Well played, Swingline

In addition to becoming part owner of a retail business recently, I also opened a general practice law firm.  I know, right?  So in doing all of the tons of set up stuff I got a business credit card for the purchasing of the office supplies and whatnot.

My first purchase!

My first purchase!

My second purchase: a printer.  Seriously.

It gets better though.  When I got to the counter to pay for my red Swingline stapler (and yes, it’s full size despite looking oddly small in this picture) the clerk informed me that I got this little guy for free!

"The Legendary Red Stapler Ornament"

“The Legendary Red Stapler Ornament”

So now I have a little family of red Swingline staplers!
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When I got it home and started to open the packaging, I discovered this subtle marketing gem.

IMG_1290

Well played, Swingline. Well played.

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Come one come all, see the bizarre 1 nippled woman

Some time around puberty I came to realize that I do not understand girls.  I was always a tomboy and preferred hotwheels and Star Wars toys to playing house or whatever it is that girls do.  I did have girl friends as a kid though . Well, up until the point my contemporaries became interested in clothes and shopping and being two-faced and judgmental and then I just decided that I just wasn’t really much of a girl.  For much of high school and through my 20’s I just didn’t really have many friends in general.  I had a few and they are wonderful and loyal and had been my friends since childhood so they were safe and comfortable and it was fine.

At around 30 I discovered that I do quite well as one of the guys.  So for the past 8 years or so I’ve made loads of friends, most of which have wieners.  I was totally okay with that except when some guy would bring his wife or girlfriend around under some misguided belief that my being there would somehow make her feel more comfortable.  This just served to enhance both my fear of girls and my fear of meeting new people.  With that in mind, I decided I needed to conquer my fear of girls.

My local game and comic shop decided to start a girls night about 6 months ago.  I figured a game and comic shop was a good place to start, so I started going when I have time.  I still feel a bit out of my element and painfully aware of my awkwardness, even with a group of girls who hang out in a game and comic shop, but the girls are all very nice and even though I am the token old chick in the group, I like them.

Last night a few of us had a holiday get together.  Within 10 minutes of being there my awkwardness came out in full force.  Someone said something about nipples and I chimed in with “I only have one.”

Conversation stopped.  Everyone turned to me and someone asked, “one nipple?”  I responded that “yes, my left nipple is inverted” to which everyone became immediately fascinated.  One of the girls chimed in with “Well I’m curious.  I totally want to see that some time.” Then suddenly there was a chorus of agreement from the room and I heard myself say, “if you really want to see it I’ll show you.”

I kid you not, a room full of women leaned in and waited with bated breath.  It was like I was telling some fascinating story and they couldn’t wait to find out what was going to happen next.  Then I realized that since I hadn’t even been there long enough to sit down yet, I was standing with the girls sitting in a circle all around me, leaning in expectantly.  One girl even cleared her throat in a “we’re waiting, make with the nipple” sort of way.

I reached down my shirt, pulled my boob out, leaned forward and then displayed it in a circle around the room like a grade school teacher showing the class the picture in a book she is reading aloud.  A flurry of conversations and questions broke out and apparently my inverted nipple is fascinating as well as being sort of weird and horrible.  It is also a channel for bad dice rolling juju, but that is a different story.

I debated posting a picture of my inverted nipple here for the curious but then I decided that I do have some modestly and you people have google.  I’m not your mother, go look it up.  Plus I don’t really want my blog to be flagged as inverted nipple porn or something.  It’s bad enough that it frequently comes up in google searches involving “butt plugs”, “daughter butt plug” (why do so many people search for that?!?!?  Seriously!), “weiners”, and “boobs”.  Since I recently added a tag called “vagina jokes” and am adding “nipple” to this one, it’s probably just a matter of time before I get flagged for something anyway.

So I guess this story has two morals.  1- if you incidentally mention your daughter and butt plugs in the some post, weirdos will google your blog.  2 – don’t mention your mutant body parts in a room full of girls unless you are prepared to display them.

You’re welcome for both of these valuable life lessons.

 

 

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Well crap. Literally.

Apparently what happens if you eat a half dozen Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuits and manage to survive the night is that you crap your pants at the grocery.  I really wish I was exaggerating a particularly nasty fart for comedic effect but nope, that happened. It was really more a shart than a full crap but yeah, outside of illness and too many laxatives, this is a horrific first for me.  Also, people often tell me that they love how I am so open and can just talk about myself so easily.  This is the down side to that right here.  I’m pretty sure most people don’t share these stories.  I’m also pretty sure Andy won’t be sharing this blog post.

In less disturbing news, I’d like to thank the hilarious Noodles & Company employee with no concept of volume control for making my lunch so entertaining.

I was craving Pad Thai today so I went to the snooty upscale shopping center half way between work and home.  Like many midwest snooty shopping centers it is always packed to the hilt with a bunch of cookie cutter white people.  There are business men and women, bored stay at home moms, and rich college kids in there mostly.  Nearly all of the employees look exactly like the customers and were it not for the name tags it would be hard to tell the employees from the patrons.  Today though, I walked into Noodles to find a tall, heavy-set black woman in the kitchen and a middle aged guy in a kilt in line in front of me.  Cool, I thought.  This place is finally diversifying a little.

As it turned out, it was even better than I could have hoped because the black woman – and let me say that no, I don’t say African American because not all black people are from Africa and because I have known people who are from Africa who are black, white, and brown so I just find the term unnecessary and inaccurate.  Black people know they’re black.  It’s okay to say so.  Anyway, this woman was hilarious and had absolutely no idea how well her voice carries.  The second the kilted guy was out of her view, and bear in mind, he hadn’t left, he was just no longer standing where she could see him she said:

Loud employee: HAHA!  DID Y’ALL SEE THAT MAN WEARIN’ A SKIRT?!?!

Another employee (probably aware the guy was still there): Oh, he was wearing a kilt.  Maybe he’s going play the bagpipes for us.

Loud employee: WANTS SOMEBODY TO PLAY WITH HIS BAG AND PIPE MORE LIKE!  HAHA!

Kilted guy headed deliberately toward the back door so as to stay out of sight of the employees conversing about him.  I was disappointed.  I was really hoping one of them would ask him if he’s wearing underwear.  Guys in kilts get that A LOT.  So much so that many of them will show you rather than answer the question.  That would have made my lunch perfect.

Other employee: (I couldn’t hear what she said but I am assuming it was something to the effect of can you or would you play bagpipes)

Loud employee: SHOOT NO!  I AIN’T GOT WIND FOR THAT.  I PLAY CLARINET AND VIOLIN THOUGH.

I’d beg to differ loud, funny lady.  I think you most certainly “have the wind for that”.

After that they got really busy so there was no more commentary from the kitchen.  I quickly became surrounded by the boring droning of the most vanilla of wealthy white people.  Then I remembered why I seldom go to the uppity shopping mall despite it being the closest place I can get Thai food.  I don’t really fit in with uppity white people.  I don’t really fit in with most people, if I am entirely honest.  I guess the nice thing about not fitting in anywhere though, is that I’ve kind of learned how to blend in most everywhere.  Well, so long as I don’t open my mouth.  If I have to open my mouth I’m much more like the loud Noodle lady.  I may stick out like a sore thumb, but hopefully I’m at least entertaining.

 

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Apparently we’re fat AND co-dependent. Well that sucks.

Earlier today I was thinking about how it sucks that I have to work so much harder than Andy does to make less money than he does all because my vagina is being penalized. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.

Speaking of being screwed by your vagina (aka gender inequality) today when I came home from work and immediately cooked dinner like I always do not because anyone asks me to but because there’s a societal expectation that as a woman I am supposed to take care of the house and family and … WHOA! Sorry about that. I sent my daughter to a liberal arts school and clearly I’ve spent way too much time talking to her lately. I’m all for feminism, don’t get me wrong, but this is a post about co-dependent fat people.

What I was trying to say was, tonight I made a batch of Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuits for dinner because Andy loves them and I love cooking things that make him happy. But he wants me to be happy too so he does things like eat way too many and then tell me I should eat more because he feels bad for eating too many and then I eat more because I feel like he has given me some permission I needed or something and then the next thing you know, we seriously ate an entire batch of cheese and butter filled dough. 14 biscuits, you guys.  I am not even exaggerating.  I’m fairly certain we aren’t going to make it until morning.  I think I can actually feel my arteries congealing as I type this.

The sad thing is, we do this crap all the time. Not just with food either, but with being lazy. Andy is very sedentary and constantly talks me into joining him in sedentary activities. I do it easily because I like spending time with him and the things we do together are fun. The thing is though, when Andy and I got together 7 years ago, I was strictly watching what I ate and exercising every day and he was controlling his portions and trying to make a point to be less sedentary. We have become locked in a co-dependent relationship where we are each dependent on the other to allow us to be fat.

Andy and me in 2006.

Andy and me in 2012Andy and me in 2012.

So I guess the first step is admitting we have a problem.  The second step is making the rest of the cheddar bay biscuits and taking them to the pot luck I’m going to on Saturday.

Also, even though they’re mine, I’ll say it.  Boobs.  That’s not a step, that’s pointing out the white elephant in the room.  Literally, in this case.

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I may never sleep again

and also, I may have to move.

Believe it or not, I was in my 20’s the fist time I saw a centipede. Well, I mean, in real life and outside of the insect house at the zoo. I always hated that scene in Willy Wonka though. Anyway, I remember my first centipede because I was in the shower and it crawled across the wall. I horror movie screamed and ran wet and naked down the stairs. We had company. I was too busy being horrified to care.

I guess we didn’t have centipedes in the house I grew up in because my dad owned a pest control company and stored bulk containers of pesticides directly beneath my bedroom in the garage. That probably explains a lot of things about my childhood, actually.

Anyway, the house I live in now has centipedes ALL THE FREAKING TIME and by all the freaking time I mean I see 1 or 2 a year. Each time I scream and shake and freak out until someone comes and deals with it or I manage to hit it with one of the objects I am chucking at it from across the room. The centipedes we get here are fast and have really long legs that look like false eyelashes and I’m pretty sure they are getting in through a portal straight from hell. They are horrible and creepy and I just found out recently that they BITE! Holy fudge can these things get any more horrible?!?! (and no, one didn’t bite me, a fb friend was bitten and I was like, GAH OMFG ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! and I looked it up and was like OMG WHY IS LIFE SO TERRIBLE!?!?!)

So last night I was ripping tiles out of my shower and scraping up caulk when I stepped into the hallway to grab a trash can and an entirely different variety of centipede crawled across my hallway floor. This one was bulky and had short legs and looked much more like the giant ones at the zoo than the eyelashy ones we usually have. I screamed so loudly that Andy ran up 2 flights of stairs to see what was wrong. I had a tile in my hand so I threw the tile on it and then jumped up and down on it several times. I made Andy check to be sure it was dead and then had him throw the tile away. I’ll just buy a new tile. It’s okay.

The point of all of this is, I just found out there are at least 2 species of centipedes in this area of the country and apparently they’ve both found the hell portal into my house.

Now I’m all itchy and keep seeing centipedey shadows. *shudder* Yeah, I’m going to have to move.

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Sap does not just come from trees

This morning as Andy and I were lying snuggled in bed, I started to ask him a question.   I was going to ask, if you could chose between having love and having wealth, which would you choose?  Before I could even ask it though, it occurred to me that he had already made that choice.  He had made it time and again: when he bought our house to have room for my daughter and me; when he let me get that second dog we couldn’t afford; when he allowed me to quit work and go to law school; when he co-signed for my student loans; when he helped me buy my daughter’s first car; when he embraced me mentoring a foster kid and allowed me to spend our money making her world brighter; when he allowed my daughter to go to an expensive private university; when he supported me starting two businesses; the list goes on and on.  He has, at every possible opportunity, chosen love over money.  With that realization, I wept.

And then I grabbed my camera to capture the moment.  The moment I realized just how much my goofy, sweet, wonderful boyfriend loves me, and was moved by how much I love him back.

And then I thought of last night’s conversation when I told some friends about the poem Neil Gaiman wrote for Amanda Palmer and surprised her with during her show, For Amanda: an Appreciation after Christopher Fry, sort of , and I decided right then and there to simultaneously recite and compose the following:

Why I Love You, a Sort of Poem That I Am Making Up as I Go Along  (as remembered from this morning)

First, I love you because you laugh at my jokes in spite of yourself,
Second, … (um, I’m skipping this one.)
Third, I love your kisses and snuggles,
Forth, when you tell me I’m pretty, I almost believe you,
Fifth, you make me feel safe,
Sixth, you make me smile,
Seventh, I notice your eyes all the time, and I’m not someone who notices eyes,
Eighth, I love that you don’t find it gross that I like to pick your pimples and scabs,
Ninth, I love that you don’t mind that I’m weird and do weird things … like this, right now,
Tenth, I love that we have been together almost 7 years and it feels like 7 days and 7 decades all at once,
Eleventh, I love that I put our lives in my blog an you don’t mind,
Twelfth, you believe in me,
Thirteenth, I love that I can make jokes at your expense and you know that I’m only playing,
Fourteenth, I love the feel of your skin,
Fifteenth, I love that you cry at movies, because I can’t,
Sixteenth? … I think? … I love that I love so many things about you that I’ve lost count.  …

So I guess I’ll go make you breakfast now.  I got fresh bacon at the farmer’s market.  🙂

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Hanging in there

I passed the bar and was sworn in but am not being offered a position at the firm I’ve been working at because the attorney market sucks and they can’t afford to hire me.  I am welcome to stay on as an overqualified paralegal as long as I want though, because I do good work.

I am trying to be brave and am going to hang a shingle and work my butt off on this venture and the small retail business that I am taking over part ownership in and hope for the best.  I have asked my supervising attorney for a letter of recommendation and plan to send some resumes out, but I am not holding my breath that they will yield a position anywhere.

Compounding things is the fact that it is going to cost me another $300 to be registered so I can begin practicing.  All of my student loans have come due, and I just got a letter from my daughter’s school saying I have to cough up $4700.00 in the next 2 weeks.  Andy is stressed from having supported me for years and seeing no end in sight and I’m having nightmares.

Earlier in the week I dreamed we faced either eating one of our dogs or dying of starvation.  Last night I dreamed I got home late for board game night with my guests on my heels to find that Andy was rearranging the house.  As the dream went on t became clear that he was doing so in order to move me out and move someone else in.  This all happened while I had guests who were complaining that there was no food and no music.

So as scary as it all is, there is really nothing else I can do at this point.  I’m cutting back to part time at my current job, sending out resumes, applying for GAL appointments, applying for adjunct teaching positions, and hoping beyond hope that I can make something good happen before Andy gets completely fed up with me never being home and not making any money.  It sucks but I don’t see that I have any alternative.

So that’s how things stand with me.  Anybody need a lawyer?

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