A quadruple threat of yum just barged into my office. Four young, muscular and very gorgeous guys came to the desk at work to ask for some general information. So not only are they dangerously* handsome, but they're in fatigues. That's right, Army boys. They're joking with each other and calling me ma'am. Where do I sign up? Clothing is optional in the Army, isn't it?
They need to leave a a $100 deposit. The leader, the cute brunette with blue eyes, only has $40. His buddies pull out crumpled wads of greens from their fatigue pockets. Another $30, a $10, $7.
$87. I want to tell them that I'll just take it, but we can't jerk around with the deposit. So one of them pulls out a quarter. Then a dime. Before I know what's happening, they have another $10 in change. They start to pull out pennies and I say, "That's enough, guys. I'll just take what you have. You don't have to keep pulling things out of your pants."
They laugh. "I was this close to selling my skivvies," one of them says. Maybe I should have let them keep going.
As they leave, one of them, Sommers, stops to shake my hand. "Thanks, ma'am."
"Sure," I say. "Have a good one."
Aside from being one man away from a fantasy, those guys were wonderfully refreshing. They looked my age with baby faces. I don't know where they're from or if they're away from their families, but they were enjoying each other and making the best of the situation. A lot of times, people will come in and freak out if they don't have the right amount of cash or we don't have what they're looking for. They blame each other, they blame us, sometimes they just leave without a thank you or even acknowledge us as human beings. Those people leave a sting that stays with me all day.
"Assholes," I'll mutter trying to shake it off, but their shit attitude stays with me. Sometimes at the end of the day it takes all the energy I have left not to drop armfulls of files and just leave. Thanks to the boys in green though, today will not be one of those days. Today will be a day when I can go home and think, "Y'know, today wasn't so bad to get through."
Thanks, beautiful boys in green.
*I say dangerous because it's almost stroke inducing how cute they were. Is it possible to die due to adorable overexposure?
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Dirty Christmas
Today, Garland and I took a drive to the mall so I could finish up my Christmas shopping. All was going well, then this happened:
Me: I hate it when people are too southwestern. I get that you like it here, but enough with the kokopellis already.
Garland: What about boot tassles?
Me (confused): Boob tassles?!
Garland: Yes, boob tassles. Except they're southwestern so they're bolero tie boob tassles. And in the middle are kokopellis.
Me: That would be so heavy! It'd make your boobs sag so much that National Geographic would have to film you.
Garland: Like a really dirty native tribe. The Inaprop-Hopis.
After that conversation, the day went from a good day to an AMAZING day. It was the first day I actually felt in the Christmas spirit. After I dropped Holly off I drove home with the windows down and let the wind whip across my face. I looked at the sky and thought, "Good one," to whoever was listening.
Good one, indeed.
Me: I hate it when people are too southwestern. I get that you like it here, but enough with the kokopellis already.
Garland: What about boot tassles?
Me (confused): Boob tassles?!
Garland: Yes, boob tassles. Except they're southwestern so they're bolero tie boob tassles. And in the middle are kokopellis.
Me: That would be so heavy! It'd make your boobs sag so much that National Geographic would have to film you.
Garland: Like a really dirty native tribe. The Inaprop-Hopis.
After that conversation, the day went from a good day to an AMAZING day. It was the first day I actually felt in the Christmas spirit. After I dropped Holly off I drove home with the windows down and let the wind whip across my face. I looked at the sky and thought, "Good one," to whoever was listening.
Good one, indeed.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Dating the 10-year-old way
Tonight I was going to blog about my Christmas shopping, IHOPing, gym going and other general -ings, but the powers that be (read: Garland) is making me entertain her. I AM NOT A MACHINE! So I'm doing what any other sane, rational person would do: I'm writing about our conversation in the blog because that way I kill two birds with one stone. Win-win.
Turns out, writing and talking are hard to do at the same time. I'm writing right now and she's humming the Jeopardy theme song. New subject.
I went to Target tonight to get my present on. Because everyone knows that Christmas is all about going broke buying people things they kinda, sorta want. But I digress. I only had one goal in mind: to buy my cousin/goddaughter something awesome. When I was little, I judged people solely on how good their presents were. There's always the family member who gets you socks or, god forbid, underwear. You pull out a pair of granny panties in front of everyone one time and suddenly it's "Grandma KV" this and "knit me some socks" that. But Christmas was always saved by the cool family member who got you the newest toy, an amazingly warm sweater or pretty much anything with flashing lights. I want to be that person for my goddaughter. I am not above bribing kids to like me.
So I'm perusing the toy aisle asking myself, "What did I like when I was ten?" Now there's a question. I can't even remember what I liked a month ago, let alone eleven years ago. I end up in the board game aisle, awe struck and overwhelmed.
"I know, I'll get her Uno," I thought. "That way everyone can play and enjoy the game."
Then I looked to the left and saw Twister. "That might be fun," I thought. "She'll get a little exercise and learn about sexual tension when she plays with her friends."
Then I looked to the right and I saw it. A High School Musical Mystery Dating Game. I couldn't take my eyes off it. When I was a tween, I used to have a Mystery Dating Game, except it wasn't High School Musical. It was from a little show I like to call Saved by the Bell. That's right. I, like everyone else in 1993, was not immune to the curly haired mullet that graced Mario Lopez's pre-pubescent face.
AC Slater showed up on screen and it was like, "I'll AC your slater*."
But I remember loving that game. I was so hip. I was totally with the times. As I stared down High School Musical Dating Game, I knew that was the one. So I bought it and brought it home. And now I'm having second thoughts. The Mystery Dating Game was awesome when I was 10, but ten years later it's just embarrassing. Furthermore, why should 10-year-olds be worrying about dating? And just why is Zac Efron staring at me so intensely? Is there something on my face?
I don't know that I feel comfortable about him staring at my 10-year-old cousin so, lustily.
So, the Mystery Dating Game sits on the chair across from me. Zac Efron's weird kidnapper face stares at me as if to say, "You know you want to date me. C'mon, just roll a 6 or an 8 and we can make-believe date all night long." No. No I don't want to do any of those things. But Dani might. So, I think I'll keep it.
After all, everyone needs an Aunt Tina.
*My sexual innuendos don't have to make sense.
Turns out, writing and talking are hard to do at the same time. I'm writing right now and she's humming the Jeopardy theme song. New subject.
I went to Target tonight to get my present on. Because everyone knows that Christmas is all about going broke buying people things they kinda, sorta want. But I digress. I only had one goal in mind: to buy my cousin/goddaughter something awesome. When I was little, I judged people solely on how good their presents were. There's always the family member who gets you socks or, god forbid, underwear. You pull out a pair of granny panties in front of everyone one time and suddenly it's "Grandma KV" this and "knit me some socks" that. But Christmas was always saved by the cool family member who got you the newest toy, an amazingly warm sweater or pretty much anything with flashing lights. I want to be that person for my goddaughter. I am not above bribing kids to like me.
So I'm perusing the toy aisle asking myself, "What did I like when I was ten?" Now there's a question. I can't even remember what I liked a month ago, let alone eleven years ago. I end up in the board game aisle, awe struck and overwhelmed.
"I know, I'll get her Uno," I thought. "That way everyone can play and enjoy the game."
Then I looked to the left and saw Twister. "That might be fun," I thought. "She'll get a little exercise and learn about sexual tension when she plays with her friends."
Then I looked to the right and I saw it. A High School Musical Mystery Dating Game. I couldn't take my eyes off it. When I was a tween, I used to have a Mystery Dating Game, except it wasn't High School Musical. It was from a little show I like to call Saved by the Bell. That's right. I, like everyone else in 1993, was not immune to the curly haired mullet that graced Mario Lopez's pre-pubescent face.
AC Slater showed up on screen and it was like, "I'll AC your slater*."
But I remember loving that game. I was so hip. I was totally with the times. As I stared down High School Musical Dating Game, I knew that was the one. So I bought it and brought it home. And now I'm having second thoughts. The Mystery Dating Game was awesome when I was 10, but ten years later it's just embarrassing. Furthermore, why should 10-year-olds be worrying about dating? And just why is Zac Efron staring at me so intensely? Is there something on my face?
I don't know that I feel comfortable about him staring at my 10-year-old cousin so, lustily.
So, the Mystery Dating Game sits on the chair across from me. Zac Efron's weird kidnapper face stares at me as if to say, "You know you want to date me. C'mon, just roll a 6 or an 8 and we can make-believe date all night long." No. No I don't want to do any of those things. But Dani might. So, I think I'll keep it.
After all, everyone needs an Aunt Tina.
*My sexual innuendos don't have to make sense.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Let's talk about me!
Sorry for not writing in a few days. I've been busy and in all honesty, not really in a blogging mood. I haven't really been in a "I'm going to accomplish something today!" mood in a while. I blame the holidays. Christmas rolls around and it's just an excuse to check out early.
"Hey KV, did you get that file I asked you for?"
"No. I've been busy preparing for the holidays. I completely forgot."
"I hear ya. Christmas is coming up quick this year!"
It's those seven magical words: I've been busy preparing for the holidays. It's like civilized code for "Hell naw, I ain't done shit since December 1st!" I know this cause I haven't. I've got an incurable case of the lazies. Sure, my body has gone to work, school, out with friends, hill climbing and treadmill running, but my mind is where it always is: wondering when I'm going to be able to lay around in bed all day and watch movies. Because that's mostly how I want to spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Is it possible to have a job where one just lays around and watches movies all day? Like my own personal Mystery Science Theater 3000 except (sadly) with less robots.
However, I will settle for being a professional Channel watcher. Someone could pay me six figures to sit around (with or without pants) and watch The National Geographic Channel, The History Channel, The Discovery Channel and The Discovery Health Channel. Hell, I'd even throw in the TLC channel for no additional charge. Really, you're the one getting the deal. I'm just the lady who's been wearing the same tank top for three days watching TV on your couch. Just sayin'.
Anyhoosie, I'll try and get around to writing more this week. Maybe about something meaningful, but no promises. I've got to prepare for the holidays, you know.
"Hey KV, did you get that file I asked you for?"
"No. I've been busy preparing for the holidays. I completely forgot."
"I hear ya. Christmas is coming up quick this year!"
It's those seven magical words: I've been busy preparing for the holidays. It's like civilized code for "Hell naw, I ain't done shit since December 1st!" I know this cause I haven't. I've got an incurable case of the lazies. Sure, my body has gone to work, school, out with friends, hill climbing and treadmill running, but my mind is where it always is: wondering when I'm going to be able to lay around in bed all day and watch movies. Because that's mostly how I want to spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Is it possible to have a job where one just lays around and watches movies all day? Like my own personal Mystery Science Theater 3000 except (sadly) with less robots.
However, I will settle for being a professional Channel watcher. Someone could pay me six figures to sit around (with or without pants) and watch The National Geographic Channel, The History Channel, The Discovery Channel and The Discovery Health Channel. Hell, I'd even throw in the TLC channel for no additional charge. Really, you're the one getting the deal. I'm just the lady who's been wearing the same tank top for three days watching TV on your couch. Just sayin'.
Anyhoosie, I'll try and get around to writing more this week. Maybe about something meaningful, but no promises. I've got to prepare for the holidays, you know.
Monday, December 8, 2008
It's not Christmas until it sparkles
Today at work, this happened:
Co-worker: Hey, how was your weekend? Have you done any Christmas decorating?
Me: Not really. I've been kinda busy, which is too bad for Christmas because the way I decorate would make Santa cry and elves sing.
Co-worker: Really? Why don't you put up the Christmas decorations for the office? The decorations are in the box in the basement.
Me: Uh, well I'm kinda busy and I don't have the basement key right now and--
Co-worker: I'LL GO GET THE BOX!!
Crap. Did I say I could decorate? I meant to say that I can watch others while they decorate and provide helpful comments ("That balloon is a little lopsided", "The table cloth is wrinkled", "I'm hungry"). Decorating freaks me out because there are just too many options to commit to. Should I put the Christmas tree in the center of the room or off to the side? Should I wrap garland around it? What if I moved the coffee table over to make room? Should I move the rest of the furniture around? There are literally limitless options when it comes to decorating. It's like the old choose-your-own ending books. I don't want to chose my own ending. You're the one who wrote the book!
But, I didn't want my co-worker to think I was a dirty liar, so I bit the bullet and decorated. And let me tell you, I decorated the crap out of the front office. I used the only fool-proof technique that I know for Christmas decorating: wrap things in sparkly garland.
That snowman was boring and kind of off-putting before the sparkly garland. And the pine cones? Puh-lease, forget about it. I fell asleep twice trying to wrap garland around those bad boys because they were so dull. And now? Well, let's just say that once you lay down in a bed of sweet, itchy garland, you never go back.
Co-worker: Hey, how was your weekend? Have you done any Christmas decorating?
Me: Not really. I've been kinda busy, which is too bad for Christmas because the way I decorate would make Santa cry and elves sing.
Co-worker: Really? Why don't you put up the Christmas decorations for the office? The decorations are in the box in the basement.
Me: Uh, well I'm kinda busy and I don't have the basement key right now and--
Co-worker: I'LL GO GET THE BOX!!
Crap. Did I say I could decorate? I meant to say that I can watch others while they decorate and provide helpful comments ("That balloon is a little lopsided", "The table cloth is wrinkled", "I'm hungry"). Decorating freaks me out because there are just too many options to commit to. Should I put the Christmas tree in the center of the room or off to the side? Should I wrap garland around it? What if I moved the coffee table over to make room? Should I move the rest of the furniture around? There are literally limitless options when it comes to decorating. It's like the old choose-your-own ending books. I don't want to chose my own ending. You're the one who wrote the book!
But, I didn't want my co-worker to think I was a dirty liar, so I bit the bullet and decorated. And let me tell you, I decorated the crap out of the front office. I used the only fool-proof technique that I know for Christmas decorating: wrap things in sparkly garland.
That snowman was boring and kind of off-putting before the sparkly garland. And the pine cones? Puh-lease, forget about it. I fell asleep twice trying to wrap garland around those bad boys because they were so dull. And now? Well, let's just say that once you lay down in a bed of sweet, itchy garland, you never go back.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The heck is this?!
Today I come home from work to find my mother, my own flesh and blood, entertaining the bane of my existence: Tyra Mother Effing Banks. I DO NOT CONDONE TYRA BEING IN MY HOUSE AND ENTERTAINING MY MOTHER.
I hate her so much (Tyra, not my mom). But since my mom frowns upon me telling her what to do, Tyra "Plague Upon The Earth" Banks is still using our television set to transport herself into our living room. That's right, my home, the one place of comfort and safety, is now filled with the loud sounds of a shrewish banshee woman. And who does Tyra think she is? You know what I hate, when she tries to "open people's eyes" to the injustice in the world. Like when she dressed up in a fat suit and lived a day like a plus-sized girl.
Hey, guess what? I didn't need Asshat VagWeiner to dress up in a fat suit to tell me that being fat sucks. I've pretty much been able to figure that out myself. And of course because she's Tyra and a fart face she was all up in people's business about it. Like she would walk up to random strangers and be like, "I'm fat! Why are you judging me?!" and then when they looked at her strangely, she would be like, "People treat you so badly when you're overweight." No, people treat you badly when you're a crazy D-list celebrity dressed in the worst fat suit I've ever seen.
There was just a preview for another episode of her show where they make a little white girl drink dirty water from a water bottle so she can know what it's like to "live in Africa". Puh-lease, Tyra. You're no Oprah.
For Christmas, I'm going to ask Santa to please expel Tyra banks from the face of the earth by any means possible. Or at least cancel her shows. Or a pony.
I hate her so much (Tyra, not my mom). But since my mom frowns upon me telling her what to do, Tyra "Plague Upon The Earth" Banks is still using our television set to transport herself into our living room. That's right, my home, the one place of comfort and safety, is now filled with the loud sounds of a shrewish banshee woman. And who does Tyra think she is? You know what I hate, when she tries to "open people's eyes" to the injustice in the world. Like when she dressed up in a fat suit and lived a day like a plus-sized girl.
Hey, guess what? I didn't need Asshat VagWeiner to dress up in a fat suit to tell me that being fat sucks. I've pretty much been able to figure that out myself. And of course because she's Tyra and a fart face she was all up in people's business about it. Like she would walk up to random strangers and be like, "I'm fat! Why are you judging me?!" and then when they looked at her strangely, she would be like, "People treat you so badly when you're overweight." No, people treat you badly when you're a crazy D-list celebrity dressed in the worst fat suit I've ever seen.
There was just a preview for another episode of her show where they make a little white girl drink dirty water from a water bottle so she can know what it's like to "live in Africa". Puh-lease, Tyra. You're no Oprah.
For Christmas, I'm going to ask Santa to please expel Tyra banks from the face of the earth by any means possible. Or at least cancel her shows. Or a pony.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
