I only have one more week at my current job, and I’m starting to freak out a little. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s time to leave and I am excited about moving on to something better, but I have gone to the same place and been surrounded by the same people everyday for five years. Some of these people have become genuine friends that I know I will stay in touch with, but a lot of them I will potentially never see again. It’s making me a little sad, so I am going to take this time to bid adieu to some of the work people who didn’t quite make the transition into my real life, and will therefore be completely out of my world in one short week:
The ‘Good Morning’ Guy: Good Morning Guy comes to work everyday and says good morning to everybody. Literally. If four people are standing around talking in a group, he doesn’t just issue one general ‘good morning’, he says it four times in a row. “Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!” He works in the very last back office, so he can usually hit just about everyone on his way by.
The Gratuitous Swearer: The Gratuitous Swearer manages to incorporate the words ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘motherfucker’, ‘twat’ and various other profanities into every conversation, regardless if it’s work related or not. It’s kind of like working with George Carlin. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a meeting or just in the lunchroom, the Gratuitous Swearer lets it rip. I tend to have my own potty mouth (as I’m sure you’ve figured out if you have been reading this blog with any kind of regularity), but I’m a very ‘appropriate time and place’ kind of swearer. Swearing in front of clients or the powers-that-be seems in terribly bad taste to me, but it amuses me to no end when GS does it.
The Bawler: The Bawler cries about something at least once a week for various reasons. She has an extreme emotional response to being happy, sad, overwhelmed, angry, or confused. It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t a senior manager, but she is. And, she bursts into tears all the time, even in meetings. Awkward.
Cutie Pie: The most adorable guy ever. Not only is he adorable, but he is a dream to work with. I never have to deal with any bullshit when I'm working on a project with him. I love this dude. He is a man of few words, but when he does talk he always says something great. Just being around him makes me happy. Who am I going to fantasize about in meetings now?
The Fishbowl: – Our technical staff sit in an all glass room and geek-out all day long. About three years ago I made the mistake of asking them something about a satellite dish, and now they tell me about every new techy sky-based computer thingy and are under the mistaken impression that I’m interested. I’ve never had the heart to tell them I don’t really give a shit. They are all single.
Monty Hall: If you need something, any random thing, Monty Hall has it at her desk. I don’t know if she is psychic or a pack-rat, but I haven’t been able to stump her in five years. When I’m a little bored I think of the most random out-there thing in the world and then I go ask Monty if she has it. She ALWAYS does.
TMI: Too Much Information – guess what she’s like? I know WAY more than I care to about her menstrual cycles, sexual history, finances and digestive system.
I’m really going to miss these folks in all their quirky glory. Speaking of quirky, head on over to Sprite's Keeper's place for the Spin Cycle! This week's topic, as it turns out....quirks! Finally - I fit right in.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Random Tuesday - a little BLLLAAAAHHHH
It’s Tuesday, and I’m having a hard time being Random. I’m a little OCD so this meme kind of stresses me out. What the hell is a meme, anyway? Is it just a blog related word that only comes up in cyberland, or is my vocabulary woefully inadequate? Or, shall I say derisory. Thanks, thesaurus.
I read a lot, I write quite a bit, but for some reason I am a horrible speller. Like, really, really bad. It makes texting very difficult because of the whole OCD thing.
This guy? He’s an asshole.
I really want a dog. I have three kids, I’m starting a brand new job, my husband works nights and I’m trying to workout five days a week. A dog would be perfect, don’t you think?
Our family is renting a trailer and is going to spend three weeks this summer living in a van down by the river. Five people in a camper trailer travelling through the BC interior? I’m pretty sure this is the worst idea ever. It will probably be fabulous for blogging material though.
I really like the blog Frogs in my Formula. This chick totally cracks me up every time she posts. I hope her job gets really boring and she gets to post everyday because my job is really boring and I need more to read.
V8 is gross.
Today I am taking my daughter to get her learners license, and she wants me to let her drive home. I really, really, REALLY don’t want to do that. Not only do I want to live, but I haven’t had the chance to go and increase my insurance (read: lower my deductable) yet. I need to think of a way to get out of this. For the next two years. At least.
Go see Keely. All the cool kids are doing it.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twelve
This is the twelfth week of Fat Chick vs. Food. I have been officially at this for three months, so I think it’s time to take stock of who is actually winning this contest.
In the left corner we have Fat Chick, wearing sweatpants, a ponytail and a t-shirt she pulled out of a case of beer. She’s looking leaner than we last saw her, and sitting in her corner are her friends Determination, Strength of Will and the Desire for Nicer Clothes.
In the right hand corner we have Food, wearing a potato chip bag and glazed donut bracelets. Food has taken a beating these last few rounds, but is still standing and should not be underestimated at this point in our competition. In Food’s corner we have his friends Indulgence, Stress and Insecurity.
We’re only a third of the way in and think we’re going to have to call it in Fat Chick’s favor......so far. Food has put forth an impressive effort, especially with a very strong starting line up that includes beer, wine, nachos, pizza and cheeseburgers. However, Fat Chick has shown a remarkable counter offensive that includes the gym, bootcamp, squash, vegetables and Trainer Lady.
So here we are, three months in. Food is tricky and has landed a few good blows, so we can’t count him out yet. Complacency, Self Doubt and Beer on the Deck are all ringers Food has just signed to contract and they may see a spot in the starting line up in the very near future. Fat Chick is going to have to keep vigilant and be ready to take Food out at the knees. No more fucking around, Fat Chick. You better be prepared to pop a cap in his ass, sista. True dat, yo!!!
Uhhh……sorry. I guess Fat Chick sometimes forgets she’s a chubby white girl living in Saskatchewan. All 'gangsta's' write in the third person, don't they?
I lost another 2.5 pounds this week, bringing the total to 20.5 pounds down. I have 39.5 pounds to go. Wow, 39 pounds sounds so much better than sixty.
In the left corner we have Fat Chick, wearing sweatpants, a ponytail and a t-shirt she pulled out of a case of beer. She’s looking leaner than we last saw her, and sitting in her corner are her friends Determination, Strength of Will and the Desire for Nicer Clothes.
In the right hand corner we have Food, wearing a potato chip bag and glazed donut bracelets. Food has taken a beating these last few rounds, but is still standing and should not be underestimated at this point in our competition. In Food’s corner we have his friends Indulgence, Stress and Insecurity.
We’re only a third of the way in and think we’re going to have to call it in Fat Chick’s favor......so far. Food has put forth an impressive effort, especially with a very strong starting line up that includes beer, wine, nachos, pizza and cheeseburgers. However, Fat Chick has shown a remarkable counter offensive that includes the gym, bootcamp, squash, vegetables and Trainer Lady.
So here we are, three months in. Food is tricky and has landed a few good blows, so we can’t count him out yet. Complacency, Self Doubt and Beer on the Deck are all ringers Food has just signed to contract and they may see a spot in the starting line up in the very near future. Fat Chick is going to have to keep vigilant and be ready to take Food out at the knees. No more fucking around, Fat Chick. You better be prepared to pop a cap in his ass, sista. True dat, yo!!!
Uhhh……sorry. I guess Fat Chick sometimes forgets she’s a chubby white girl living in Saskatchewan. All 'gangsta's' write in the third person, don't they?
I lost another 2.5 pounds this week, bringing the total to 20.5 pounds down. I have 39.5 pounds to go. Wow, 39 pounds sounds so much better than sixty.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Kicking it Old School
It's been about six months since I started this blog, and in honour of my mini milestone I have decided to totally cop out and re-post my first real blog entry. Since the early beginnings I have managed to find a few other kindred souls in the Blogosphere with some older kids, but for the most part it's still pretty much mommies and their ankle bitters. Oohhhhh, are YOU guys in for a treat!
I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?” Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name).
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
Don't Say I Never Warned You
I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?” Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name).
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Eleven
This week rocked everybody! I have hit my stride, I have seen the light, I am in total control of my little universe and I am super awesome.
I ate very well and managed to haul my fat ass off the couch to get exercising a few times this week. I had a little diversion while in Saskatoon for a meeting on Friday that came with quite a bit of rich food and wine, but I managed not to indulge as much as I would have a few months ago.
To make my fabulousness complete, I have accepted a fantastic new job! I start in the next couple of weeks, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. It’s a great opportunity for me, and it will give me a chance to actually work during the day. Trust me, that fact alone is enough for me to turn into the ‘good morning!’ guy from the Viagra commercials.
My new job will have me out and about a lot more than I ever have been at my last job, and therefore I am going to need some new clothes. I have a lot of ‘work’ clothes now, but I am happy to report that most of them don’t really fit me anymore. I have found myself having to actually roll down the waistband to keep my pants up so they don’t end up around my ankles when I walk. I’m pretty sure the people walking behind me in the hallway can do without the FoN full moon.
So….operation new clothes! In the next few weeks I am going to go buy myself some new ‘yay, you lost weight!’ and ‘yay, you got a new job!’ clothes. And I’m NOT going to the fat girl stores. I might do a little nah-nah-nah-nah-naaahhhhh dance as I walk past them in the mall though.
I lost three more pounds this week! That brings the total poundage lost to 18. I have 42 lbs to go.
I ate very well and managed to haul my fat ass off the couch to get exercising a few times this week. I had a little diversion while in Saskatoon for a meeting on Friday that came with quite a bit of rich food and wine, but I managed not to indulge as much as I would have a few months ago.
To make my fabulousness complete, I have accepted a fantastic new job! I start in the next couple of weeks, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. It’s a great opportunity for me, and it will give me a chance to actually work during the day. Trust me, that fact alone is enough for me to turn into the ‘good morning!’ guy from the Viagra commercials.
My new job will have me out and about a lot more than I ever have been at my last job, and therefore I am going to need some new clothes. I have a lot of ‘work’ clothes now, but I am happy to report that most of them don’t really fit me anymore. I have found myself having to actually roll down the waistband to keep my pants up so they don’t end up around my ankles when I walk. I’m pretty sure the people walking behind me in the hallway can do without the FoN full moon.
So….operation new clothes! In the next few weeks I am going to go buy myself some new ‘yay, you lost weight!’ and ‘yay, you got a new job!’ clothes. And I’m NOT going to the fat girl stores. I might do a little nah-nah-nah-nah-naaahhhhh dance as I walk past them in the mall though.
I lost three more pounds this week! That brings the total poundage lost to 18. I have 42 lbs to go.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Random Tuesday Thoughts
Good day everyone! It's Random Tuesday again, the day Keely at the un-mom gives us permission to totally phone it in. Thanks Keely! Here is my half-assed effort for the week -
The kiss of death when you go to the doctor or the dentist? When they say the word ‘pressure’. As in, “You may feel some pressure." That is doctor code for SEVERE FUCKING PAIN. The next time a doctor says that to you, pray you have a leather strap handy to bite on because it’s not going to be pretty.
It’s almost the middle of March and its forty below. The people from CNN who called us the ‘hot spot’ of North America clearly have never actually been here. Sure, we all have jobs, but if it doesn’t warm up right fucking now we’re all moving to Mexico to work in sweat shops.
I don’t feel like going to the gym. It’s cool damn cold. I want to go for a bike ride or a walk or something. All of you who have the ability of being able to just walk out your front door whenever you want to have no idea how much of a luxury that is. I would kill to be able to see something, anything that’s green right now.
Shannon Doherty seems like someone who is just a gigantic bitch. She was awesome in that Heathers movie though. That show still totally stands up. That movie made me want to eat pate. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.
Speaking of movies, the Watchmen was the worst super hero movie I've ever seen. It was excruciatingly dull and horribly depressing. It's very pleased with itself and has absolutely no reason to be. Seriously, save your ten bucks.
For more randomness, go check out the rest of the clan at the un-mom. Git Git!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 10
Nothing comes between me and my Calvins……except possibly my huge ass.
I have brought out the jeans. You know which ones I’m talking about. THE jeans. The skinny jeans. The jeans that you keep in vain hope of one day being able to suck it in, grab the nearest coat hanger, lie flat on your back and wriggle on until you almost pass out. The jeans you keep in the ‘I have a dream’ section of your closet.
My skinny jeans actually are Calvins and I love them. I love them and I haven’t been able to squeeze my fat ass into them in more than three years. I didn’t retrieve them to torture myself; I actually want to look at them. I can’t get them on yet, but I’m close enough that looking at the Calvins gives me hope instead of making me want to give it up already and just start rocking the moo-moos.
As for the plan I’m working on to get back into those Calvins, on Tuesday I spent an hour and a half with Trainer Lady. I wish I could win the lottery and afford to see her a few times a week because the shit she dreams up for me to do is ingenious. She has the unique ability to keep pushing me really hard without making me want to bash her over the head with a hand weight. I think Trainer Lady should start a cult because if she can make me work that hard and (almost) enjoy it, she’s the fucking pied-piper.
I was pretty good with the food this week, but I fell victim to the siren song of popcorn twice this weekend. I have a MAJOR popcorn addiction. Let me put it this way - if I had to choose between never eating popcorn again and having to give up one of my children, I would finally be getting that guest room I have always wanted. That shit is GOOD. Aside from those two minor indiscretions, I ate pretty well this week.
You know what is cool though? All of my work pants are falling off. I no longer have to actually undo them to get them on and off. While this is pretty cool from a weight loss perspective, walking around with the poopy-drawers is not a great look. In about five more pounds I’m going shopping!
I’m beginning my tenth week, and by this point I was really hoping to have lost twenty pounds. I didn’t make that goal, but I did lose another 2.5 pounds this week and 15 pounds total. I have 45 to go.
I have brought out the jeans. You know which ones I’m talking about. THE jeans. The skinny jeans. The jeans that you keep in vain hope of one day being able to suck it in, grab the nearest coat hanger, lie flat on your back and wriggle on until you almost pass out. The jeans you keep in the ‘I have a dream’ section of your closet.
My skinny jeans actually are Calvins and I love them. I love them and I haven’t been able to squeeze my fat ass into them in more than three years. I didn’t retrieve them to torture myself; I actually want to look at them. I can’t get them on yet, but I’m close enough that looking at the Calvins gives me hope instead of making me want to give it up already and just start rocking the moo-moos.
As for the plan I’m working on to get back into those Calvins, on Tuesday I spent an hour and a half with Trainer Lady. I wish I could win the lottery and afford to see her a few times a week because the shit she dreams up for me to do is ingenious. She has the unique ability to keep pushing me really hard without making me want to bash her over the head with a hand weight. I think Trainer Lady should start a cult because if she can make me work that hard and (almost) enjoy it, she’s the fucking pied-piper.
I was pretty good with the food this week, but I fell victim to the siren song of popcorn twice this weekend. I have a MAJOR popcorn addiction. Let me put it this way - if I had to choose between never eating popcorn again and having to give up one of my children, I would finally be getting that guest room I have always wanted. That shit is GOOD. Aside from those two minor indiscretions, I ate pretty well this week.
You know what is cool though? All of my work pants are falling off. I no longer have to actually undo them to get them on and off. While this is pretty cool from a weight loss perspective, walking around with the poopy-drawers is not a great look. In about five more pounds I’m going shopping!
I’m beginning my tenth week, and by this point I was really hoping to have lost twenty pounds. I didn’t make that goal, but I did lose another 2.5 pounds this week and 15 pounds total. I have 45 to go.
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