Archive for the ‘Let’s be honest…’ Category

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As I walk away…

May 8, 2011

Let's do this thing.

After watching The Voice rerun on E! in the bedroom while folding laundry that had been sitting in the basket for over 3 days ($100 to the first person who can pull the hat trick of ‘what a LOSER this girl is’) I came back later to find the Howard Stern movie on. That’s when it hit me. I’m miserable in my life and work because I care too fucking much about what other people think. Seriously. It’s like that chest infection that keeps getting passed around my office — I just can’t shake it. To be honest, I’ve never really cared about Howard Stern one way or the other but tonight it all clicked. He’s a genius. Love him or hate him the man has become the radio legend he is by doing it HIS WAY. Not giving a crap who didn’t like it or had their feelings hurt by it. I’ll admit that just typing that makes me feel badly and there in lies the problem. I need to get over this. I need to get over me. I need to get over this obstacle if I ever want to have a shot at living up to my true potential. Wait…..I need to figure out my true potential. I mean, I know I have the ability to communicate in a way that most people only dream they could. Hell, I’d trade that in a second for a pair of golden pipes. If my shampoo bottles could talk they’d say “man, it’s dark in her ass – oh, and she can’t sing worth a shit.”

Ok, back on track. Potential. I have found that over the past few weeks of speaking up when I feel something needs to be said has been quite liberating. No, I haven’t stopped wearing a bra to work (yet) but it’s most definitely a HUGE step for me. I’ve found that once I let go and stop thinking so much everything comes a little easier. I really do think the trick for me is learning to get over myself and ruffle a few feathers and tell a few people that yes – those pants make you look fat*. Clearly I’ll need to find the line between honest and hurtful but I’m sure in time I’ll get the hang of it.

*I’ve lost 30 pounds since beginning the great sugar embargo and have had no shortage of people come up to me and tell me how great I look these days. Sure it’s wonderful to hear and since my looks are fading a great ass is all I can hope to carry with me into my 40’s so I’ll take all the compliments I can get. Hard not to think that if these same people would have been honest with me back when I looked like a one of those water filled hand toys stuffed into size 8 jeans, I might have cut out sugar a long time ago. I’ll take the personal accountability on this one so as to not hurt anyone’s feelings. Wait. Damn.

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He looks freakin’ dead…

May 6, 2011

Once upon a time I couldn’t go to sleep without updating this blog. Now I go months ignoring it – treating it like the fat, ugly sister who tags along on a night out with my sexy friends. As much as I try to hide it, writing is my first true love. Sure I might pretend that I’m someone who doesn’t care whether or not you talk to me or give me the time of day but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I live to make people laugh and sometimes I go over the line into inappropriate to do it and this is why I’ll most likely end up divorced and dying alone.

I’ve found myself in a new place where I’m aware that life is short and no one is going to force me into being happy and fulfilled in my work. That is all up to me. I choose to walk into the building where they ID me to even get into the parking deck every morning. Like I’d ever want to park there if I didn’t have to, right? My car is so fucking banged up and shitty at this point what the hell do I care. Put it next to the dumpster and let’s see if someone will pick it up before the end of the work day. Doubtful. Man, I’m never gonna get the 350Z convertible I’d have to trade in one of my kids* for.

I’m venturing into the next chapter of my life and that means I’m facing a semi. No, I haven’t sprouted a small dick (not just yet anyway). A semi-mid-life crisis. What? That’s not a thing? Well too bad cause I’m making it a thing. I’m not quite 40 but I’m definitely old enough to be looking back thinking “fuck young people” and “what the hell do they know about life anyway?” in my jealousy that I now require 6 pounds of eye cream just to look like I didn’t get an Angry Buccaneer the night before. Sure I could just stop all the drinking but what fun would that be? I want to see just how long my liver was designed to last and my money is on long enough that I die before my mind is mush and I’m shitting in my pants. Oh god, please let that be the case. I’d rather end up hideous with a still-sharp mind than pooping in my underwear, lying on the kitchen floor waiting for the neighbor to come over and have to change my diaper. Hell, I’m 36 and never even borrowed a cup of sugar before so that would be reaaaaaly awkward.

*Ok so I’d never actually trade in one of my kids but I sure as hell would make them sit on top of each other in the fucking passenger seat. Strapped into the proper restraint seat, of course.

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Don’t drink, don’t smoke…

January 25, 2011

For all you goody-two-shoes parents out there who feel you’re doing your children a favor in life by turning on PBS instead of Nickelodeon, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Now I’ll admit that there’s been a time or two where I’ve found myself scrambling for the remote to end the horror of “House of Anubus” before my kids could buy into the idea that all child actors were that bad. But I’d much rather they sit and watch a marathon of “SpongeBob SquarePants” (complete with the ‘Evil Pencil’ episode) than a full day of PBS. Why, you ask? It’s simple. Caillou. How can I be so sure that this little bastard is guaranteed to ruin your child’s life?

5 SIMPLE REASONS

1. He can’t make a snowman
If this child really is four as the show’s annoyingly catchy intro* claims, and he lives far north of the Canadian border, then there is no excuse for his inability to roll a clump of snow between his hands. Growing up in north eastern Ohio I can tell you first hand that making a snowball is taught the same year a toddler begins using the potty. This means he’s either A) still shitting in his pants or B) a lazy do-it-for-me kid destined to be a burden on others well into adulthood.

2. He only has one set of grandparents
While I think it’s great that an older influence is included in the show, it disturbs me that there is no definitive way to know whether or not they are the parents of his mom or his dad. There are no distinguishing features to separate them and none of them ever refer to each other as “son”, “daughter”, “mom” or “dad”. This means that either A) his other set of grandparents died in a horrible hot air ballooning accident or B) his parents are actually brother and sister.

3. His cat sleeps on his bed
Hey, I have no issues with a child having a pet. I have issues with parents that would allow said pet to camp out on a child’s bed. The result of this behavior will either be A) a nasty case of bed bugs that will leave physical as well as emotional scars or B) a dependence on animals that will lead to a lifelong struggle with compulsive Christmas sweater knitting and bestiality.

4. Neither of his parents hold down a job
Sure there have been a sprinkling of episodes where we’ve witnessed his parents getting dressed and claiming to go to work, but it’s been few and far between. Without the confirmation that his parents are independently wealthy we can only assume that either A) they both have a criminal background that keeps catching up with them or B) expect the government to take care of them.

5. He’s bald
If the kid is four and hasn’t so much as a strand of hair coming out of his head, it is pretty safe to assume that he’ll be folically-challenged for life since it’s clear neither his parents, friends nor grandparents seem to be at all alarmed by this. This predicament will lead to either A) an unhealthy obsession with clipping and sniffing other people’s hair on the subway or B) dancing in a nude male review under the stage name of “Slick Sack”.

*”I’m just a kid who’s four, my mommy is a big-fat-whore
She likes exploring the pie-u…

So many drugs to do, each day try something new
I’ll share them with you, I’m hi-u…

My world is gambling, gaming each day
with mommy and daddy to show me the way…

Growing up obsessed with muff, man it’s been really tough
I’ll clip it for you, I’m Caillou, Caillou, I’m Caillou – kill me!”

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I tumble for you…

April 18, 2010

"The Dumping Place for the Working Man"

There are few times of the year I enjoy more than mid-Spring.  Sure the pollen is so bad it makes you want tear your eyes out with grapefruit spoons and serve them to a little-f*cker-just-tore-through-your-trash raccoon.   But everything else is so wonderful about it, you find yourself not missing them so much.  For me, it’s not just the removal of our trailer-style window film or the fact that we can lock the kids out on the back porch for hours at a time that makes me feel so high — it’s the freshly warm breezes and crinkling of young tender leaves.  The sight of little boys peeing freely in the neighbors bushes and unleashed dogs humping park benches.  The energy that once again returns after the long months of frigid air and darkness.  Good or bad, illicit or illegal, I take it all in with the eagerness of Ronald Miller on his first day of Senior year.

I have found this year to be particularly enjoyable as I’ve been able to celebrate not just the glorious “Open Season” weather, but the return of Mayor McChaise to her deliciously trendy furniture blog.  Oh how I’ve missed her and the constant reminder that no matter how many layers of ‘double the toddlers’ are embedded into our couch cushions, there are plenty of people out there who make my décor look [almost] ready for Park Avenue – crusty fluids and all.

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Here she comes again…

April 12, 2010

You can only keep a good woman down so long — and I’m a pretty fantastic woman — so 6 months seems about right.  I’ve not been away so much as grinding on the corporate stump.  What is it that’s brought me back? Blame the jogging, blame the lack of creative outlet, blame the hormones, blame HootSuite being down for maintenance.  Either which way, I’m back to stay.  So get out of my way…and listen to what I have to say.

Ok, so I’m a little rusty but it won’t take me long to get back into the swing of things here in Webie World.  You all are about to embark on the journey that will take me through this summer into ‘official’ middle-age, and you all know what that means.
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Cue Tom Petty: BREAKDOWN!

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He is a pig…

October 28, 2009

ass-faceIf there was ever a photo that represented “a week in the life of webie gal”, this is it*.  Doesn’t that stupid little kitten think he’s just so cute.  Don’t be fooled.  A moment after this photo was snapped, there is no doubt in my mind that this kitten went crazy-from-all-the-syphilis and left at least 2 dead and another 4 injured before fleeing the scene.  See?  That’s the difference between me and a lot of other people — I can see through the disguise.

*Please do not mistake my using the term “this is it” as some shameful ploy to hype the repugnantness that is dead Michael Jackson movie-music-circus.  While I no doubt enjoy (most) of the music he left behind, I have no desire to sit through a money-grubbin’ theatrical event.  Let’s be honest…if I want to see over 90 minutes of crotch grabbing – I’ll spend an afternoon with my 4-year old son.

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That’s gonna leave a mark…

October 25, 2009

Leaving the office late on Friday night I realized: I’m on a path to nowhere.

hallway-to-nowhere

Much like the main hallway after 5PM on a Friday, it seems my career is drifting into the abyss.  Sure I surround myself with extremely talented and intelligent people who lend me their expertise and guidance on a daily basis – that’s not the problem.  The problem is “the ladder”.  I find myself clinging to a rung that I’m not sure I’ll ever have the opportunity to pull up from.  Being a classic overachiever, this frustrates me and causes a restlessness that I wish I knew how to tame.  But I don’t.  I probably never will.  For some reasons, that’s a good thing – but for others, it’s a curse.

For me: it’s not about the destination, it’s about getting there.

*I heard this song while driving to the store last weekend and realized it spoke directly to how I approach just about everything I do in life.  Try to look past the “Miley Cyrusness” of it and really listen to the words.  I’d bet there are many more of you out there who will relate to this message than won’t.  It’s ok.  We won’t tease you for singing along with Cyrus.