admin Assistant is a great friend of mine and I have no issue with where they have placed her. I know she has taken on more responsibility.

But I do have a problem with where they are all classed relative to my position.

Naturally I was quite upset when I first heard about this. I marched right into my boss's office (I’m lucky she and I are friends) and laid it out. This. Is. Not. Right.

She agreed. Let’s get the ball rolling.

So I revamped my job description. I write correspondence, reports, policies and procedures. I analyze reports and other submissions. I liaise with government officials and sit on a multi-governmental committee. I represent the organization at functions and international conferences.

And I filled out the stupid HR responsibility questionnaire and provided as much example as I could. My boss also completed the same.

Then the waiting started. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Have I mentioned that I am not a patient person? At. All.

Then there were the meetings. My boss met with HR and the Admin Manager. It was about at this point that we realized the whole process was seriously flawed.

More meetings. Explain how her job has changed. Explain her day-to-day activities. Provide examples of how responsibility levels have increased. Blah, blah, fucking blah. Based on these meetings neither of us had a good feeling. She told me that HR was not open to discussion on points when they had already forumlated their own determination. What exactly they were basing those determinations on is beyond me!

So last week she finally has THE meeting. The one with the CEO where HR/Admin outline their determination. Sadly, she has to go in blind. She hates this. I don’t blame her. Like I said: Flawed process!

You may have surmised from the fact that I’m here whining to you all that this meeting did not go well. You are correct.

They basically told her that my responsibility level hasn’t changed. No, I’m sorry, those were HR’s exact words “Her responsibility level hasn’t changed.”

What. The. Fuck??!!!!

Are you kidding me?

No, seriously, am I being Punk’d?

I am livid. My boss is livid. I have absolutely no idea how anyone could possibly reach that conclusion. After that entire process, they obviously have no fucking idea what I do.

HR also said “maybe she was assessed too high last time?” Have I mentioned that I no longer like HR? Um, considering they just reassessed what was largely my old job (the Admin Assistant) at my current level, that is obviously untrue. I have no idea why, but I feel like this bitch has got it out for me. Wait - I'll bet this can be wholly blamed on The Devil!

How is this supposed to motivate me to work harder and take on even more responsibility?  I could still be putting together binders and making the coffee. That’s a whole lot less stressful. What is the point in working hard and proving yourself when you never get recognition or compensation for your efforts?!

She fought for me in that meeting. Hard. I could provide you with paragraphs of arguments used, but why bother. They are sticking to their determination. The highlights are as follows:

    • Responsibility level just “isn’t there yet” because my boss still reviews and approves everything  <-- um, we are a 2 person department. And besides, there are other Analysts in the organization that filter their work thru someone higher!
    • My previous job description already said analyze <-- there are only so many verbs you can use! Where is the distinction in the depth and breadth of the analysis?!
    • Cannot move to Professional category due to lack of completion of post-secondary education <-- okay, I won’t argue that. However, I will point out The Devil (who was a Director!) did not have a university degree.
    • I was just reclassed 1 ½ years ago <-- actually, the process started 2 ½ years ago. And it was based on my old job description. And prior to that, The Devil had assured me I was already a Level 2. Obviously she lied. Again. Shocking.

She had a follow-up meeting regarding all of this with the CEO. She took 2 pages of notes with her, and fortunately he patiently listened to what she had to say. And he agreed with her about a lot of it. He did not deny that my responsibilities have increased. Unfortunately, it does not change their very wrong determination.

The end result of all this is that I am committing to go back to school as part of a “Development Plan” to advance my position. I’m fortunate that my employer will reimburse education expenses and I will be able to allot some of my work hours to school – bonus! There will be definite milestones in terms of how I can advance.  And if my boss has any say (I shouldn’t hold out hope that she will based on my experiences), it will be a stepped process so that I don’t have to wait as long for compensation for a job that I’m already doing.

Sounds good? I know it does. It’s daunting, but it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Now, to figure out what to study…

My boss’s suggestion: Let’s just pick the quickest/easiest thing.

God I love her!

So, here’s my dilemma. For myself, I would love to complete a degree. I didn’t drop out of university because I wasn’t smart enough, I just lacked direction. And money. BUT, do I want to undertake a p/t degree at this point in my life? It would take FOREVER!

I did find a program that I’m keen on. Not sure how easy it would be to do on a p/t basis since I would have to attend classes (as opposed to doing them online) and labs, but the subject matter interests me and it would be about as relevant to my job as I could get.

The flip side is that I could complete a Business Management or Business Administration certificate in 2-3 years. The subject does not interest me much, but I have no doubt I could do well. And the time frame is so much more feasible and not nearly as scary!

Decision, decisions….

Lest you think I’m actually gonna leave this rant on a high(ish) note…

Just when I think I can’t hate my employer more, I realize this:

When they did the reorganization/reclass 1 ½ years ago, they adjusted all employees to a compa ratio of 88% of their salary level (unless they were already higher). This percentage was chosen based on the funds available at the time.

They have since adjusted that rate to 90%.

So the Admin Assistant and Receptionist were reclassed at 90% of their level.

OUR level.

Let's do the math.

When they did the reorganization/reclass it was determined that I was underpaid (shocking, I know!), so I was moved up to 88% of my level. I’ll be generous and assume I got a 3% raise last year, so that puts me at what? My math says 91%.

The Receptionist now makes the same annual salary as I do.

Fuck. My. Life.

Thursday, August 18, 2011


Alright, ladies, so far I have completely resisted coming on here and bitching about my failing marriage or my now-impending divorce, but I am FED UP tonight (and a little tipsy).  Some of you know the circumstances behind why I'm getting divorced. For the rest of you, just know that I see no other way to continue in life. I do take the vows I made very seriously, apparently he didn't.  In a nutshell, he changed his mind about what he wanted and he stopped caring about me. 

So, anyway, I filed on Monday.  Today I got a package from the court. "Holy shit!" thought I, "That was so fast!"  Oh, but no, dear reader.  See, there are about 537 forms you can potentially fill out in my county to get a divorce, and I happened to pick the one that was correct for everything except our level of debt.  I think what happened was that the threshold was cumulative, whereas I was thinking of each debt as individual and they were all - independently - below the threshold. Even my attorney/friend who helped me got that wrong, and she just called to apologize and say how fucked up my county is.  So now I have to get STBxTH back over here, sign some more shit, get it notarized, and then go turn it in. Thank FUCK I have Tuesday off, so I can go file again.  And thank FUCK again that they're not charging me extra, because divorce is, like, 17 times more expensive than my marriage license was.  Just to file - that's not including the lost income, increased taxes, increased expenses when you're paying on your own (although I already was, so my regular expenses are actually reduced, ironically).  Anyway, I guess they're not being assholes, but it's just SO frustrating.
Where's my Easy Button?

So then, I e-mail STBxTH about when he could get together to sign and notarize and everything and I explain the situation and he says, "That must have been very frustrating for you."  Fuck you, Observo, Master of the Obvious.

Luckily, both he and a notary I know can come over on Sunday AM to fix this fuck-up. I just don't understand - why do there have to be so many goddamn forms? Why not just ONE form: Do you want to get divorced? Check yes or no.
Like the opposite of this. Or exactly like this, and I could just check "No."
I'm just ready to be done with this, you know?  This shit has been coming since February, that I know of, and we made the decision at the end of June, which now feels like fucking forever ago.
Who wants to throw me a divorce party? 'Cause I kinda want one...

I feel better just for bitching about this, which is, I guess, the whole point of this blog. :-)  So thanks, everyone, for making this little blog a reality.  I have further gripes about work, but I'm rarely motivated enough to write a post anymore.  Have you noticed?

Being divorced is like being hit by a Mack truck – if you survive you start looking very carefully to the right and left. – Anonymous  

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Whining, Bitching? Is There A Difference?!

This blog is for whining, right? Well good thing, I need to whine and bitch and YES, I have wine :)  Truthfully, I think I need to do more bitching, than whining.  We whine about things that bug us or stuff we can't fix &amp; we bitch about things that bug us and stuff we can't fix too...but bitching just seems more appropriate a word.  Go with it.... ok? Oh &  PS, my spell check isn't working, and again some wine is have been warned.

*** Nope, blogger wont let me fix those fucked up little "&" signs either! I had to copy and paste this from Twired as I accidentally posted it there first. Oops.

BITCH drank all my wine!

As some of you know, I work for a company called Restaurant Events Inc. Basically our company helps meeting planners & local DMC's  find restaurants/bars/similar venues for their clients looking to do large dinners, restaurant buyouts, dine-arounds, reservation programs, progressive dinners, block parties etc...all based on their specific requests.  We're a great resource because rather than the meeting planner or direct client having to call 10 different venues, get 10 different quotes etc...we have all of the pricing, menu info and more on hand. In turn, the restaurants pay us to represent them & bring them more business.

That said, I had a lady contact us a couple of weeks ago. I will call her "M." M is a meeting planner for Kaiser health group.  The hotel they were booking into couldn't accommodate their size group & combined budget for dinner, so they referred her to us.  She had a super crappy budget with 80-85 people for private space: reception & dinner.  A couple of days later I presented her with a whopping two options. I just couldn't find space that would take that budget. Sure many restaurants had a menu that would fit, but the food &  beverage minimums required to secure that space would have been too high...for her company.  Luckily she ended up going with one of my two suggestions.  We booked her group on the patio of a local seafood restaurant for July 27th, per her request.

Cut to this morning.  She emails me about finalizing the menus choices & I'm a bit surprised at how eager beaver she is. I'd sent her a contract &  left some things TBD, telling her we could finalize in the next few weeks.

No offense Mr. Beaver.

That's when I get this response: (real response from my work email!)

"I'm out until I see you in San Diego, can you give me a ring now? "

My out loud response.."Ummmm, what?!?" RED FLAG!

So of course I scramble to my file and look at her ORIGINAL email...yup, it says JULY 27th. All my emails following that say JULY 27th.  Did she mean JUNE 27th?!?!?

I called her &amp; immediately yet calmly said "So, you're out of the office for a month?"  As I suspected she tells me the event is on Monday.  Um....NO IT'S NOT LADY!  I proceed to inform her ( and fwd her the original email) that says JULY 27th.  She seriously says in a Daria (skip to .31 sec) voice, "Oh, I meant June 27th, I already sent out all of the invites....shoot."  SHOOT?!?!

I couldn't believe how unaffected she seemed to be....Even worse, it's like she just thought finding space for her ginormous group with a shit budget would be easy on the fly. I mean lady, I can't just pull a venue out of my ass for Monday. There's a HUGE pharmaceutical conference in town.  I basically just told her I'd call the Harbor House on the extreme off chance they'd have the patio available, THIS Monday. One of the busiest Mondays of the year so far.  Silently I kep thinking the lady was shit out of luck and would end up at TGI Fridays.

Long story short, I FINALLY heard back from the GM at the Harbor House &amp; they could accommodate them on Monday.  I called to give her the good news &amp; though she genuinely (sort of ) thanked me, I still got the feeling that maaaybe she didn't think this was a big deal.  How the hell did she not notice JULY 27th plastered all over each email we sent back and forth, let alone the contract which she'd yet to sign.  Crazy enough, she later brought up the date on the contract saying she thought it was my minor mistake?! Um...WTF lady?! What planet are you on???

Ok I feel better.

xo J

Monday, June 13, 2011

Are They Actually a Different Species?

Warning: I am writing this a little pissy. Hmmm, quite a bit pissy.

Also, this post is brought to you by the amazingness that is the McFlurry. I am expecting the sugar to kick in in a few paragraph's time.


I want to keep this as short as possible but I can't guarantee that. You know I love a good ol' flight-of-ideas rant.

I have been seeing this guy, we'll call him Mr X, for about a month. This is my first foray into a 'real' adult relationship and I really, really like this guy. In spite of this rant, I do still really like him, and hope everything works out. But I just need to let off a little steam, so hold on tight...

This is happening inside my head.
I do not understand how males and females can be SO DIFFERENT when it comes to communication.

Really? Is it hard? Do you have some alternate method of communication? ESP? Clearly not, because you're not reading my mind right now. (insert quip about how Edward Cullen is perfect here).

We have a relatively good history with communication. The preferred method appears to be text message. I am OK with this. I may or may not have altered my cellphone contract within days of things getting serious to increase my monthly text allowance. We text A LOT. Multiple times per day. Tens of texts per day. And I like this.

Cut to last week. Things change. Granted, there are extraneous factors. Mr X gets a new job. It's stressful. His troubled friend comes to town and needs support. And the texts decrease markedly. I get it. People are busy. It's cool.

Cut to Friday night. This is now a week after I sent him a carefully worded "when we hang out can we please do something other than watch movies cos I want to have conversation with you" text. Fuck. Have I scared him off? Haven't seen him all week. I phone him because I'm travelling and I know he's stressed. He doesn't answer. That's fine.

Here's an issue: don't send me a text back saying you'll call me when you get home, and then not call.

Sugar, you are my life now.

Hello, sugar rush. I'm really getting into this now. You guys are great therapists. Speaking of, this week will be a packed session on the couch. But that's another story.

So, I hear nothing on Saturday. Hmm, I think. I know he's busy. I'll call this evening: Voicemail. I leave a light, cheerful, 'hope you're OK' message.

Sunday, I think something might be wrong. Then I think no, let's just see what happens. I will not text. I will not text. I do not text.

This better be your reason.

Monday (today) rolls around. When we last spoke, last Wednesday, we agreed tonight would be date night. Somewhat hopefully, I think perhaps this means we might go out. You know, like a real date. But at this point, I'll take any form of contact. Please bear in mind, despite the ranting, what I said above. I do really, really like Mr X. I'm torn between wanting to kick his arse and jump his bones.

Sooo, I hear nothing today. I wait. I try not to be angry. I rationalise my frustration. I take calming breaths. When he's not here and hasn't been in touch by 7pm, I text:

"Are we still on for tonight? I thought you were coming over after work" <--- please note no nicknames, smiley faces or kisses (which are my norm).

"I'm soooo sorry, I totally forgot." There was more, but this is the need-to-know. Please bear in mind that this is the first communication I have heard since Friday. Three days ago.

This about wraps up my issue. It's just so fucking frustrating! Are men actually from Mars? Surely I am not the only woman to be frustrated at this chain of events? Ladies, I neeeeeed you. I need to hear how the whole male race sucks at this. I need to hear that I am not alone.

And also, whether or not anyone ever died from McFlurry-induced sugar surges. I'm booking in for my type 2 diabetes test now.

Over and out.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Bad Hair Days

Dear Not-So-Great-Hair of Mine,

Remember the past couple of days weeks when you literally mocked me every time I tried to control you? You know how you've been all "It's too humid, I can't work under these conditions"? And you know how you forced me to wrangle you into a rubber ban even though you were not quite long enough which required the use of a thousand bobby pins for all the strays you insisted to keep out of the rubber band no matter how many times I tried to fix it or how much product I used in it. You've been quite awful, really. Painfully awful.

Sure I take full responsibility for the last cut not being quite up to par, I thought I knew what I wanted and convinced my stylist, Hailey, to try it my way. Well, I was wrong and for that I am sorry. (Hailey, I promise never to interfere with what you do again. You are always right about my hair and I bow to your greatness.) Still that's no excuse for your horrendous behavior over the past few days weeks. Serious you punished me enough.

Well guess where I'm going today? ...That's right.... I'm going to go see Hailey. And believe you me Hair, you are no match for Hailey.

First she is going to adjust your color. I mean really how many times do I have to change it before you realize what color I'd like you to grow? It's been years. Get over it, I don't like that color and I want it the color I want it. End of discussion. But whatever, Hailey will fix that.

When she's finished making you the right color, she is going to cut you. A Lot. Some of you are going to find themselves new homes on the floor. While that sounds harsh and may make you a bit sad, I for one, will not miss any of you. At. All. Especially after the treatment you've been giving me lately. 

What? you're hurt? Did you not read the first part of this letter? Have you forgotten how terrible you've been these last few days weeks? I haven't. You've been hurting me for days weeks. And that stops today. Now.

Whose laughing now? Huh, hair? 

No Love,


This whine brought to you by InotU...

...who is currently hanging out with her stylist, Hailey.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Stray Cats and the People Who Feed Them

I've waited three days to write this post. I waited so that I would give myself the opportunity to calm down a little and not write a post that was all "...those-g**-d***-m*****-f******-no-good-gossiping-neighbors of mine..." Well, I tried.

A couple of months ago my neighbor started hanging string in the woods, like a boundary line. We ignored it though they went out of their way to tell us they thought it would be interesting to see where the line was, to which we responded that we had it professionally surveyed before we purchased our acre so we were fairly confident where our property ended. Well this past weekend they hung a new line (I'd like to point out here they moved it back two feet since the original string they hung was actually on our side, but whatevs). Along with the new string came a sign. Not just any old sign but this one:

Now I'd like to think we are good neighbors. Our yard is clean, mowed, and nice looking in comparison to some of our neighbors. We don't throw huge parties, play loud music or keep a thousand cars in our driveway in varying stages of disrepair. We keep to ourselves and do not engage in any neighbor bashing that we hear, cause really I don't have time for that shit. Oh, that and I don't care. We purposefully bought an acre so that we were not all up in our neighbors yards and/or business. Apparently this was done in vain. There's even a good fifty feet of woods between our houses. That seemed adequate at the time. It was not.

Feuds between neighbors extend as far back as history tells. I mean who hasn't heard the story of the Hatfields and McCoys, right? Except the Hatfields and McCoys knew they were feuding. Hell, they even thought they knew what the feud was about though I doubt the historical accounts are at all accurate. But at least they thought they knew why they were fighting.

I, on the other hand, had no idea a feud was going on, much less why. I had no problems with my neighbors, other than they were a bit nosy and gossipped more than I was comfortable with. You know if people will talk to you about other people, they'll certainly talk about you to other people too. I live by this mantra, mostly.

Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of reasons to start a feud but I didn't.

I never complained when I pulled chicken bones out of my dogs' mouth that the f-ers left out for the stray cats they feed.

Nor did I complain about the slimy chunk of tuna that the cats brought into my yard that nearly made me throw up when I had to retrieve it from my dog, cause who the F knows how long that's been sitting outside.

I didn't say anything when they called the county to complain that the bus my kid's ride left tracks in the grass. (I should point out that said grass isn't even on their property and the man who owns the property has told the county, more than once and repeatedly for the past twenty some years, that they can continue to use his driveway as a turn around.)

I didn't say a thing when I found out the crotchety old neighbors threatened to put glass in that strip of grass that doesn't belong to them in hopes of flatting the bus tires. I am rethinking this as it shows just how fucked up they are when they make threats against a group of elementary school kids on a bus. Seriously fucked up.

Hell, I never even complained when a tree from their property fell on mine and took out my kids' play set. Demolished it. And they never uttered one word of sorrow, no offers of help to fix it, no assistance in removing the tree. Nothing.

We've taken the high road and ignored all these things. But I think I'm done, while I write this at least.

I've learned from other neighbors that the bat ass crazy woman thinks I've been messing with the stray cats she feeds in a little cat house they've built in the woods between our houses. She's gone so far as to put a video camera in said strip of woods to "catch" me. They think she's crazy and off her meds. In fact they are taking bets on how long before she's committed to a psyc hospital. I say not too long. But since this is all gossip I'm trying to ignore it.

Well, guess what crazy cat lady? I. Don't. Give. A. Rat's. Ass. About. The. Cats. And if I wanted to do something to them I wouldn't have to leave my property to do it since the cats lived under MY shed ALL winter. But I seriously do not mind the cats since they keep the other rodent population down. And they are mildly entertaining when my dog runs out to chase them (no worries, he'd never be able to catch them and wouldn't have a clue what to do with one if he ever did. Besides he weighs all of eighteen pounds, no threat to the cats whatsoever.)

What's funny is I should probably mind the fox that frequents their cat house, or the coyote or the unidentified thing that comes to visit. But I don't. We live in the woods and should expect some animals. In fact I have multiple pics of animals that frequent the cat house that are not cats. You can find those pics here. If anything is happening to your precious stray cats, it's probably because of the other annimals you're attracting by feeding the stray cats. Duh! But who knows if anything is happening to the strays at all? They are strays! They could very easily be roaming away, finding other homes, getting hit by cars, being eaten by whatever might eat stray cats, etc... you just never know, because...they...are...strays!

I've often wondered why none of their kids ever come to visit even though one lives within twenty minutes and another within an hour. In five years I've only seen the one son two or three times. I've contemplated why these people never go out of town to visit relatives or just vacation. But it's apparent to me now, their families are probably staying as far away from these peeps as possible and I don't blame them one bit!

So now that I've written this I have some work to do. Already changed all the locks since crazy neighbors once had a key to our house and I would not put it past them to have made copies. I'm also researching fastest growing pine trees that provide best privacy to put along that side of the yard. This bush should do the trick, right?

And when the kids get home I will remind them they are to stay as far from the crazies as possible. It sucks having to do this.

Then I will get back on that high road and pretend they don't exist, sort of. I'll continue to wave if I see them on the street -but not because I want to be friends, only because I think they'll hate it more if I keep trying to be nice. I've already wasted enough mental energy on these fuck-up neighbors of mine and that will end now. And even though I really, really, really, really, want to so bad I can taste it... I won't hang this sign.

By the way, no cats were harmed in the posting of this whine!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

I'm Just Not Superwoman!

Okay, so this is going to be a majorly self-indulgent post. But I'm not looking for sympathy - just a listening ear or ten ;-)

Just under a week ago (last Sunday, to be precise) I was doing the usual Sunday thing - laundry. I bent down to pick up a sock from the basket, with the intention of dropping it into the washing machine, and 'POP' - my back went. Quite where, I can't tell you. All I do know is that I lost the power of my legs for a moment, and was eternally grateful that we have some heavy-duty shelving in our utility room...

This is how wobbly my legs were...
This was not a huge surprise. Three weeks ago, my back went 'POP' for the first time in years, just as I had carried a 25kg bag of dog food from my car to the garage. At the time, I was fortunate enough to be standing in the doorway and could grab hold of the frame just long enough to call to my hubs, who was working at the end of the garden. He duly trotted along, helped me back into the house, then left me to it. There was little else that he could do...

Thankfully, the pain subsided pretty quickly three weeks ago, though, unbeknownst to me, the cause had not gone away. I was quickly reminded of this last Sunday, as I hung on for dear life to the shelving, and wondered how I would ever be able to move.

Our utility room is hidden away in an area of the house that is the least accessible - and audible - to everyone else. Given that my sons, #Thing1 and #Thing2 were busy playing COD upstairs, and hubs was busy building things at the end of the garden, I knew that this time I was on my own. Trouble was, I was in no state to rescue myself...

This was me, except I wasn't wearing the nasty pink outfit, and was in a damn sight more pain. Trust.
To cut a very long and painful story short, I eventually managed to hobble out of the utility room, aided by various walls and bits of furniture to which I had to cling to for dear life. I then spent the best part of two hours moaning and groaning (actually, screaming) with every single move, before I eventually contacted NHS Direct (you can google it). I was advised to take paracetamol and some left-over anti-inflammatories, then told to contact my GP if the pain didn't subside within 48 hours.

I couldn't get out of bed on Monday morning. Or Tuesday.

I can't begin to describe the agony I was in - I thought I had broken my back. #Thing1 (who had been extremely helpful and had rescued me as a struggled on the sofa) was really quite distressed at this point (he's almost seventeen - so that says a lot), and he was insistent that I see my GP. And so I did.

I thank all the deities above that the emergency GP I saw on Tuesday happened to be one of the partners in the practice. He knows his stuff. He took one look at me, signed me off from work (I've never had the guts to ask for a sick note), prescribed me a shedload of drugs (some of which I was somewhat reluctant to take), then asked if I had private healthcare. It just so happens that I do - via my employer - and I've never ever thought to make use of it. To cut a long story short, he managed to get me referred to a physiotherapist for the very next day, as a result of my health care plan, and I've since had acupuncture twice and have been hooked up to a TENS machine for twelve hours straight each day - and it's working!

In case you've ever wondered - this is what acupuncture feels like...
So, where's the whine, I hear you ask...

Well, despite the medication, the needles and the electrical stimulation, I'm still pretty much out of action. For example, I can't bend down to fill the dog's water bowl, feed her, get things out of the refrigerator, pick towels up from the bathroom floor - you get the picture. I can't stand up long enough to iron clothing, can't straighten the bedclothes, can't even get my toiletries from the bathroom cupboard.

I can't pick the milk bottles up from the doorstep, plump the cushions, move the stack of magazines that has been bothering me on the lounge floor all week. I can't plug the damn hoover in to get rid of the mess that the dog and boys have trampled in all week. I can't sit - or lie - in one position long enough to feel relaxed.

And does anybody care? Have the three able-bodied men in my household even noticed the anxiety all of this causes me?

I guess you know the answer...

I can't wait to be back in action... :-o

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Father Time Can Kiss My Arse*

*Jamie - the 'arse' was just for you. Appreciate.

I am in the mood for full-on whinging tonight. You have been warned. I have only the vaguest of ideas where this post is going. But who doesn't love a good ol' flight-of-ideas rant?

Last weekend our clocks changed. Daylight Savings time is over. Summer is over. I have seasonal affective disorder just thinking about it.

I know, I know. When my summer started, and you were all staring down the depths of a long cold winter, we discussed the fact that all my "yay, sunshine" shit would bite me in a few months. Well, here 'tis. I'm not THAT sad really, cos in about four months (*ahem* 116 days to be precise) I'm gonna be basking in some West Coast USA sunshine. For FOUR WHOLE WEEKS. Ah, shit... I digress.

What I really wanted to whine about tonight is the time difference thing that comes with being on the other side of the planet to the majority of your friends. While I was on Daylight Savings time and you guys weren't, the difference between NZ and the West Coast was four hours. It was three for a wee while there, until your clocks changed.

Three hours is not bad. Easy to manage. Most of the time there were peeps on twitter, and things quieten down in the early evening, before the UK tweeps wake up *waves to @CougarChloe, @SQicedragon and @EdBrella*

Let me add here that I'm well aware of my 'Future Girl' status. I love nothing more than a good Friday when you're all still back there in Thursday. I love it when I wake up on Saturdays and people are bitching about how it's not the weekend yet. I take it as well as I give it (I hope) when I'm at work on Mondays and you're all chilling in your Sunday-ness.

Anyhoo. Now, the difference between me and the Cali/WA girls is FIVE HOURS. That means, when I get home, settle into the couch, grab some dinner, and jump online, most people are going to bed. GAH! I miss you all! I don't get a lot of opportunities to tweet during the workday because I share an office with a staff member of mine (you know the one) who can see my screens easily. Lead by example and all that. I'm usually on gmail chat, cos that's a little more discreet, and I do tweet on my phone a wee bit, but it's not the same.

It's always been a given that I usually miss the East Coasters in the evenings. Here's an example of how this time zone shit works *consults iPhone world clock app for the millionth time*

NZ time right now: 9.43pm
US West Coast time: 2.43am
US East Coast time: 5.43am
UK time: 10.43am

So basically, I'm getting all lonely on twitter in the evenings and I don't like it one bit. I feel sorry for my Aussie tweeps, like @EdwardsIsobel, three more hours behind me. 

That's really all I wanted to say. I love (in my own selfish way) that @AllTwiedUp works crazy-arse hours cos sometimes she's around at stupid-o'clock and hangs out with me. I love when my tweeps have insomnia cos I'm usually here. What I'm really getting at is... it's all about MEEEEE, people! Wait, what? It's not? Oh, shut up.

How rude of me. I neglected to mention my new Kiwi twi-friend, @vampthenewblack. She's cool, and even better... awake at the same time as me. I look forward to getting to know you better my dear :-)

I think that's quite enough. Imma hop down off this soapbox now and go look at some more Robp0rn. Cos that's how I roll. Feel free to play the world's smallest violin for me in the comments.