Dumpster Fire

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…And as a result, I can now go back to being an angry, miserable bastard. Many of you who read this blog may recall that I told my mother that I was going to give up acting as such (http://deuxlosers.blogspot.com/2010/02/40-days-of-lent-rs.html)…

We’ll despite the naysayers, I did just that. I was a wonderful man for 40 days….

But now that Lent is over… the first thing I did when I came in this morning is to tell my office counterpart (who wanted to talk about the NCAA Brackets of which I have been out since round one) that I wasn’t in the mood to hear any of his shit! Fuck him…. This verbal lashing was made even better not 15 seconds later when another officemate came and wanted to talk Redskins… I was all over that one… leaving the first guy sad and confused.

While that was minimum… its only noon. There will be more miserable bastardness to come… this is promise!!!

RS

Spring is in the air, the sun has returned and so have the bugs. Usually any chance encounter with a bug in my apt is met with a myriad of screams, prayers, tears and followed by an minor emotional break down. This is all due to the fact I believe bugs will automatically crawl into your ear and lay eggs in your brain while you sleep. 

The breakdowns were all fine when I was the only person living on my floor. But that is no longer the case. My apt is all full and the walls are paper thin. I know this because I literally hear my neighbors breathing, coughing or sneezing. Many times I find myself saying, "God bless you" across the wall.


As a single woman living on her own for the first time, I realized, you don't want to waste your screams.

I was listening to the news this week. Apparently, there's a man in my neighborhood, who likes to break into single women's homes in the middle of the night and fondle himself in front of them. With my luck, he's probably also an avid fan of this blog.

It was then I realized, it's important that my blood curdling screams should be saved for freaks like that. Not for the stink bug that happened to find it's way into my bedroom. The solution is easier said than done. I thought about just covering my mouth, but I don't want the neighbors to get used to my muffled screams, as those are also a cry for help.

I believe I will start singing old negro spirituals to give me the strength to do what I need, to defend my new apt from 6 legged intruders. And I'll save the real screams of fear for the 2 legged ones.

LB

There is an old cliché that says God takes care of babies and fools. I believe this to be true because this past weekend my little girl turned 10 yrs old. She is my baby… and I am a fool… and God has taken care of us both.

Have you ever had one of those moments as a child where you looked at your parents and just wondered how and why they were granted the right to be parents? My daughter has one of those moments every time she’s in the same room as me.

Flash back eight years or so. My family was slated to arrive in town. I forgot to set my alarm clock. Shit! Now I’m running late to pick them up from the airport… Now I have to hurry to get me and my kid ready.

OK, how am I going to do this? Well, I guess I should just get myself ready while she is still asleep, then get her ready when I am done. Or, I could wake her up, get her cleaned and dressed and then let her eat while I’m getting ready. Or, I could get ready and just pick her up and put her in the car asleep. Or, I could put her in the bathtub and let her play in the water while I wash up in the other bathroom. Or I could just leave her here with my roommate and his girlfriend. The possibilities were endless. Sensory overload set in.

After sitting there for 20 minutes deciding how I should handle the situation, I realized that I had in fact just wasted 20 minutes. I sat there for another five minutes stressing out about how I had just wasted 20. After reconsidering all my options one last time, I finally made a decision: get her washed, give her something to eat and then you get ready.

I hastily picked her up from her crib.

In case you don’t have children you might not know: you should never hastily pick up an 18-month old. It’s just stupid. Picking her up so quickly startled and woke her.

But being awake wasn’t a problem. Her screaming because I’m a dumbass was. I tossed her on the bed and took her clothes off, amidst her cries and pleas for help. I figured once she was in the tub shit would be cool. Kids love the bathtub. They can slosh water around, they can play in the bubbles, and they can eat soap. The tub was the answer.

At that moment the worst thing that could have possibly happened did happen. I had a great idea.

I’m not going to put my 18-month old in the bath tub. That would take too much time. I’m going to give her a shower.

Yes, the shower. This is going to be great. I’m going to save time, and everything is going to work out for the best. My mind was racing at 100 mph as I took handfuls of water from the shower and dumped it on her to get her wet. Never mind that now the bathroom floor is soaked. It’s cool because this is all part of my plan.

It gets worse. Implementation of the next stage of my master plan... putting soap all over her. Let’s step back for a minute, and take a good look at what is actually taking place. A naked, freezing, screaming 18-month old girl in the middle of a bathroom; her idiot father sitting on the soaked bathroom floor, in his boxers, lathering her up with Dial Body Wash.

It gets worse still. After feverishly lathering up my offspring, I put the finale part of my masterpiece to work. I got up off the soaking wet floor, picked up my soapy, slippery angel, turned on the shower and shoved into the path of the water. She screamed like there was no tomorrow. Figuring the water to be too hot, I turned up the cold water and shoved her back in the H2O’s violent path.

The screaming continued, but I figured it was cool. I had about half the soap off her at this point, so I was confident that she was going to make it thought the ordeal. The only problem was that I really couldn’t rotate her 180 degrees, without actually getting halfway in the shower myself. I was kind of leaning and twisting and turning, but I was just missing too many spots.

By this point I was so wrapped up in plan execution I had forgotten her screams. I now had one leg in the shower, and was trying my hardest to get the last of the soap off -- while she kicked and yelled and spit water at me. I just didn’t know why. The water was nice and warm.

Hearing the screams for help… my roommates girlfriend came to assist me… She walked in and there she saw… a naked, soapy, dripping 18-month old held captive in a stream of rapidly moving water. Her father standing there in soaked boxer shorts, with one leg on a slippery floor, and the other off-balance in the shower…

“What the fuck are you doing,” she asked. Rightly so I think.

People should have to pass a test to have children… I’m unfit to be a father even now… but I continue to try my very hardest…

Happy Birthday Baby Girl…

RS

On Monday the microwave at my office died.  And I being the least senior person in my office with a corporate card was tasked to purchase a new one.

As I looked at the old microwave so unceremoniously removed from it's perch atop the kitchenette, I couldn't help but to reminisce.  I had a lot of memories with that microwave.  Like how it always smelled like bacon from when I made my morning and usually afternoon bacon snacks.  The rest of the office complained, but I never understood how someone could not love having the sweet smell of bacon welcome you everytime you open the microwave door. 

I also remember the day I set a small to moderate fire inside of it.  Good thing our smoke alarms don't work!   BTW... my fire had nothing to do with the untimely demise of the microwave.  I set that fire a year ago  The blackened ceiling of the microwave served as a cautious reminder that metal thermouses do not belong in the microwave.  All in all, it was a good friend that served our office well.

Before you go... can we take a moment of silence for a fallen camrad. 

Hello Readers

If you have ever watched Seinfeld, one of funniest episodes was when George explained how looking annoyed all day at work made him appear busy to all his fellow coworkers.


I thought it was ingenius, so I decided to take my own spin on it and share two very important tips that have carried me far into life... and high up that corporate ladder of lower middle of nowhere management

Part 1 - Keep your desk an unorganized mess

I can find stuff in that heap of garbage I call my office desk, but others, not-so-much! This is good because it prevents people from rummaging around and finding stuff like drafts of my posts for this blog. But also, when people see stacks of papers, all around you, they assume it's because you have a lot to do. When in actuality, I just save everything in a misguded attempt to CYA...  I've become one of those horders on A&E.

Part 2 - Make em wait....

This also happened by accident. Typically people come by my office and ask me for help. Usually I am more than willing to oblige but I never simply get up right then to assist them. Why? Well usually because I keep my pants unbuttoned for maximum comfort at the office and standing up would not be a good idea. This also means I have to be UBER vigilant about open zippers when walking down the hall, but you know what. It's a small price to pay. My coworkers, think the delay is because I'm finishing up some important report, perhaps synthesizing a plan for world peace. Who knows, but it works like a charm. Sometimes, while they wait, they may figure out a solution, and leave me free to continue doing whatever non-work related activity I was doing before they interrupted me.

Readers, take these tips to heart and maybe, just maybe, it will land you the promotion you've been dreaming of.

LB

So I discovered this little Italian sandwich place down the street from me. Since it’s in walking distance I’ll often head down on foot. It’s my way of earning my calories while also discovering more about my new neighborhood. Whenever I’m there I often get a lot of food. Mainly because I I’m too lazy to cook and need enough to last me a couple days, and also, most importantly, because I’m greedy.


But I don’t want to be that girl who lives alone and orders copious amounts of food. Even if I am that girl.  So I make up an imaginary person that I’m also ordering for when I get to shop. A typical order will go something like this.

I’ll take a order of X and a side of Y …. And oh yea… I also need to order a large Z as well… for my friend. Yes, my friend will also need a two liter of ginger ale as well.  (I pretty much use those exact words!)

Now I’m at the register thinking I’m a genius mastermind. They’ll never know it’s all food for me. But the guy at the register sees thru my geniously crafted façade and will ask if my “friend” needs extra cheese or a particular condiment. The sarcasm drips from his mouth like the grease from whatever I've just ordered. I’ll simply reply, “no” and grab my large bag in shame and rush out the door, usually with a fry or two already in my mouth.

Keep in mind, I do this EVERYTIME I go there. Even though they know there’s no one else eating the food. I feel like I’ve started something and now I have to see it through.

LB



LB

For the last two business days I have managed to duck my boss entirely....  Good days for me.  However this morning.... when I got on the elevator... there that mother fucker was....  Goddamnit!!!!!

Him: "RS, I haven't seen you in days.  Have you been avoiding me?"

Me:  "Yes, yes I have actually."

Awakware silence.  Doors open.  I walk out and never looked back....

I will get fired today...
RS

I become more and more like my mother with each passing day.  One painfully obvious moment was just last week. 

Before we go there we must take a small trip down memory lane. 

Picture it: 
Christmas 1991, I had just gotten the Super Nintendo game system and my mother had challenged me to a game of super mario kart.  I was killing her!  Slaughtering her!  It was glorious!  After a thorough beating my mother puts down her controller and says.  "You may have me in this, but I am the queen of jacks"  She them pulls out this dusty squede pouch from the kitchen (I always wondered what was in that thing) and began to challenge me in a game as old as the sweet saviour himself.  I said "You can't compare JACKS to the superior gaming experience that is Super NES."

Fast forward to last week...
I was on the phone with a dear friend and had expressed my desire to get a PS3 (that is Play Station for those non gamers) instead of a blue ray player.  My friend replied something to the effect that I shouldn't bother because I suck at video games.  I replied, "Suck as video games, my Tetris scores are off the richter"  My friend pretty much shut down that conversation by saying "I don't believe you just used your Tetris scores to prove your need for a PS3." (those may not have been the exact words but that was the gist.  Actually the real gist is that I am a loser... hence the need for this blog. 

I might as well throw out the old Birth Control packs and start pushin out babies, cause when it comes to video I'm on straight mom status!

Darn shame really.

LB

RS

There's nothing like being a woman. You know like having the ability to pee standing up. Market value salaries.  The ability to lift heavy objects without the fear of breaking a nail or the ability to grow facial hair without judgement. OH WAIT... That's men... yea being a girl sucks!

With the amount of estrogen seething through my pores it causes issues - to say the least! The worst occasion happened to be when I cried while driving home from work at a Wachovia radio commercial for identity theft. For some reason knowing that Wachovia had my back if I were to become a victim was too much for my heart to handle.

Yesterday afternoon, I come home and as usual immediately turn the tv on. I happen to stumbled upon a jif peanut butter commercial and by the end I could feel the tears welling up. I have included the commercial because I want you to see how much this is NOT a tear jerker. Yet for some reason, my body rebels against my brain and I can feel the tears welling up.




But the worst commercial and the one I personally think has ruined Sarah Mclachlan career is her animal cruelty commercial. Whenever her song "Angel" comes on all I can see and hear are abused dogs. If I see the commercial come on I turn the channel and never come back.  Simply, because I know I'll be seeing abused dogs for the entire show.  I officially HATE that song and that commercial.  But of course I've included it for your viewing pleasure. 

• Annual Dog Show
• Almost every episode of Grey's Anatomy
• ET - which I still refuse to see it because I know I will cryThat insurance commercial where people do nice things for each other.  

Have guests coming unexpectedly?  Here's what I do to create a great inviting smell to welcome people as they come to visit. 

Forget candles, infusers or incense.  Head for the fridge and cook some bacon!  It works as a snack to help you keep up your energy as you entertain your guests and nothing is more inviting than the smell of fresh cooked bacon.

HGTV ain't got nothing on me!
LB

To best understand this post, you will need to read yesterday's.  Here's the link 

So it turns out that things are not always as they seem. Funny enough, the man who sexyily (is that a word?) threw my heavy box into the car was in fact my new neighbor. HE LIED. HE LIED not only to me, but TO MY MOMMA!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG… WTF… and a few other acronyms I can’t think of right now.


OK highly attractive man who lives right down the hall from me. How would you think that I wouldn’t figure out! You live right down the hall from me. WTF!
I just got rejected and HARD! REAL HARD! I realize that I only look like Halle Berry when the room is highly shaded, but still. Lying sir… only makes me want you harder!
This is real folks, cue Hi-Five song. “He’s playing hard to get, he’s playing… but he likes me… he likes me!”

Special Addendum:
I told my mother that there was a man who moved into the apt down the hall. She suggested I bring him pie, but left some important words for me as well. She said, “LB, before you bring the pie, make sure to shave your face!” Good lookin’ out mom. She always has my back!

LB

Currently, in my lovely apt building I am the only tenant on my floor.  But just yesterday, there were movers bring stuff into an apt down the hall from me. 

There were two men dressed in movers gear while a third much more attractive man oversaw the work.  As I walked past him to take out my trash he kindly greeted me. 

I took a quick assessment.  No ring, attractive, nice build, can obviously afford movers and polite.  SCORE!  I threw out my trash and hightailed it back to my apt, for some personal renovations!  I quickly did my hair, threw on some make-up and smothered myself in scented lotion.

When my mother came by the apartment later on that day she also noticed the cute new neighbor and true to form had already chatted him up before she even got to my door. 

The minute she came into my place she said, "I saw your new neighbor he's cute!"  I answered very nonchalantly, "Yea, I think I said hello to him earlier"

As my mother and I left my apt we took with us a large box that required both of us to carry.  Without missing a beat my mother, sees the new neighborman and exclaims, "You're a big strong man, why don't you help me and my daughter carry this to our truck."

The man took that big box with one hand and tossed it on his shoulders.  I was so turned on, I wanted to hump his leg right there in the hallway! 

As he loads the box effortlessly into the trunk my mother asks, are you the one moving into the apartment.  He answers, "No Ma'am" 

"No Ma'am!"  In just that instant the look on both our faces change.  We ignored him for the rest of the afternoon.  The disappointment hung thick in the air.  Worst part, what moved in was some chick with a yappy dog I wanna kick in the throat everytime I see it.      

LB
PS... I hope my new neighbor never reads this post!

I grew up Catholic although I'm not really practicing anymore.  During Lent Catholics famously give up something special or important to them for a 40 day time period which I believe symbolizes the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert when he was tempted by Satan.

While on the phone with my mother on Fat Tuesday (the day before Lent starts) she asked me what I was giving up for Lent.  At that point I told her that I have decided to give up being an miserable, angry human being...

Silence... before bellowing laughter....

"You can't make it one day without being angry about something or angry at someone.  We both know that."

I have no idea what that woman said the rest of the conversation because she could barely compose herself.

Thanks for being supportive of me Mom...

RS

My friends kids call me Uncle Leslie.  I do not bother to correct them. 
Children are honest and they call it as they see it.

LB

I suffer from chronic foot in mouth syndrome. 

One oarticularly gruesome flare up was during a funeral.  The service was over and everyone was leaving the cemetery.  I was in the car with the family, crackin jokes attempting to make everyone laugh.  I had everyone in the car laughing hysterically at what... I don't remember.  But then the foot in mouth syndrome hit. 

It was summer, so the car windows were down and what wafted in was one of the worst odors I've ever had to smell.  The first words out of my mouth were... wait for it... "UGH!  It smells like dead people in here."  Everyone just stopped for a second.  I was honestly contemplating jumping out the car window at the next light. 

The rest of the ride home was completely silent. 

Foot in Mouth 1286 / LB 0

LB

RS

I just wanted to start by saying I do not recognize the holiday you call Valentines Day. What I do recognize is its sister holiday, Singles Awareness Day (SAD). I haven't actually recognized the holiday since 2nd grade.

Let me give you a run down of my V-Day experiences (there’s only 3)

2nd Grade
I was just a wee lass then, happily exchanging assorted valentines cards with candies stuck inside. When one little boy came up to me and said happy Valentine's Day and tried to come in for a kiss. I said "Ewww! You can't kiss me, you smell like cheese crackers"

First Boyfriend
I've actually never had an official Valentine. Never seemed to stay in a relationship long enough to experience it. (Don't cry for me Argentina) The closest I've ever come is with my very first boyfriend. We actually met after V-Day. We were on the phone and he was eating chocolates. Apparently, his V-Day had not gone so well. And as he sat on the phone eating the V-Day chocolates, meant for someone else, he said to me. If I had known you on V-Day, these would have been for you. He then proceeded to polish off the whole box during the rest of our phone conversation.




Currently

I really hate my apartment!

On the real folks... moving is for the birds.  The next time I decide to move from one apt to the next I am going to burn everything I own and start from scratch.  Taking with me only my purses and shoes and assorted lip glosses as I have an addiction to them all.

My fridge:  I've seen coolers with no ice in the middle of a july cookout keep food cooler than this thing.  My freezer only keeps meats, vegetables and icecream cool - NOT FROZEN!  My freezer smells like the meat section of one of the questionable markets in bad neighborhoods.  Whenever you open the freezer it actually smells like warm meat. 



Moving onto the living room





LB

I bought a new wireless router for the apartment.  The first one was a dud.  Thanks Walmart! 
I repurchased the same router from Best Buy.  Lo and Behold... it was working a lot better than first.  It was still not functioning but at least the lights turned on for this one. 

So I call my friendly international technical assistance.  Yes this man was definitely Indian.  A lot of people have very strong opinions about overseas customer service agents.  But I will say this for the record.  I believe that India is the SMARTEST nation in the world.  I do not know how anything I own would function if there wasn't some sweet knowledgeable techincal assistant rep to make it work after I broke it.   But I digress. 

I thought I was going to have to replace the second router after it too failed to function.  But turns out, I had changed the name of the network to something that was not compatible.  Apparently, NO DIGGITY NO DOUBT, is not a suitable name for the router.  Although I feel he is grately mistaken!
What even worse is when you have to spell out that name to the internation customer service agent.  N-as-in-Nancy O-as-in-Oh maybe-I-shouldn't-have-named-it-this.  As is is extremely hard to keep a straight professional tone over the phone when you're laughing at having the customer service agent repeat back your stupid network title.

LB

Many of you may be wondering… where’s LB been.

The answer is… in apartment hell.

I am for the first time living independently no parents, no roommate just me!   Now that we've got the good stuff out the way, lets bring our attention back to the oh so many things that go wrong.  Today's story is about my first big purchase for the place... My new bed frame.

Unfortunately for me I have battled with insomnia for the better part of the last 10 years.  If you have the grave misfortune of dealing with such a plight then I greive for you because dealing with it has been the bane of my existance.  I can only speculate as to how and why it began but the reasoning behind it is simply irrelevant.  The painful experince is far more importnat than the reasoning...

Insomnia is a cyclical experince, meaning that when that mother fucker shows up it hangs around for a few weeks... maybe a few months and then leaves only to return to fight anonther day.  I'm currently in one of those horrible cycles and I'm catching about 2-3 hours of sleep a night.

Recently, in an attmpt to battle this horrid demond I turned to the mythical treatment of... Counting sheep.  Yes....  I tried couting sheep.  Lots of sheep...

I sat in a field alone in an old wooden rocking chair slowly rocking back and forth and stroking my beard.  One after another the little white sheep slowly trootted in front of me before leaping into the air over a low wooden fence.  Their agility was quite shocking to tell you the truth and the process of couting them was actually somewhat soothing at first.   I was quickly lulled into a sense of peace and sleepiness...

Hours later and nearly 4,500 sheep counted, I found myself still wide awake and far more angry and frustrated than I was when I started counting.

4497, 4498, 4499... and after that I could take no more.  The 4500th sheep move quickly toward the fence.  I leand forward in my chair.  As it approcached the fence for its ballet like leap... I struck...  Like hungry lion rushing atelope I charged...  As the sheeps hoved feet left the ground I aslo leaped in the air chatching him in stride and driving him into the groud like Ray Lewis snatching some fool running back out of the air as he tried to dive for the end zone.

Despite catching him completely off gaurd the sheep was suprisingly quick and agile.  He was back up to his feet in no time.  I barrell rolled over and qucikly jumped up to my feet.  But before I could steady myself the sheep caught me with a sharp right hoof to my left eye.  I stumbled back a step or two to regain focus.  It was then that I realized he was standing vertically on his back legs with his two front hooves held up in boxer like fashion.  I was stunned.  He caught with me another short right and a left cross before I could defend myself.  He clearly saw my confusion.  It made no sense to me that I had just gotten punched in the face by a sheep and he was taking advantage of my awestrucked stature.  That alone was enough for him to get in a few good shots before I could counter.

His hooves where lightning quick and right away I knew I was out matched in the standing game.  My only hope was to untilize my wrestling background and take this sheep to the ground.  As he drew back to throw another hoof I changed levels and dropped down to his legs.  I hooked both my arms around the back of his cavles and drove upward lifting him into the air before driving him into the ground with a text book double leg takedown.  Once he hit the grass I qucikly I attacked him with vicious ground and pound.  I reigned down elbows and forearms on his snout.  With him on his back he was clearly out of his element.  I dominated him on the ground as he worked to scramble from underneath of me.  My overconfidence in this position however got the best of me when I went for a choke hold.   The slickness of his coat mixed wit the morning due of the meadow made it difficult for me to get a firm grip on him and he rolled out of my grasp and jumped back up to his feet.  This sheep was experienced.

As he rose I rushed him again.  He set up quickly and was ready to throw another punch.  However, I could see the disorientation in his eyes.  My guess is that he never fought a wrestler before and had never spent any time on his back.  Clearly he wanted no part of my ground game.  I knew he was more confident standing so I had to play this one smart.  I engageded him quickly looking to lockup with him.  I figured I could out muscle him. Speed and agility were on his side but I knew it was unlikely that he spent any time in the weight room.  I intentionally telegraphed my forward movement trying to goat him (or should I say sheep him) into throwing an ill advised punch.  He did.  As I moved forward he set up to drop me with a powerful right cross.  I changed levels again to avoid the strike.  His hoof flew over my head and as I came back up I saw my opening.  I slid a half step to my left creating enough space for me to deleiver a killer left hook.  He never saw it coming.  I caught him flush behind the ear.  He was out as soon as I connected.  A splilt second later he was on the ground laying face down in the soft meadow.

I jumped up and raised my hands in victory like I had just knocked out Rampage Jackson.  The championship was mine....  But then I made a few horrible realizations...

1.  The sheep that I just knocked out was getting some sleep right now.  The whole purpose of this exercise in couting sheep was for ME to get some sleep.  Now I'm standing in some field in some unknown location having just battled a sheep... and I'm still awake...

But perhaps more importantly...

2.  I'm all by myself standing in this field in some unknown location surrounded by 4,499 angry sheep hell bent on getting some revenge for their fallen brother...

I turned to them... balled up my fist... and got ready.  These sheep are going down!  There would be no sleep that night...

RS