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Category Archives: You Don’t Say

At Five Years You Get A Handshake, Right????

So snarkdoodles,

Today is my Five year wedding anniversary to the phubster. I actually can’t believe it’s been five years of being married, and 8 years of being together. My sister in law (the phubster’s sister) told me that I’ve been around their family for way to long and that I should probably think about packing up my shit and leaving.  (Reading that makes her sound like such a total bitch, but I assure you that she was totally kidding, I think….) She’s probably right, I have been around for a LOOONNGGGG time.

Long enough to see her get her license, graduate from High School, get married, and have kids, and well not particularly in that order…

Long enough to be there when the phubster’s brother passed away from Leukemia….

Long enough to watch his other siblings grow up as well….

Long enough to go through three other girlfriends with his other brother before he finally settled on his wife…

Long enough to be there when the phubster’s last remaining grandparent passed away…

Long enough to be there for the birth (ok not literally there, but you know what I mean) of my two nieces and two nephews….

Long enough to get into a major fight where we almost got divorced…

Long enough for us to both really hurt each other, and then learn how to forgive and how to move on…….

Long enough for us to have our two wonderful children….

Long enough for me to overlook the sound of his teeth clacking together when chews his food… (what… this is a MAJOR issue for me)

So  the question is what do you get a guy you’ve been stuck with for so long. The phubster is one of those notriously hard males to buy anything for. He’s always telling me God Awful bullshit like, “I don’t need anything, you’re everything I would ever need,” and, “honestly, I would rather have you spend the money on something you want for yourself.” I mean WHAT.THE.FUCK. Seriously?! FUCKING SERIOUSLY…. Do you see the kind of bullshittery games he likes to play here……


Sooooo…. I think I decided he can just have a handshake and a pat on the back, because that’s what you get at five years right? RIGHT. Truth be told I’m stumped, and we’re going to dinner tonight so I guess I’m also out of time. Is it considered cute if I hand make a card at my desk with my highlighters? It’s the thought that counts right…

Shit. I’m so screwed…………

But in a moment of seriousness…. To the phubs… the man who puts up with my snark, my out of control spending (i.e. I did not die after spending my retirement at Costco this weekend–>a post for another day), my crazy schedule, or insane kids, takes care of the doggies, and still finds time to make me laugh, and feel special everyday; just like the first day we met. I love you, and I know I don’t deserve you, but that’s ok, because I’m pretty sure that you don’t deserve me either, which probably means we were made for each other. Besides who else would put up with your clacking teeth…



That’s What Friends Are For….

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All Righty my little snarkdoodles…

I know what you’re thinking…where have I been all week, what happened to Conversational Mondays, and Familial Fridays, where’s my weekly helping of Snark?!

Before the pitch forks come out, I apologize for not being able to give my two cents on all things snarky this week.

I am in the middle of a transition.

I will be starting a new job next week, and dying this week in San Fransisco, so maybe I won’t be starting a new job after all… Anyway while preparing my Last Will and Testament, and running around with the kiddos and overanalyzing a lot of everything else, I came up short on the posts this week, which I know is totally unforgivable, but I promise to do better, really…..

Luckily for me, I have some pretty cool friends, one of which wrote me a guest post for my poor neglected blog… so while I finish packing (don’t judge me), and worrying about everything I leave you with a guest post from a very good friend of mine, who’s topic on bitchy friends and forgiveness seems to come just at the right time since I done fucked up ya’ll (and was a total bitchy friend this week), but more on that later…

Should I return alive on Monday, I promise a post full of all the graphic details on how I almost died while running a marathon…….

Friends fight, friends come, friends go, and real friends know to apologize when things blow.  (Yes I felt the need to rhyme – I teach kindergarten for heaven’s sake!)   I knew that back in elementary school when one day Audra didn’t want to sit next to me at lunch anymore.  We got into a fight over this boy named James and Audra said she didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.  That is, until I won the science fair.  She nonchalantly came over to tell me I had a cool project and things were fine after that.  It was her way of saying, look, I did a bitchy thing, but I’m  over it now, are you??  I mean, because real apologies only happen in the movies – these are the kind of apologies that happen in the real world.  I knew that back in the day, and yet it’s still a hard pill to swallow as an adult if a friend stops being your friend.
I say this because I have been in the longest fight with one of my very dear friends for a long time now.  There was even a snarky blog about her and I admit, I loved reading it because it was true.  She did say a very bitchy comment.  And she’s a bitch.  But then again, so are a lot of my friends.  And that’s what I love about them.  Until she was a bitch to me.  It was great being on the friend side of the bitch.  It was horrible to be on the other side when you aren’t friends with a bitch that you cared about. 

Yes, I said care.  I’ve got a lot of feelings.  Too many feelings if there is such a thing.  I told myself, and to other people, she did a bitchy thing to me and I don’t care.  But deep down, I was really hurt.  She did do a bitchy thing.  I just don’t think she realized it was bitchy.  But I realized it and it hurt.  And I had to deal with it.  So while bitchy went about living her great life, I was ostracized and cut off from the circle.  It’s like no one wanted to sit with me at lunch.  Now, don’t get me wrong I have other great, equally bitchy friends.  But this particular bitch managed to make me feel as if the problem was me, which made me want to ostracize myself even more.
Now before I get too melancholy, I have to say, some really great things happened after I was ostracized.  I got in touch with a lot of older friends and it made me realize how many great people I have in my life.  I guess you can say, I finally got my nose out of the bitches ass to realize she was a bitch.  And I saw the light.  It didn’t make it any easier though.
That is, until I reached a point of an “aha” moment.  I started living my life not caring about the bitch.  I figured, if she wanted to end the friendship entirely, so be it.  She just wasn’t meant to be my friend then.  And truth be told, I got wayyyyy to damn busy at the moment to give a crap.  And  low and behold, as real life cycled again like  we were 7 year olds fighting over a boy at school, the bitch apologized to me.  It wasn’t your Blockbuster movie apology of I’m sorry.  In fact, I’m sorry was never uttered.  Bitches don’t say they are sorry.  But in between the lines of her email she sent this week, I was all too familiar with it.  Without saying it, she was owning up to being the bitch and saying she was in the wrong, and more importantly, that she missed me.  Now I am not saying I am back to sitting at lunch with her again, so to speak.  But it was what I needed. To know that one of life’s fucked up cycles of friendship happened. And as I made arrangements to see her this weekend, it made me realize, friends fight, friends come, friends go, and real friends apologize when things blow.  Ain’t friends a bitch.

Now enough of the “more you know” announcements with a shooting star going by.  This is real life bitches.  And I’ve gotta go brush my teeth, get dressed, and face the spirit rally at my elementary school.  (I’m jumping for joy.)  Here’s to all the bitches of the world – be nice to one another.  And say you are sorry when you should.  Us bitches gotta stick together.  We are a dying breed.

The Funny is on Its Way Back, and Peeing Yourself is NEVER Funny

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There are some tell tale signs that my funny is on its way back to me. Case in point:

Yesterday, my boss tripped over nothing in his office and fell on his face in front of everyone (I should also mention he has glass walls (seriously) and a glass door, everyone sees everything, all the time. He fell so hard that one of my co-workers came running out of the break room screaming “earthquake!” which caused everyone to erupt into endless bouts of mirth and merriment. Actually, no joke–> it was pretty funny. Fucking shifting air currents, again!
That afternoon a new vendor sent me a video with a tutorial in it about how to use their new service. Not only did the video have some terribly God awful snazzy background music, the entire screen was BLACK, for all three minutes and 34 seconds of pure tutorial gloriousness. I emailed him to tell him about this black problem and he sent me another link, to another completely blank tutorial. I giggled and left it alone.
This morning on my way to work a jogger tried to drink out of his water bottle. He uncapped the bottle, brought it to his mouth and completely missed. He drenched the front of his shirt. He was so surprised by this that he dropped the bottle cap. When he stopped to pick it up he spilled more water all over himself with the open water bottle. By the time the whole ordeal was over with he was practically soaked from the neck down. I also may have giggled and pointed. But you know whatevs….
All these little inconsequential things give me hope that my funny is on its way back. It’s been a rough week my darling Snarksters, what can I say. The Little Monster started school, which she loves–> she also barfed all over me last night. I’m pretty sure that school lunch fucked up her delicate stomach. Stupid lunchroom fucktards.
The Crybaby has been practicing his backhand. On my face. Or rather on any one who will get close enough. He thinks it’s really funny to slap you, kiss where he hit you, and then slap you again. I’ve been abused so much this week I can’t remember when it all started, and I’m hoping it ends soon. I’m also considering leaving in the middle of the night and changing my name. Forever. I don’t know how well this will go over with a 13 month old.
But Snarksters I saved the best and most funny story for last. And if this ain’t a sign that my funny is coming back then Thank You Sweet Baby Jesus for sending this moron along. My contact in my right eye was stabbing my eyeball with an invisible shiv over and over again. I pulled over in the nearest parking lot in front of this really nice Doubletree Hotel, used the restroom lobby and got the contact issue situated. As I am walking out to my car, I witness this:
A female and a male laughing as they get out of a Jeep. I think to myself, self what the fuck is so funny over there? Two seconds later a blob of a woman flashes by (I say blob in the most polite way, she was practically running, and I didn’t get a good look) holding a GINORMOUS soda cup in her hand.
Female Friend: “Not so fast Tracy, you’ll fall!” We can probably assume Tracy is the blob
Male Friend: “Hey, do you have to go the bathroom or something?”
Tracy: “Shut up, you know I do. This is not funny.”
Chortles, snickers and snorts of laughter from other friends
Female Friend: “I told you not to drink all of that.”
Male Friend: “I told you to pee in the cup.”
Tracy: “I’m not going to pee in a —- ahhhhhhhhhh. Shit.”
Friends (and myself) laughing with utter abandonment

Tracy had fallen over the edge of the curb and was in a tangled heap steps away from the hotel door.
Tracy: “Stop laughing, hahahahha, seriously. I’m going to peee!!!!”
Friends: Still laughing and pointing
Female Friend: in between giggles “Are you ok?”
Tracy: “Oh my God. Shut up. Ummm…”
Male Friend: “Can you get up?”
Tracy: “Um no.”
Female Friend: geniuniely concerned now “are you hurt?”
Tracy: “No. Uhhh I need to borrow your sweater.”
Female friend: “Why?”
Tracy: “Just because, I need it. I told you I was going to peeeee!”
Female Friend: “Wait you just pissed yourself….” breaks into another gale of laughter
Tracy: “This is not funny.”
Male Friend: “Shit, I told you to use the cup.”
Tracy: “Shut up.”
Female Friend: “It’s really sort of funny.”
Tracy: “You guys suck.”
Female friend: “Here’s my sweater.”
I left at this point, not wanting to seem like a total rude stranger, but I did have a GINORMOUS smile on my face. That whole incident just made my day. Really. In fact it made my week. Like the Irony/Funny/Fuck My Life Gods let me have a little taste of their manna from heaven. I liked it, I sooooooooo liked it.
So lessons learned:
1. Maybe letting your kid eat lunch at school ain’t the best of ideas
2. Being in an abusive relationship with a 13 month old is scary, please help me
3. Watching someone pee themselves is ALWAYS funny; peeing yourself is NEVER funny
4. If you have to pee that bad, and you have a cup, use the damn cup
So what funny things did you see this week… please share, or I will break your knee caps with pencils. 🙂
It’s the freakin’ weekend baby, I’m gonna have me some fun……

I May Have Lost My Funny Bone, But I Still Got "It."

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Dear Snarksters:

It’s true. I have done gone and lost my funny. I don’t where it is, but I’m sure it will return to me shortly. (Please dear God, give it back, NOW.) So for the time being, you’re stuck with just me. Double SIGH. It’s ok though because even though I lost my funny bone, I still got “it.” (Apparently).

“It,” you say… what the hell is “it.” Duh. You know, that factor that makes you turn heads, get honked at by cars, and be wolf whistled at… that “it,” it’s still mine. I’m still rocking it. Case in point my bank run in.

I went to the bank yesterday, you know the kind in the grocery store (don’t judge me) with my two kiddos. I was in a hurry, and they were climbing all over me. The teller must have been about 12, cute for his age, but still very young, and giving off a slight creeper vibe. This is the conversation that went down…

Bank Teller(BA): Why hey… hello there. Can I help you? (big broad smile–>why grandma what big teeth you have!)

Me: (Kids climbing all over me like a jungle gym) Uhh yes. I need to—Little Monster put that back—Deposit something. (kids running up my shirt, knocking over candy, dancing in pure evil glee)

BA: (leaning over the counter behind the glass slightly) Oh I can most definitely help you with that. (Actually touches my hand when he takes deposit slip and check)

Me: (recoiling in disgust) Great.

BA: So, how is your day going? (Again with the scary smile and horse teeth)

Me: (Crybaby pulling my hair, Little Monster doing pirouettes in the isle) Uh ok I guess.

BA: Do you come to this branch often? (OMG, YES he did say that I swear)

Me: No, not really. (This is the longest deposit transaction ever)

BA: Oh, well you should, I haven’t seen you here before. (Wow, super cheesy)

Me: Well, I don’t really come here. I just needed a few things at the store. (talking really fast because that should end the pain pretty fast)

BA: Well (dramatic pause) you should come here more often, I’ll be more than happy to help you. *wink* (holy shit, did that guy just wink at me)

Me: Uhh… are you done with my transaction yet?

BA: (completely ignoring me) So are you babysitting those kids?

Me: Nope these are mine and MY HUSBAND’S. (Extra EMPHASIS and the husband part)

BA: (apparently not phased) You have kids? You are way too young to have two kids. (This shmuck is actually undressing me with his 12 year old eyes!)

Me: (super sarcastic) Oh that’s right because these children right here don’t actually exist.

BA: Hahaha, you are just so funny. So, Rebecca (said somewhat intimately) (holy shit he used my first name, WTF), when’s the next time you’ll think you’ll come to this branch? I work just about every day.

Me: (said pretty much in a fuck you voice) I’m pretty sure this is the last time.

BA: (genuine disappointment) Well that’s too bad. I’ll be disappointed not to see you again. (hands me my transaction receipt)

Me: (smugly) Then let the disappointment abound. I gotta go now.

BA: (panicked and insistent) Well wait, take my card. My number’s on there.

Me: No, I don’t think so. (scooping up the kids, surveying the damage left in their wake)

BA: (practically yelling through the glass) Come back again, ok. Your kids are really cute. (What the fuck man, what the fuck)

Me: (turns around, points finger at glass) Umm that’s a really weird thing to say, but thanks. Good bye! (stomps out of store with kids, who are now both in tears.)

This weird conglomeration of emotion flooded me as I left the store with the little ones… the first one was total gratification followed by an uncomfortable awkwardness and total creep out that the teller told me my children were cute, followed by a wave of flattery. In fact today I’m still not exactly sure how I feel about the whole incident. I should add it’s been about ohh 7 years since I’ve been hit on. Mostly because the phubster can emit a certain air of…. What’s the phrase, oh yeah “don’t look at me, my woman or my family because I’ll fuck you up,” when he’s around, and therefore most men, women, small children and dogs walk on the other side of the street. (Once you get to know him, he’s really a softie, way down deep, I SWEAR). So in a way it was nice, and then again it was super uncomfortable at the same time.

This was followed up by a preschool orientation meeting where the class bully from the Little Monster’s 3 year old class was described by her parents as a natural born leader with slight headstrong tendencies. She is also apparently a master orator who through the simple inflection of her little voice can bewitch all the other children to do her bidding.


This little girl is a TYRANT. She has a nasty temper, has been known to hit her fellow students, lay down in the middle of the floor and cry, say nasty things to any adult who dares to get in her way, and have a full blown meltdown at the mere mention of having to cut something with scissors. Natural born leader she is not. AND to top it all off her father went on this LOOONNNNGGGG rant followed by 20 questions (not even kidding here) about how closely the kids are monitored and if they ever share snacks, food, drinks, crayons, scissors, paper, toys, tissues, etc, because his daughter was sick, a lot, last year. PUH-LEASE. HELLO there, FOUR YEAR OLDS. They share EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. And don’t think your precious bundle of natural leadership isn’t the one that doesn’t instigate the sharing of water, snacks, etc. Some parents really have blinders on when it comes to their kids.

It was so annoying and irritating that I spent a large part of the time compulsively coughing every time they spoke. This may or may not have caused some other parents to break into muffled giggles, and to also effectively have me moved away from the Tyrant’s family. Just like High School, all over again…

You know what they say, once a rabble-rouser, always a rabble-rouser.

A couple lessons learned:

1. I must find a purse sized tazer for zapping weirdos at the bank and snobby parents

2. I should try to make a better impression on my child’s teacher

3. Scratch 2, being the class clown has and will always be more fun

So, been hit on in a creepy yet erriely satisfying way? Had it up to your eyeballs in self induldent parents. Let me hear all about it…….. besides I’ve got nothing better to do until my funny comes back.

I’ve Been Slacking Like A Tired Trick

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Well Snarksters,

What can I say. Only two measly, last kid to be picked for teams, scrawny posts this weeks. For SHAME, for utter and complete despair and total gloom and dourness.
In a reality check moment– my life is actually not that funny all the time, and while my internal voice has been yacking non-fucking-stop about things we think are funny, it hasn’t been translating well. To be fair there were a couple of post attempts…
Failed Titles Include:
Harvesting Organs is a Great Way to Make Money for Shoes
I May be Addicted to Violence
My Kid Needs a Prozac
I’m Most Likely Going to Suffocate My Husband With A Pillow
DHL Ruined My Bob Damn Life
Mother-in-Laws Make Life Cringe Worthy
When I Grow Up I’m Going to Try to Be Nice
So you see, I really was thinking about, and half starting to write some great posts. But they just weren’t coming together. They would start funny and end really tragically. In the midst of rolling around in pure mirth and enjoyment there would be a total downer of a moment. Like the time I turned in an essay in Zoology about nothing in particular and wrote “and then the dog got hit by a bus, his innards were smeared across the road and bits and pieces of him scattered everywhere and stuck to everything causing most bystanders to be traumatized for life,” and still got an “A” on it (experiment to see if my teacher was actually reading the papers we turned in–> apparently not). Just sort of “oh, you’re so not funny, and that was awkward and inappropriate” moments instead of my casual wit and frothy banter. Not that this is really any better, but at least it’s not sooo painful to read, right……. RIGHT.
So in lieu of a life altering post on why “The CryBaby has a Better Backhand Than I Do,” perhaps just a quick catch up is in order. You know, in case you were actually wondering what I do all week, in between not posting….
DHL ruined my BOB DAMN Life all last week and it carried into this week. Sensitive work materials had to be shipped from the US to Europe. Not only did they re-route the package to the WRONG DESTINATION, when it got there instead of holding it for pick-up (as confirmed by numerous calls and emails), they simply sent it BACK to US office. FUCK YOU DHL, and your mind games. Our relationship is SOOOOO OVER. Anyway, after much wailing, weeping, shouting and threats, said package did get to the right person in the right country, eventually….
I had a fight with the phubster. It was over something inconsequential like why I can’t get on a full on tummy tuck, boob lift, and skin rejuvenation treatment package right now (<– that's not what our fight was about actually, it was just up there in the "what the fuck are we fighting about this shit for" category), but it was a total MOOD RUINER (oh fancy that, another word to add to the lexicon). Mostly because we like to fight over the phone. We get pretty hot and heavy with severe finger jabbing at the screen and exaggerated taps to "the end button" to hang up. It's ok though because once the red mist receded from my eyes and the brain thing started thinking logically again I realized that FUCKING SHIT, that BASTARD is RIGHT AGAIN. GAH. So, the fight passed.
Little Monster–> It’s a hit or miss with the sleep walking. Nights she doesn’t walk she talks A LOT, a WHOLE LOT in her sleep about random/disturbing things. I’ve been collecting said items for show and tell…
“I don’t want to share. Go play with the fire.”
“Stop it. Stop it! You’re making me breathe, and I don’t like it.”
“I told you, no more dinosaur soup. It tastes bad.”
“My mommy says you’re not supposed to say bad words like shit, or damn.”
“Santa sees you all the time, even when you’re being bad or going to the bathroom.
I know right, WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT. THE. FUCK. None of it makes sense really. She seems perfectly fine and adjusted during the day… but these night time ramblings have me locking up the matches, not cooking soup, making sure all dinosaurs are safe, watching my mouth, explaining how we need to breathe and instilling the fact that Santa doesn’t see you when you’re in the bathroom….
I also hit a pretty good sale at Ralph’s. No coupons. I am over coupons. But the sale didn’t require any so I was in the clear.
So you see, my week has been pretty eventful… really.
I also may be dying from walking pneumonia, but that’s a whole other can of worms. I might even have to go to the doctor and take medicine. But only if someone is going to buy me an ice cream after….
So that’s it Snarksters, the wrap up. Not the pee yourself funny you were expecting, but hey! Sometimes I’m just regular old me, Becca. (See that, see that VampireS, GAH).
How was your week, sum it up, wrap it up, and let it go……and if you happen to find my funny bone while you’re out and about, can you send it back to me–> just don’t use DHL. They will fuck you up.

But Mom, All the Cool Kids are Twating…..

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I love my friends. They are funny. They give me hilarious stuff to post about, they (sometimes) keep me in line, and they (usually) don’t take any of my shit seriously. Did I mention I have like three friends. I know it’s tragic! Something about being abrasive and too forthwith…. but I think those are my star qualities!

Anyway I was emailing my friend about my blog, and because I’ve decided I’m a super serious blogger now (with my following of 4, thank you), that I should also get a twitter. I kid you not, this is her response. I may have edited it, slightly.
(no subject)
7 messages
SB Wed, Aug 10, 2011 at 5:37 PM
So this is what I was going to write you earlier but couldn’t over work e mail. [because that’s how we roll]
It recently came to my attention that [you] is [I could have changed this to are, but the idea of her possibly saying this how it was written is just to funny] on Twitter. And by came to my attention I mean [you] e mailed me to say
“I’m thinking about joining Twitter.”
and when I wrote back “NOOO!!!”
[your] response was
“Too late.”
(Rude? YES!) [umm hello, do you not know me]
It’s so trendy, it’s so mindless, it’s so not us. [hey I can be hip and trendy when I want to, I swear I don’t live under a rock] This has literally kept me up at night. [What, little old me] OK more like I was up worrying about other BS and then I suddenly remember, OH Shit B’s on fucking Twitter. [That’s right bitches, run and hide. Snark you –> another phrase added to the lexicon. It’s like a less intense fuck you. And yes, I am going to make this happen]
So last night, when tossing and turning it suddenly came to me, it’s OK that B is on Twitter,because it gives me freedom to say twat all I want. [I live to serve]
“hey check out B on Twitter, last night she twatted the funniest thing.”
“B’s on Twitter twatting away as we speak.”
“Did you catch that twat B had yesterday?”
So as long as you don’t twat about your twat, I’ve decided to be ok with it [gee thanks, but it’s not that kind of twitter account, or blog… but it could be….or not *shudder*]
I may have laughed on and off for 20 minutes about how many times she used the word twat (which she stole from me, RUDE) in her email. I may secretly love this shit. (Shhh… don’t tell). I also really like Twitter. It may not give me the forum to get on my soap box, but I can be a little mouthy anyway. 140 characters to express a mood, a statement, a whatever, well that’s like brilliant bob damn Hemingway shit. And I love me some Hemingway.
So I say if you’re all jumping off the bridge I’m going too! What have you done that was so trendy and hip you’re embarrassed to talk about it. C’mon, I promise not to point and laugh, just the laughing… only. We’re all friends here, share.

I Have Three Amazing Talents; I Swear You’ll be Jealous!

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I had a ton of different things I wanted to write about today. I promise they were very funny. But every time I started a post I couldn’t get more than two damn sentences in. I suppose I have the dreaded writer’s block (kind of like the clap, but more itchy and annoying and definitely above the waistline). That or my brain is totally fried from the accounting reports I put together this morning, and it’s not like I had all week to prepare these little assholes either or anything…

Ok, fine I did. But in case you didn’t know, one of my very rare and finely honed talents is the art of procrasti-fucking-nation. Yup, I am an expert in this field. So while I knew these reports were due on Thursday I whiled away my time Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday doing absolutely NOTHING.
Wait, I lied. I was pretending to work a little, and I did put up a few highly entertaining posts, and I did email my friend about 100,000 times. In fact I pretty much blame that snarky bitch for leading me down this path of nothingness. Maybe somewhere between our flurried email exchanges I could have started to do the reporting, but no. She sucked me in to her life of intrigue and international mystery and I just COULD.NOT.STAY.AWAY.
Sigh. Life is really, really fucking hard when your friends are so interesting. It’s a wonder how I do anything with all the vicarious living I’m doing through them. I suppose if I was paying more attention to my own life I also wouldn’t have ordered a blender with the office supplies.
Hmm… what’s that…? I ordered a what…
That’s right bitches, your read it right the first time. I ordered a blender with the office supplies. We spent enough money to get it free (it was that or a grill set), and so into the basket it went. Also a mini USB drive in the form of a pig was ordered because it was on sale, and because my site director is always running around looking for one these fucking things, and we never have any. So what if you have to pull the head of the pig body to plug it into the computer. No big fucking deal I say. Anyway, after having ordered said items (and there as the normal pens, kleenex, cups, etc) I also failed to get to work early enough to unpackage (fuck yes I just made up my own word hookers) and put them away.
Why does this matter you may be asking yourself.
Well it matters because my fucking supervisor opened it up, my site director saw it, and that left me royally in the shits.
Because she couldn’t explain the blender or the decapitated pig, I now have to subject myself to filling out a Purchase Order Form for EVERY BOB* DAMN THING I order. FUCK THAT SHIT YO’.
Well ok, not really. I mean it was totally explainable, and I did not steal any of the office supplies, nor was I intending to (honest!), but I suppose…. I’m on ordering lock down. And pretty much suffered through “what the fuck are you fucking thinking about” looks from my supervisor and the site director all mother fucking day long. It sucked balls.
But I’m back to the dark side, I mean the right side, whatever the fuck side I’m supposed to be on, and back in their good graces. The blender incident of July 2011 is no more. Thank God. In fact being the brilliant bitch I am, I spun the whole “why the fuck would you order a bob damn blender” incident into, now we can make smoothies at the office, and ice coffee drink goodness.
“Zero to hero in no time flat!”
And that my friends is how you turn a total cock up into the best situation ever.
So make that three talents I have…
1. Procrastifuckingnator (like a negotiator but 1bizillion times better)
2. New word inventor (fuck yeah I always wanted to invent shit)
3. Total Cock-up situation fixer (don’t hate the player, hate the game yo)
And just like that I realize I’ve had one of the most productive bob damn weeks ever. Hell to the yes.
Tomorrow’s post brought to you by my fanfuckingtastic friend…. I heard that it may involve brownies and vampires….
I also may have laughed out loud and choked on my spit when she started telling me about said post. There’s only one word for it: EPIC.
*Bob in place of God–> why should He get all the credit all the time. Shit.